The barn dance was in two weeks, and Lily’s eyes sparkled when she spoke of it. She couldn’t wait to show Jesse her new dress, and he felt glad that he’d been able to buy her something that made her so happy. He wanted to spend the rest of his life putting the smile on her face and the light in her eyes.
He himself felt happier than he had for years, so when sudden misfortune struck, it came as a hard blow. The day before the barn dance, Lily fell ill with a high fever and took to her bed. All of Jesse’s future plans suddenly became less certain and less important, and he was overcome with fear and worry over the present state of the woman he loved. His first wife’s illness and ultimate death had started with a fever, and he implored the heavens not to be so cruel as to take Lily away from him too.
He discontinued managing the saloon’s affairs, not minding whether the business failed or succeeded without him there, and expended every ounce of his energy on Lily’s care. Her parents were agreeable to his constant presence at the farm, which was good because he wouldn’t have accepted being apart from her anyway.
Throughout Lily’s illness, Jesse came to understand her parents better. He watched as Lily’s ma sat by her bed and dabbed her forehead with a wet cloth, worry creasing her own forehead into lines. She’d never been able to show her daughter affection or understanding, but Jesse saw that she cared for her child in her own practical way. Lily’s pa would walk into the room and study her, then gruffly ask Jesse what he could do to help. Jesse would ask for an extra blanket, request that he refill the water basin, or give him some other small chore so that he would feel less helpless. Even with the three of them dedicated to her care, they couldn’t avoid feeling helpless. They knew they couldn’t do much but wait it out and hope for the best.
Florence implored Jesse to play a few songs every night at the saloon, but he refused, and business suffered without his presence. Daniel could play some tunes on the piano, but he couldn’t sing. The patrons missed Jesse’s substantial repertoire of songs and his singing voice. Also contributing to the dwindling number of patrons was a boycott that Elijah’s supporters started. It grew into a significant number of people, since the temperance women and Elijah’s followers joined forces to picket outside of the saloon and harass the people who tried to get inside. None of that mattered to Jesse as he held Lily’s hand and listened to her labored breathing.
In Lily’s weak and fevered state, she regressed into childlike behavior, and Jesse stepped into the parental caretaker role with ease. Whenever she woke up, Jesse coaxed her to eat broth or porridge. He also helped her to the chamber pot and back. She felt too sick to be embarrassed.
Her eyes fluttered open in one of the rare moments her fever did not keep her engaged in fitful sleep, and her dazed expression found Jesse’s face. He reached out, removed the washcloth, and held the back of his hand to her forehead. Her skin was hot.
“Hello, sleepyhead.” Jesse dipped the cloth into the basin of cold water and wrung it out. “I want you to try to stay awake long enough to have some broth, all right?” He placed the cool cloth back on her forehead and ran the back of his hand down one of her flushed cheeks.
“I’m not hungry, papa,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper.
Lily hadn’t called him by his name for days, and he knew that by her calling him papa, it meant she felt vulnerable and in need of his loving but firm care. “I know, baby girl, but it will be good for you. I’ll be right back.”
He walked to the kitchen, ladled broth into a bowl, and walked back to the room. Her eyes followed him as he sat in the chair next to her bed. After he repositioned her pillows so that she was sitting up a bit more, he dipped the spoon in the bowl and filled it with the chicken stock. He brought the spoon to her lips.
She pursed her lips together and shook her head slowly.
“Come on, honey, just a few sips,” he coaxed.
“I don’t want it,” she moaned. Her lips formed into a pout, and she looked just like the stubborn, sick little girl that she was in that moment. She gave him a sorrowful look that softened his heart but did nothing to deter him from getting her to eat.
Jesse set the bowl on the table beside her bed. He took her hand in his, gave it a kiss, and said, “You haven’t eaten in two days, sweetheart. I expect you to be a good girl and do as I say.”
“I feel so awful, papa. Don’t make me.” Her pout became plumper as her bottom lip pressed out more.
He continued to speak gently. “You feel awful because you’re very sick and weak, which is why you need to eat something and not argue with me.”
She sniffled and continued to pout.
“Trust me to know what’s best for you, sweetheart.”