Chapter 50: Chapter Fifty

Three nights after Grace’s party, Jacob woke to a banging on his bedroom door. He tried to read the clock on the wall, but the room was pitch black.

“What is it?” he said.

“Something’s wrong with Grace,” Claire said. Even through the door, her voice sounded shrill.

“What is it?” he asked again, still stupid with sleep.

The bedroom door burst open, and Claire nearly fell over the threshold. She held an oil lamp in one hand. Her face was ashen under its glow.

“I don’t know, but I think she’s real sick. I heard her cryin’, so I went in there, and she’s all balled up in her bed like she’s hurtin’ real bad.”

Claire’s entire body trembled. Jacob hadn’t seen fear in her since they’d met in Virginia City. If Claire was afraid, Grace must truly be bad off. He leapt from his bed and shot down the hallway to Grace’s room.

The lamp near Grace’s bed was already lit, and Jacob could see his little girl curled in the fetal position under the pink-and-lilac quilt Mary had sewn for her bed. She faced away from the door, her dark hair fanned out behind her. The small hairs on the back of Jacob’s neck prickled. He dropped onto the bed next to her.

“Gracie?” He tried to roll her onto her back. The little girl cried out, and Jacob snatched his hand away. Carefully, he rested it on her cheek. She was warm, but not terribly so. Such a mild fever shouldn’t slow her down let alone leave her curled up like this. “Gracie, what’s wrong?”

“My tummy hurts,” Grace said, moaning. Tears squeezed out from the corners of her screwed-shut eyes.

“Your tummy?”

Grace nodded.

Jacob looked over at Claire, who hovered in the bedroom doorway holding his dressing gown.

“Any idea how long she’s been like this?” he said, taking the robe from her. He slipped his arms into the sleeves and knotted the sash.

“She was complainin’ of a bellyache all day, but I only just heard her a minute or two before I woke you.” Claire shifted her weight. “But she’s seemed a little off for the past couple days.” Her eyes widened. “Ain’t you noticed?”

Jacob thought hard. Grace had been clingy the past couple days. As soon as he returned home from work, she’d climb into his lap, and she even insisted on eating her supper from there. Or, rather, picking at her supper. Jacob never had much appetite anyway, but he did wish she’d sit in her own seat and let him eat in peace. Then there was her unusual tiff with Declan on her birthday. But that was three days ago. Dear God, had she been sick all this time and he hadn’t noticed?

The Minié ball kicked in the pocket of his dressing gown. Jacob cringed. For the first time in months, he’d sat up reading for a bit after Grace went to bed, and he must have left the bullet in his robe pocket.

He turned back to Grace and looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time in weeks. She wore her favorite nightgown, the one with the pale-yellow flowers, and she clutched her favorite doll to her chest. She shivered every so often as if a chill passed over her. Sweat glistened on her forehead, and her usually rosy cheeks were so pale they were nearly gray. Jacob’s blood ran cold. He had a horrible feeling he knew exactly what was wrong with Grace.

“She hasn’t been eating well, has she?” he said.

“No,” Claire said, a hard edge in her voice. “She’s barely eaten anything since her birthday. Woulda thought you’d noticed.”

The Minié ball snorted in his pocket.

Jacob clenched and unclenched his fists. He shouldn’t even examine her. He should send Claire right now for Dr. Titus. Or Dr. Cooke. Or any of the many competent physicians in town.

“Papa, can you fix me?” Grace said. She turned her head to look at him, and their eyes met. Those beautiful, bright-blue eyes he loved so much were filled with tears of pain and fear. He shouldn’t, but he would.

“It’s just an examination,” he said quietly. “That’s all.” He licked his lips. “Gracie, I need you to stretch out for me.”

“It hurts,” she said, whimpering.

“I know, baby, but it’s the only way I can figure out what I need to fix.”

Floorboards creaked behind him, and he sensed Claire looking over his shoulder.

“What can I do?” she said.

“Hold her hand. She won’t like this.”

Claire clutched Grace’s hand, and Jacob pressed lightly just to the left of the little girl’s navel. Grace sucked in her breath.

“I think that hurts her,” Claire said.

Jacob closed his eyes. “Not as much as I’m afraid this will.” He pressed to the right of her bellybutton, and Grace screeched and shot upright, almost smacking Jacob in the nose with her forehead. Tears leaked from Jacob’s eyes. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he said, his voice thick. He guided her back down and stroked her forehead. “I’m so, so sorry, but I had to know.”

“Know what?” Claire said.

Jacob stood, gripped Claire’s arm, and guided her from the room, promising Grace he’d be right back.

“It’s got to be appendicitis,” he said once he and Claire were in the hallway. Claire’s eyes widened.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve seen it dozens of times. Never in a child as young as Grace, but the symptoms are unmistakable.”

