Ida kept her eye on Doc from then on. As far as she had seen, he kept hold of his unspoken promise to lay off the smoking, but his coughing fits came and went in the night and woke her each time. She would listen for his rattling breaths to even out before slipping back into a slumber. Ida began absentmindedly dog-earring pages in her herb guide that held remedies for aches and pains, coughing, and fever. The party had decided to stay near the banks of the creek, as it was likely an off-shoot of the San Pedro, so herb gathering became a necessity at every stop. One herb in particular, feverfew, held some promise; her mother had used it frequently to stave off fevers and aches when townspeople called on her, and Ida had used it to treat her mother's pain during her last days. Feverfew was very rare in Arizona, the herb guide told her, but it wouldn't be impossible to find along waterways. Ida found several unopened buds of the small white flower and plenty of leaves at a particularly lucky creek-side stop. She tied them to Ruby's saddle with small strips of cotton torn from a bandage. In Illinois, the plant took weeks to dry enough to crush them into powder, but the dry desert heat would dry them in days. Doc was worsening with each unfulfilling rest—Ida prayed the sun would be merciless.
It was a late afternoon when Wyatt drew his horse back from the others to match pace with Ruby. When the mare's agitated head-tossing was finally eased from Ida's soothing strokes, Wyatt spoke quietly.
"I don't know what you said to him, but it worked." He kept his voice low. "Thank you."
Ida looked down at her hands bashfully, but a proud smile crept onto her lips. "Of course, Wyatt. But I reckon he planned to stop anyway. That man only ever does what he wants."
Her brother chuckled. "You're certainly right about that."
Much to Ruby's clear disdain, Wyatt kept his horse, who he called Dick, at her pace—but Ida was exceedingly grateful for Wyatt's company. She didn't dare bring up Morgan, as much as she wanted to, for fear it would push him away. So she simply relished in what little laughter and conversation he extended.
"How's Doc been doing? I can't always tell from back here."
"He's hanging on, alright," Wyatt answered, "but I'm not sure if he's improved. He's so pale lately I swear I can see right through him."
Ida glanced down at the stalks of leaves and buds tied to the saddle. The unforgiving Arizona sun had made quick work of drying the feverfew.
"I think I'm going to try and get him to take feverfew in his coffee this evening."
Wyatt laughed. "Good luck. He got his education from Valdosta."
Ida recognized the name. A young man who courted her for a few weeks back home had returned to Illinois from Valdosta. His name was Oliver, and he was entirely pretentious. Even Wyatt had disliked his attitude.
"Then I suppose I will need it," she surmised.
* * *
As the sun dipped below the horizon and the party came to rest in a grove of mesquite trees, Doc's coughing became worse. Ida could see the pain only subtly in his sharp features as he tied his horse near the creek. He hid it well, but her practiced eye was no match for his charade. The sight, to her dismay, made her heart clench.
Ida took a clean tin cup and a creek-smoothed stone and used them to crush the herb into what resembled the remedies she used for tinctures back home. She filled the cup with coffee from Jack's pot near the fire, nodding a thank you to Jack who tipped his hat in return. The most difficult of the tasks would be to approach Doc, who had propped himself back against the willowy trunk of a mesquite tree. He looked to be asleep. His breathing was shallow, though, and his hands, which he had clasped in his lap, were white knuckled. His hat lay next to him, and Ida could see the sheen on his forehead. The ends of his hair clung together with sweat. She steeled herself and approached him.
"Before you suggest something, no—I have no need for assistance," Doc drawled without opening his eyes, his voice sounding strained.
"I just wanted to offer you some coffee."
Doc's eyes fluttered open at that. When he saw Ida's silhouette against the firelight, he began to try and push himself up off the ground. Funny he should show manners now, Ida thought.
"No, no—stay where you are." Ida spread her jacket on the ground in front of him and settled down on it. "It's a little late to begin treating me like a lady, don't you think," Ida quipped. Her wittiness was no match for his, but maybe, she thought, she could disarm him a bit before trying to force the medicated coffee.
"You wouldn't be bringing me coffee unless you had an ulterior motive, Miss Earp," Doc rasped as he settled back against the tree.
"Of course not. It has got an herb in it—it's medicinal. I just figured you needed something. You look terrible."
"Why, thank you, Darlin'," Doc drawled with a lopsided smile. The man looked ready to keel over and die, and still his sarcasm prevailed.
"Keep your head on your shoulders, Doc. Just do me a favor and drink this—maybe you'll feel good enough to sleep through the night without waking us all up."
Doc disregarded her jab. "What kind of herb are you poisoning me with this evening," he asked as he leaned his head against the trunk closed his eyes again.
"It's called feverfew. It should bring your fever down, and with some luck, relieve the pain."
With his eyes still closed, Doc raised an eyebrow. "You suppose so?"
"Yes, I suppose so. Just humor me, Doc. It can't hurt."
He opened his eyes slightly. "If I drink this, you'll let me light one." There was a smug grin plastered on his face. "Now, there's a fine deal."
Ida groaned. The man was stubborn, and he needed the medicine. She knew it would only be on his terms.
"You can smoke one. But please, just the one. And drink all the coffee."
Doc looked like he'd won a game a poker. He reached for the tin cup, which Ida gingerly handed over. The chill in the night air had grown worse in the little time she was sitting in front of him, so she stood, shaking the dust from her jacket and pulling it on.
"Let me know if you feel any different tomorrow, Doc." Ida watched as he gulped the coffee down. He was far too eager to get to that cigarette. He set the cup down in the dust with a hollow clink.
