Free Her Healing Ways by Lyn Cote Page B

a girl, silently praising God for this new life.
    She nestled the baby into the mother’s arms. “Thee has a fine son, Mr. Chen Park,” she said. “What will thee name him?”
    â€œHe will be called Chen Lee,” the father pronounced, grinning.
    Mercy nodded. “Hello, little Chen Lee. Welcome to this world, precious child.”
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    Lon opened his eyes. Mercy was sitting in the chair beside his cot, smiling. The early morning light made her pale hair gleam with subtle gold. He admired the wide blue eyes that were looking at him with tenderness. The sight took his breath for a moment.
    He’d spent the war and the past three years in saloons, far from respectable ladies like Mercy Gabriel. Nonetheless, his whole self experienced thepull toward her, toward the glimmering light, toward home and hearth…and peace.
    He closed his eyes. Get hold of yourself, man.
    â€œGood morning, friend.” Her voice was low and velvety, kind to his ear. “Here’s some tea for thee.”
    Her hands slid under his shoulders and added two more pillows. He turned his face to let her palm cup his cheek. So stupid of me. He broke the contact.
    â€œDoes thee think thee can hold thy cup today?”
    He opened his eyes. “Yes.” He accepted the cup, trying to keep it from shaking. The fever still burned inside him and the cup trembled in his hand.
    She closed her soft hand over his, steadying it.
    He braced himself to resist the feeling of her touch, of connectedness with this good woman. But the fever worked against him. If he tried to hold the cup himself, it would fall and break. Better to just let her hold it. “You can do it,” he said ungraciously. He let his arm fall back to his side, free from her touch.
    She held the cup to his lips. He sipped and then said, feeling disgruntled, “You look happy.”
    â€œI am. I had the privilege of helping a beautiful little baby boy safely into this world. He is little Chen Lee.”
    From what he had seen of the way the Chinese were treated here in the West, where they had immigrated to build the railroads, he thought that someday this little boy would rue the day he was born in the Idaho Territory. If he survived.
    â€œI’m always happy when I deliver a baby alive and well. It’s such a marvel.” Mercy’s face glowed.
    He wanted to say something to bring her back to reality. He quoted harshly, “‘For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away.’”
    â€œYes,” she replied, “Peter wrote that. But Isaiah declared, ‘The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: but the word of our God shall stand forever.’”
    He cursed himself for bringing up a Bible verse. The idea of God was hard to let go of completely. But after four devastating, bloody years of war, if God was still there, Lon didn’t like him very much.
    â€œWhere’s Indigo?” he grumbled. Let the subject of man and God drop, Mercy.
    Mercy nodded her head as if acceding to his unspoken request. “She has gone to take a nap. I will watch over thee this morning.”
    â€œDon’t need someone watching over me.”
    The Quaker had the nerve to chuckle at him. “Thee will be better sooner if I am here to give thee tea, broth and maybe even oatmeal.”
    â€œSounds delicious,” he snapped and then took another sip of hot, sweet tea. It was appetizing and strengthening. He ground his teeth in seething frustration as hot as the fever he couldn’t shake.
    She chuckled again. “I know thee is the kind of man who doesn’t want anyone fussing over him. I will not fuss, but someone must see that thee hasliquid and nourishment often. Who else is there to do this, friend?”
    He had no answer for her. He had made certain that he developed no friendships here. Now he wished he had befriended someone,