After the Storm Read Online Free

the stairs.
    He tried to shake off his uneasiness but knew callers at this hour usually brought bad news. The last time someone had come out here after dark was to let him know about the diphtheria outbreak in Haven.
    Thunder sounded like the tolling of doom. Shaking off his grim thoughts, he tried to persuade himself that this visitor was probably the minister or Alice, coming back to retrieve something they had left behind. He glanced into the parlor, hoping to see a glove or an umbrella.
    Nothing but his treasured books and paraphernalia he had brought from Cincinnati. Including that ugly fountain. He was no longer sure why he had insisted on bringing it along. Self-flagellation had never been his idea of a good time.
    Samuel opened the door, just as a fierce gust of wind drove rain through it. He did not get wet because someone was standing on the other side. A woman, he realized in astonishment when lightning flashed to give a hint of her appearance. A woman he did not know. Her dark gown was so tattered it flapped in the wind. She held her skirt to her by pressing a small bag against her leg.
    â€œIs this Samuel Jennings’s house?” she asked, her voice slurred.
    Had she been drinking? He grimaced. There were tales of the drifters who looked for work during the harvest. They worked until they had enough money to buy liquor for a drunken spree. “Yes. Who are you?”
    â€œAre you Samuel Jennings?”
    He frowned. “Yes, but who are you?”
    The woman opened her mouth. No sound emerged, and she wobbled like a feather tossed about by the storm. Her bag fell to the porch and popped open, revealing a hint of something lacy inside it. He caught her as she collapsed. Her face pressed against his chest, her heated breath rapid and shallow through his shirt.
    Was she ill? If so, he could not allow her into the house where she could infect his children.
    â€œMiss?” he asked softly. “Miss, can you hear me?”
    She groaned, and her head lolled across him so heavily that he knew she had lost consciousness.
    Samuel did not hesitate. He could not leave her with the rabbit on the porch in a thunderstorm. If he put her in the parlor—and kept his children away from her—she might recover without passing on whatever was afflicting her.
    Lifting her senseless form into his arms, he was astounded to discover she must be almost as tall as he. Her kerchief had concealed the top of her head in the darkness. As her arms dropped along his, her ragged shawl drew back to reveal a worn gown that once might have been black. It was now a dull gray. Over it was a white apron, that was, in spite of the rain, unblemished and starched. Had she put it on just before she knocked? That made no sense. But then, neither did her swooning in his doorway.
    He kicked her bag into the house, so it would not get soaked, then carried her into the parlor and placed her on the sofa. A small sound came from her when her head touched the cushions. It could have been a moan or a sigh of relief. Her eyes remained closed, and her face was almost as pale as her apron. Pulling the blanket off the chair, he draped it over her.
    Now what?
    No one had ever taught him what to do when a strange woman fainted in his arms. Determined to find out if she was liquored up or sick, he put the back of his hand against her forehead. He yanked it back. She was as hot as the inside of a stove. What sort of fever had she brought with her? He needed to get Doc Bamburger out here, if the doctor had recovered from nearly dying after his own bout with diphtheria.
    Samuel turned to go into the kitchen to see what he could find to make a posset to draw out the fever but halted when he saw Brendan standing in the parlor doorway.
    â€œBrendan,” he ordered, “stay away. She’s sick and—”
    The boy ran toward the sofa.
    Samuel caught him and lifted him off his feet. Setting him down by the door again, he asked,