Home to Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 3) by Nanette Kinslow Page A

down the sides of his face.
          “Don’t take me,” he murmured to the angel. “I’m not ready. I want to go home. I need to go home to Stavewood.”
     
          Colleen slipped her hand behind his head and tried to spoon some soup into him quickly while he seemed somewhat conscious. She saw that he swallowed several mouthfuls and then she poured tiny sips of water into his mouth. He would swallow a mouthful and lay muttering, but he made little sense. She had never heard of this place, Stavewood.
          When he had completely lost consciousness again she went back to the house and returned with several more blankets. She fashioned a bed in the straw, piling it together in a kind of a mattress and tucking a blanket in around it.
          She pulled off his heavy boots and wet socks, noticing that the stockings were finely handmade. Someone had taken their time with the exceptionally spun wool and fashioned them for him. Colleen rolled him from side to side, while he muttered and she removed his jacket and shirt. She had undressed her father many times when he took his winter chills after several wet days of delivering, but the young man’s body was not worn and wrinkled like that of her aged father.
          His chest was smooth and torso long, one side stained with blood. She washed him quickly and shoved his arms into a wool shirt she had taken from the house. When she had bathed and redressed most of him she got down on her knees and heaved him onto the makeshift mattress. She situated him as best she could and tucked more blankets in around him and arranged his head so she could look at him in the lamp light.
          His color had returned a little. She laid the back of her hand against his forehead. His fever was low, but she knew it threatened.
         Colleen studied his clothing. Every piece was finely made. These were not the worn rags of the people from up the mountain. Although they were muddy and torn in several places she could see they were expensive. She lifted one of the stockings and inspected it closely. The needle work was fine and the stitches even. Colleen could knit a simple garment, but had never worked with wool spun so fine and thin. She could handle a hook well to make a bit of Irish crochet, but these stockings were handmade by a talented knitter. Someone cared for him, perhaps a wife or maybe a sweetheart. She looked back at his face. He was handsome, she thought. Someone somewhere must love him.

 
     
    Chapter Fifteen
     
     
          B enjamin Neilson checked the office again after lunch and shook his head when he saw that the young men had still not come in to work.
          He was not surprised. He had been more amazed that, although the Elgerson boy had his father and his father’s money behind him, he still chose to show up for work promptly every morning. His companion was a nice young man, but more likely to daydream a bit or want to finish the day a bit early. Mark Elgerson stayed for every minute, kept his lunches short and never missed a day, even, Neilson suspected, after a night of drinking. Lillian from the boarding house had mentioned that the boys would leave overnight often and return smelling of liquor.
          “Of course,” he had told her. “They’re young and away from home. Let them enjoy themselves. Soon enough there’ll be wives to spend their money for them and babies to feed. They’ll only be here for a few months. Let them enjoy themselves.”
          He knew that if they didn’t show up before too long he could head over to the boarding house and gather them up, but decided to let them sleep it off. They’d come around eventually, he figured.

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Sixteen
     
     
          C olleen gathered up her patient’s soiled clothing, checked every pocket and tied it into a neat bundle. If she mixed it in with her father’s things he may not notice when she washed it, but she would have to hang