“I don’t think so.” The others hadn’t been afflicted with fever, nor had they been delirious. They’d been miserable to be sure, but by morn they were through the worst of the ordeal.

Sarah’s symptoms were different. Mercy ran her hands down the girl’s arms and across her back. The fever radiated from the girl like water boiling on the hob.

“She’s in a bad way, Mercy,” Ann whispered. “I ain’t never seen her so ill.”

“Bring me the water pitcher,” Mercy instructed as she began to unlace Sarah’s nightshift.

“I’ve already been cooling her with a rag.” Ann pressed a cold cloth into Mercy’s hand. “She needs the doctor, that’s what.”

Mercy nodded. Joseph. She’d seen little of him during the rest of their stay in the Falklands. He’d knocked on her cabin door a few more times in the early morning hours to deliver fresh eggs, a loaf of bread, more oranges, and even some soap.

The girls were delighted with each of his gifts, and she had been too. Though she’d wanted him to linger, she didn’t encourage it. And he hadn’t stayed, as if he’d finally resigned himself to abiding by the strict rules that kept them from socializing.

Joseph had checked on the sick women the previous night but was gone by the time Mercy went to care for the ailing ladies.

“I’ll go fetch the doctor,” Ann said. Before Mercy could protest, the girl was out the door.

Mercy knew Ann was right. They needed Joseph. Even so, Mercy’s heartbeat began to thud at the prospect of being near him. She couldn’t deny she longed for his presence, dreamed about him, and hungrily took him in each time she glimpsed him from a distance.

Sarah cried out again, and Mercy dipped the cloth in the cool water and bathed the girl’s face. She’d cared for plenty of sick children and knew, at the very least, she had to bring the fever down.

“There, there, my lamb,” she murmured as she sponged the girl’s forehead.

Only minutes later, the door opened, and Joseph rushed in along with a gust of cool night air. His shirt was askew and only buttoned halfway. Her face heated at the memory of the first time she’d brought Sarah to his cabin and she’d caught him in a state of undress.

He knelt on the floor next to her. Even as she moved to give him space, his presence overwhelmed her. He was close enough that she could almost feel the strength in his arm as he pressed his fingers against Sarah’s pulse.

“What are her symptoms?” he asked without preamble. When tending patients, she’d learned he was single-minded, almost brusque in his determination and devotion. And she liked that about him.

“Fever and vomiting,” Mercy answered.

“Did she voice any other complaints?”