She knelt to uncover the frying pan on the floor at her feet and scooped a goodly amount of onion mash into a spoon. She gently set the heated paste on Mercy's chest.

"I often helped my mother." Anya knelt on the other side of the bed, across from Tessa, the little girl between them. "She knew much about tending the sick. 'Tis necessary to have at least one healing woman in a village."

"I could use help. I've two girls here to tend, and Thankful Bowman to check on. How's Andy?"

"Worsening, but I think the tea is helping him fight it. He doesn't seem as ill as this one."

"Aye, but he may. I will send another mixture home with Jonah. If you wouldn't mind spreading this poultice, then I can see how little Julia fares."

"I have applied these before." Anya no longer looked shy but competent, sure of her skills. She had tender hands, slim and careful. She would do a good job, Tessa knew.

Avoiding Jonah, she climbed upstairs to see Julia. She did not wish to move the child yet, who slept cozy beneath several quilts, her fever not yet dangerously high. She would crush more roots and maybe make a strong poultice. It worked for Mercy's aggressive fever. Mayhap Tessa could stop the illness before it made Julia as sick.

When she climbed down the ladder, Jonah was there. Oh, apology was plain on his face. He thought he could smile at her, that she would be grateful enough for a good home and a husband better than Horace Walling, and that would be all. He couldn't see how his motives mattered.

He would soon see how wrong he was.

"Have some breakfast. You need to keep up your strength." He held out a cup of tea, steaming and fragrant. "You look far too pale."

"From lack of sleep and from you." She said it low, without accusation. For in truth, half of the blame was hers. She was at fault for believing his lies, for imagining this man could love a woman like her.

He winced. "I had hoped for some quick forgiveness."

"Go on and hope. I'll not stop you." She plucked the tea from his grip and sipped it, retreating to her work space on Susan's polished counter.

Jonah's hands settled on her shoulders. "I'm proud of you, Tessa. This work you do, 'tis courageous. It takes a strength of character to sit beside the dying and not run, not be afraid."

"I am often afraid," she confessed, unclasping the lid from a crock. "But such is life, Jonah. 'Tis scary business. The birthing and the dying and all that comes in between. 'Tis not only in legends of war heroes, but in the strength of quietly living and loving and trusting."

Jonah saw it then, how completely he'd failed her. There was nothing wrong with setting a criterion for a wife, using it to choose his bride. The wrong came in letting her believe she was special to him, that she was above price, beyond his own fear to trust and love another. Those gifts, that courage, he hadn't given her.

Because he was afraid to hand over his heart to another, to feel emotions that could make him vulnerable, like he was at this moment.


'Twas all she could do to gather enough courage to walk through the door. She lingered on the road outside the impressive clapboard house with a dozen black-paned windows glimmering in the weak sun.

Overnight it seemed as if the earth had been reborn. Tiny gray buds dotted black-limbed trees, promises of the leaves yet to come. And on the ground, when she looked closely, tiny shoots of green struggled beneath the dirt and last year's grasses. Birds sang more loudly, as if rejoicing in the change of season. Even the afternoon air smelled different, filled with promise.

Tessa narrowed her gaze to the house. She could see the colonel's room, the curtains open to take advantage of the view of forestland and the river beyond. A great fondness for the old man penetrated the cold shock still clamped around her heart She knew Samuel would be hurt, but it could not be helped.

Gathering what strength she could, she pushed open the door and stepped inside the house that would no longer be her home. The parlor was empty, although a fire crackled in the hearth. A book lay closed on the chair between the fireplace and the window where the colonel liked to read. He was probably upstairs taking a needed nap.

She did not bother to take off her cloak, for she would be leaving soon. More numbness crept over her, and she felt as she had when her mother finally died, unable to feel anything at all. But this numbness wouldn't last long, she knew that, too, as ice on a pond could never stay frozen. In time, spring always came.

Andy slept in his bed, a hot fire snapping in the grate. She set her basket down quietly and laid a hand to his brow. Aye, there was a fever, but it wasn't as intense as the colonel's had been, or little Mercy Hollingsworth's.

Encouraged, she snatched her basket of herbs and headed down the hall where the door stood open. She paused in the threshold to see the bed carefully made, Anya's work, and the curtain thrown back to let the meager sun gleam through the window.