Claire’s chin trembled even as she creased her brow, clearly thinking hard. “Appendix’ll have to come out, won’t it?”

Jacob nodded. “And fast. She’s been sick for days. We’ll be lucky if that appendix hasn’t already burst.” His mind raced. Dr. Titus lived the closest, but he was getting up in years and had grown hard of hearing. They’d probably have to break the old man’s bedroom window to wake him up in the dead of the night. They’d have to summon Dr. Cooke instead. Jacob sized Claire up, trying to determine which of them could run to Dr. Cooke’s house faster. But he couldn’t escape the truth: Even Dr. Cooke might not be fast enough. Sweat broke out along his hairline.

“I’ll have to do it,” he said.

Claire jumped. “What?”

“We don’t have enough time to get another doctor here and have him start operating on Grace,” he said. “Even if we took Grace to the doctor, which would be agonizing in her condition, we might not get treatment in time. Any doctor will want to make his own diagnosis first. I’ll have to do it.”

A vision of Eleanor swam in front of him, and Jacob thought his throat might close up. He swallowed hard.

The Minié ball laughed. “Am I the only one who sees the problem here?”

Jacob’s heart sank as the realization struck him. “But I haven’t got any surgical tools. Will has them.”

A triumphant look flashed across Claire’s face. “No, he doesn’t. I’ve got them. Your tools, your medicines, the carbolic acid, everything. I’ll get them.” She tore down the hallway toward the kitchen.

His stomach roiling, Jacob followed her down the hallway, stopping in the parlor to stoke the fire. The night was chilly, and he needed to keep Grace warm. While he added several logs, he heard Claire’s feet thunder up the cellar stairs. She burst, breathless, into the parlor, Jacob’s leather bag clutched in her hands.

“Medicines are still down there,” she said, panting. “Be right back.” She dropped the bag on the rug and tore back into the kitchen. Her feet pounded on the stairs again. In less than a minute, she’d returned with a small crate, which she set gingerly on the floor near the fireplace. Jacob dropped to his knees next to it and quickly took stock of the contents. Everything was there: chloroform, laudanum, iodine, even his small pail of carbolic acid.

“I’ll clear the table and put down a sheet,” Claire said. “I’ll light all the lamps I can find too.” She sprinted the few steps from the parlor to the dining room.

Jacob stared at the crate of medicines and swallowed hard, fighting to keep his breathing steady.

“You can’t do this,” the Minié ball said. “You know you can’t do this. You’re pathetic and weak. Run for Dr. Cooke.”

“Infection could already be spreading,” Jacob said. He stood, and black spots floated in front of his eyes. He gripped an end table for balance. “We’re out of time. She’ll die if we wait for the doctor.”

“She’s going to die under your knife anyway.”

Jacob’s grip tightened around the edge of the table. “What did you say?”

The Minié ball laughed. “I said, she’s going to die anyway.”

Jacob sank onto the settee next to the table and ran a hand down his face. “Oh, dear God,” he said. A bark of laughter escaped his throat. “You’re right.” He ripped the Minié ball from his pocket and held it up. The flickering light from the fire glinted off its polished surface like the bullet was winking at him. His amusement turned to rage, and he gripped the Minié ball so tightly between his thumb and index finger that his fingertips turned white.

“She’s going to die anyway,” Jacob said.

The Minié ball laughed, but it was a laugh tinged with uncertainty. “Yes, I know. That’s what I just said.”

From her bedroom, Grace cried out for Jacob. “Papa, it really hurts!”

Grace’s wail cut through him, and Jacob’s lips curled back from his teeth in a vicious smile. “And if she’s going to die anyway, at least she’ll do it while being given a fighting chance to live.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” the Minié ball said.

“I think you know,” Jacob said. “You’ve known for a long time. Just wish I’d figured it out sooner.” He wrapped his fist around the bullet and stood.

The Minié ball wriggled in his fist. “Come on, Jacob. Don’t do anything you can’t take back.”

“I think I’m well overdue for doing something I can’t take back.” Jacob strode toward the fireplace and stretched his hand over the dancing flames.

The bullet twitched, and Jacob gripped it tighter.

“I saved you from yourself after the war,” it said, sounding desperate now. “You’re nothing without me!”

“Correction,” Jacob said. “I’ve been nothing with you.” He glanced down the dark hallway toward Grace’s room. “She saved me. And now I intend to return the favor.”

And with one quick, simple motion, Jacob opened his hand and let the Minié ball plummet into the flames. It bounced off the topmost log and dropped into the embers, already glowing hot from Jacob’s stoking.

He expected the bullet to scream or howl or curse him or… something. But it just rested there in the embers. Jacob stared in disbelief.

“I could have done that any time,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Any time at all.”

Grace cried out from her room. The Minié ball was already losing its shape from the heat, but Jacob didn’t have time to watch it melt.

“Enjoy life as a puddle,” he said and dashed away to his daughter.