And then he developed a terrible cough and a putrid sore throat. For the next two weeks Elizabeth never left his side, spoon-feeding him willow bark tea, dogwood bark tea, honey water and beef broth which Abigail made up fresh every morning. That first night had been the worst. Sitting by the bed, watching him sleep like the dead, barely moving, Elizabeth had never felt so guilty in her entire life, or worried, or grateful. He had gone out because she was angry at him; then he had probably stayed out for the same reason, but then he had warned the Mathews despite the ferocious storm. How could she not love him for that? How could she not be grateful? Unfortunately, from what the Mathews had told everyone that night, he hadn’t arrived in time to warn them to leave the house, and poor Timothy Jr. had been crushed to death. They were in such a state of grief and shock they never questioned why Robert had come to the house or how he had known. Elizabeth hoped they never would. The weather stayed cold and wet for a week and the Mathews remained at the house because they had nowhere else to go.