It took no time at all to pack, for she'd hardly had the chance to unpack. Her mother's wedding gown, the dress she had worn to become Jonah's wife, was already folded in paper on top of the few keepsakes she owned, Mother's hymnal, her book of prayers, a treasured volume of Shakespeare's sonnets.

Tessa gently brushed this last book with the tips of her fingers. 'Twas the only remembrance she had of her father, of the man whose love Mother had talked about and treasured all of her life. Tessa had wanted to find a man like that, but poetry and dreams did not make love. Only two caring hearts could.

She gathered her hairbrush and pins, the cap and nightdress and underthings from the chest of drawers. A dull ache settled between her brows and behind her eyes. She rubbed the tense muscles there and then clasped the trunk lid tight.

There, she was packed, ready to go. 'Twas a little trunk and didn't weigh more than a sack of grain. She hefted it in both hands and carried it down the corridor, passing the colonel's room.

She heard a clatter in the kitchen and set the trunk down out of the way of the door. What if that was Jonah? How could she face him?

He'd been so confident this could be fixed between them, judging by the way he treated her at the Hollingsworths'. Fixing her a breakfast plate, bringing her tea, and when he left, promising to check on her before nightfall. He worked hard to convince her he cared, that much was true.

But simple caring was not enough. Not now. Not with the way her heart ached for his touch, for all of him.

He'd made her love him with his acts of caring. Now such a bright affection burned in her heart, her days would be dark without it.

How did she deny her feelings? She could not embrace Jonah Hunter's idea of a practical marriage.

But 'twas Thomas in the kitchen, heating tea for Andy. From the dark warmth in his eyes and the set of his chin, he must know all that had happened. Aye, he'd probably known from the start, being Jonah's confidant.

What did he think of her? Did he look at her and see a woman desperate enough to imagine love where there was only resignation? To call home a place where she was only needed for her useful skills?

Recalling how she'd thanked him in the stable that day for coming to care for her mount and to run her errand, she blushed and could not meet his gaze.

"Here is more powder for Andy. Anya will be home soon to administer it. I have already told her how much to give him. And these are the herbs for the compresses. And this for the tea. Do not mix them. One is to help strengthen the blood, and the other to fight the congestion in his lungs."

Thomas took the offered packets, already carefully measured. "You will not stay and tend him yourself? Or does the Hollingsworth girl need you more?"

"I'll come and check on him, as I would anyone else." She took a step toward the door, staring hard at the floorboards. "My trunk is in the parlor. Will you see that it is delivered to my grandfather's home?"

"Are you leaving us?" How low his voice, and his kindness hurt-Aye, how it hurt. "This is not my home, not truly. Violet and my step grandmother have fallen ill, so I am welcome there for now."

"Then allow me to see you home." His hand settled on the doorknob before she could turn it. "If you ever have need of anything, and I mean it, then you come to me. Not because you saved my father's life, but because I will always consider you my sister."

Those were kind words, and she knew Thomas meant them. Somehow, she found the breath in her too-tight chest to speak. "The hardest thing about leaving is knowing I'll no longer have brothers to tease."

He laughed then, making her leaving easier. She stepped out into the sunlight and smelled spring in the air.


After leading the oxen in from the fields, he headed toward the house. Judging by the sun slung low over the treetops it was nearly suppertime. He wanted to drive Anya over to the Hollingsworths' to bring Tessa her meal.

The back door banged open to reveal an empty kitchen. Leather pouches sat on the counter near the hearth. He recognized them. Tessa used them to store some of her roots and things in. Had she been here?

Thomas was nowhere to be found. Father was in the parlor, reading.

"Heard that wife of yours is saving lives left and right again." Natural color was back in the man's face, and the snap of fight back in his manner. "I saw her leave with Thomas. I gave Andy the bird dropping tea, just like I promised. I made him drink every drop."

"How is he?"

"Feverish, but Tessa looked in on him. Thomas said she thought he had a light case, nothing to fear as long as we take good care of him." Father's nose turned toward his book. " 'Tis good to have a healer in the family. Will come in handy when your babe is sick, as babes are wont to be."