Grace hurried to open the door.
Sure enough, Talako stood on the stoop, holding his hat in his hands. His old green pickup truck sat running in the drive. “I am in search of my wife,” he teased, glancing over Grace’s shoulder. “I figured she would be in here, gossiping.”
Opa laughed, moving past Grace to join her husband on the stoop. “We were not gossiping. I was merely dropping off the toys.”
Talako grinned in return. “I am only joking, my bride. Let us depart before the food grows soggy.”
Grace bade them farewell, closed the door, and made her way back to the laundry room to remove the clothes from the dryer.
Taking the freshly dried towels to the living room to fold them, Grace found her gaze straying to the box Opa had delivered.
She dropped the towels onto the couch and gingerly opened the box. Inside were dozens of small toys—everything from little red trucks to neatly dressed Barbies.
Her heart constricted as it always did when faced with the knowledge she would never become a mother.
Even adoption was apparently out of the question. Jasper seemed to feel that with everything going on with the missions, the responsibility of the church, and the constant traveling he did, they couldn’t possibly handle adopting a child. Besides, they had fostered a few children over the years, and it had always been hard on Grace to send them back to their families when the time came. And it always came.
There was also the problem of money. Though they didn’t have rent to pay, being the pastor of a church in such a small town definitely didn’t pay much.
Jasper picked that moment to arrive home.
“Looks like the rain’s about to return,” he announced, stepping into the living room and wiping his feet on the small oval-shaped rug.
Grace lifted her face for Jasper’s customary kiss. “That’s not good. The streets are nearly flooded as it is. Another inch or two of rain, and it’s going to be seeping under the door.”
“You’re the one who wanted to move here,” Jasper pointed out, kissing her offered cheek.
It bothered Grace that Jasper didn’t love the small village as much as she did. There was something about the place that endeared it to her. It had a comforting feel… A feeling of home.
Ignoring his comment about her preferred place to live, Grace finished folding the towels, closed the lid on the box of toys, and moved them next to the door. “Jasper?”
He poked his head around the corner from the kitchen, where he’d recently disappeared to. “Yes?”
“I’m heading back to Calhoun. I’ll be home before dinner.”
Jasper stepped into the living room, his hand resting on his hip. “You were just there yesterday. And the rain is starting up again.”
“I’ll be careful. Besides, I have some grocery shopping to do anyway. Two birds, one stone and all.”
Jasper didn’t respond. He simply stood there, staring at her with a blank look.
Grace gathered the box of toys, opened the door, and stepped out onto the stoop.
Why did it bother Jasper so much for her to visit the children’s home? Was he afraid she would start pestering him again about trying to become pregnant?
With an exasperated sigh, she sprinted through the lightly falling rain toward her car parked in the drive.
Chapter Four
Mud rolled over on her pallet, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. Her legs felt heavy, as did her eyelids.
Nausea soon appeared, forcing her to her knees. She scrambled over to one of the bowls used to catch rainwater and emptied the contents of her stomach. Her mama had been right… Storms did make a person sick.
Due to the rain, she had no choice but to relieve herself in the same bowl she’d vomited in. She would take it down to the swamp and wash it out later once the rain stopped.
Mud grabbed her worn orange blanket and wrapped it around her shivering shoulders. She stumbled over to the table to pour herself some water, drinking as much as her unsettled stomach would allow. Then back to the pallet she went.
How long had she been sleeping? Hours? Days? She wasn’t sure.
She shivered so hard her back began to hurt. In fact, every muscle in her body ached. But it was her chest that felt the worst.
Time seemed to stand still for Mud the longer she lay there, huddled on that floor, fighting the sickness that had her in its grip. She could feel the heat burning behind her eyes, yet the temperature in the room felt freezing.
Fever, that’s what her mama had explained to her, years ago when Mud had awoken with one. And she would give anything to have her mama there with her now.
Her eyes drifted shut.
* * * *
Mud turned over to her side, a moan slipping from her burning throat. It hurt to swallow, to breathe.
The need to vomit hit her again.
Pushing to her knees, she crawled to the door, moaning the entire way. She wasn’t going to make it.
With shaky hands, she reached for the rope holding the door closed, and somehow managed to release it before falling to the ground outside and heaving.
Nothing came up.
Mud dry heaved so long her ribs felt as if they’d cracked.
The shivering continued.
After what seemed hours, she managed to stagger to her feet and stumble back inside to retrieve her knife.
The bark of a willow tree was what she needed. Her mama had shaved some off and boiled it to break the last fever Mud had suffered with.
But the closest willow tree happened to be on the banks of the swamp. Which meant… She had to walk.
Mud couldn’t remember how many times she’d fallen to her knees on her way to the swamp. Her head ached almost as much as her chest did. But the nausea and shivering were uncontrollable.
She stopped in front of the willow tree and retched again, the bright green leaves of its branches fading in and out of her vision.
Panic began to set in. Mud reached for a limb to hold on to, when her legs suddenly gave out, and her world turned black.
* * * *
Voices. Mud could hear voices above her, next to her, behind her. Though the words made little sense, the urgency of them couldn’t be denied.
And then she noticed a humming sound, matched only by the vibration beneath her body.
Where was she? And who did the voices belong to?
The Devil! Mud thought in more than a little panic. The Devil had found her in her weakened state—her sickness.
But no, she’d killed the Devil long ago. Then why did he have her in his grasp now?
Terrified to her core, Mud began to fight. She couldn’t allow him to take her. She wouldn’t.
“Hold her!” the Devil growled from somewhere behind her head.
A woman’s voice broke through the madness, interrupting Mud’s desperate attempt to get away.
“I’m holding her as tightly as I can! I don’t want to hurt her. Drive faster!”
The woman’s voice, though anxious, sounded soft and full of concern. But how was that possible? Flora had explained that the people of the village were followers of the Devil. And this woman had to be from the village. There was no other place she could have come from.
Flora’s words abruptly slid through Mud’s mind like an oily film. “The Devil is sneaky, Mud. Don’t ever let him fool ya. He’ll make ya think he’s something he’s not. Trust me in this. I know him. He must never find you, girl! You understand? Never!”