"You don't plan to monitor your patient, Miss Earp?" He raised his eyebrow. Ida might've said Doc sounded playful if his eyes weren't red-rimmed and mirthless.
"I figured you'd want some privacy." She gestured to the small box he had pulled from his inner pocket.
Doc didn't answer, just pulled out a paper coffin nail and placed it between his teeth before tucking the box back in his pocket.
"Would you be so kind as to light this for me, darlin'?" The cigarette dangled from his lips, slightly muffling his words. He reached up, taking the cigarette between his index and middle finger. He held it out to her expectantly.
Ida flushed. He had called her darling again, this time without the poignant sarcasm. She pushed through her flusteredness. Ida regarded the cigarette for a moment; she could watch the feverfew work as he smoked. He wouldn't be terribly difficult, either, as he'd be pacified. Besides, he wouldn't tell her anything about the feverfew tomorrow, just out of spite, so the best way to see its efficacy was up close and personal. Ida took the cigarette.
Ida's trip to the fire was no more than a moment as the cigarette lit quickly, but when she returned from the fire with the glowing cigarette, she found that Doc's breathing had evened out. She realized with some relief that he had fallen asleep; he wouldn't be getting that smoke after all. Yet the cigarette glowed in her fingers, begging to be used. Ida took a deep breath and sighed. The stress of the trail and the lack of adequate food and rest had certainly taken a toll on her. And the pang in her chest that rang each time she mistook Wyatt for Morgan. Oh how she longed to escape that hollow feeling. A girl who grew up in a town house had no business smoking, but neither did she have business with a group of vengeful men hunting the outlaws who took her brother's life. The damage was already done, she decided, and raised the cigarette to her lips. The first drag made Ida's breath catch in her chest, but she fought the coughs that crawled up. Doc's sleeping form stirred only slightly at the sound. She wondered what he'd say if he woke up. And then she wondered what Adelia would think. What she would bring up about their mother. Lord above, how Ida missed her family.
The smoke in her lungs began to lull her after a while, and she quickly realized the pull these things had on Doc—and a life like his surely had stressors beyond her understanding. While she couldn't find it in herself to withdraw her judgement of Doc's carelessness, she understood why he did it. She understood why Doc sought out anything that would keep him from his own thoughts. What was it like to know your days are numbered?
Ida was pulled from her thoughts when she heard someone clear their throat from behind her. She turned to find Wyatt's dark form.
"Shush, Wyatt, Doc's sleeping."
"You're... smoking." Wyatt's incredulous voice rose just above a whisper.
Ida hummed in response as she let the cigarette drop to the ground. She put it out with her boot heel. "I was."
"What in the world has gotten into you," Wyatt muttered as he drew to stand beside her.
"Grief, maybe," Ida murmured. She surprised herself a bit with her admission, considering the lengths she had gone to in order to avoid bringing it up to her brother. Wyatt crossed his arms and let out the breath he had been holding.
"You two've come to watch the show, have you," Doc muttered with a rasp. Ida nearly jumped out of her skin.
"How long have you been awake?" Ida questioned once she had gathered up her wits.
"Long enough to know you smoked my cigarette."
"You fell asleep," Ida defended lamely.
"I suppose so. We shall call it even, then. For the feverfew." Doc cleared his throat. "Wyatt, your sister is quite the nurse."
"That she is." Wyatt smiled proudly at her. "Just wish she had the same wits about taking care of herself," he quipped.
"Indeed," Doc chuckled lowly, "but she certainly would not be here were that the case, and I certainly would not be faring as well."
Ida could almost hear gratitude in his tone.
"Well, you'd best be getting sleep, now. We'll likely make it to the San Pedro tomorrow. There's no telling what's waitin'." Wyatt set his jaw with a kind of dark resolution Ida had only seen since she arrived in Arizona. That look had begun to make her afraid. She watched as Wyatt ambled on toward his own already made up bedroll. She stood, arms across her chest and jaw set, thinking of what lay ahead for the men. Would she have need for the wound kit? Would she watch men die? Would she still have Wyatt once it was all over? She was pulled from her spiraling thoughts by a strong but gentle hand on her arm. She hadn't heard Doc push himself up off the ground.
"Your brother's stubborn enough that death itself wouldn't dare try and take him. He will come home with you if only out of spite." Doc paused a moment, lowering his hand as she turned to face him. "And he's got me standing behind him." He cleared his throat. "I suppose I should thank you for the fact that I am, indeed, standing." The was a naked earnestness in his voice. It made Ida's heart skip a beat. Feverfew was a hell of a drug if it could make Doc forget his attitude. All she could give was a small smile in reply, before turning to escape. Her pack and bedroll weren't far enough from him to make her forget the burning in her cheeks. Doc wasn't a man who extended comfort, or allowed himself to be comforted. He wasn't a man to express any feeling, or response to the expression of others'. Yet, Doc was keen to observe the worry in Ida's tense form. And he had managed to ease her worries, albeit only slightly. The fact unsettled Ida to her core.
That night as Ida lay awake, looking up through mesquite branches at the wispy clouds coming and going across the star-washed sky, she listened, through the snores of the other men, for each of Doc's shallow breaths. She told herself, over and over, that it was for Wyatt—Wyatt needed the health of his men—as dread crept into her bones deeper than the frigid night air ever could.
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Author's Note
Hey, y'all! Here we are. Finally getting into some panicked feelings from Ida. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I'm still in the process of chapter five. It's definitely getting harder to string the story together, but I'm still at it. Thank you so much for your read!! :)