UNBROKEN PROMISE

~87~ SICK

The morning sun peeked through the curtains, casting a pale light across the bedroom walls. Oma stirred first, her body sore, but something felt off, Logan felt unusually warm beside her. She frowned, shifting gently so she could look at him.

He was flushed.

She reached over and touched his cheek. It was burning.

“Logan?” she whispered.

He groaned low in his chest, pulling the covers tighter. “Mm?”

“What’s wrong? You're breathing funny” she asked softly, brushing his damp hair off his forehead.

He turned his face toward her and sighed. “Reckon I caught a cold…”

“Oh” she murmured. “I’m sorry.”

He gave a faint nod, sniffling. A moment later, he cracked one eye open and looked at her groggily. “How come I’m the one laid up, and you’re just fine? You’re the one near drowned yesterday.”

She gave a little shrug. “I guess Mama Becca’s tea works.”

He groaned and shifted again. “Should’ve drank it when she offered.”

“You should’ve,” she said gently, smoothing her hand over his chest. “You sound awful.”

He shivered and tugged the quilt up higher, burying himself deeper beneath the covers. “Feel downright miserable,” he muttered. “Everything aches.”

“Me too,” Oma murmured sympathetically

He turned his head toward her again. “You?”

She nodded. “My bottom,” she said plainly. “Still sore. Feels like a thousand little needles every time I so much as move or try to sit down.”

Logan shook his head slowly. “Well, I sure ain’t movin’. Can’t get outta bed even if I tried.”

He coughed then, deep and rough and winced, placing a hand over his chest. Oma’s face tightened with concern as she gently rubbed over his sternum.

He exhaled sharply, wincing. “My head’s heavy, I ache all over… and I’m cold even with all these blankets.”

“I’ll be back ,” she said, starting to move off the bed.

“Where you goin’?” he asked groggily, his voice scratchy.

“To the kitchen. I’m going to make something to help you feel better.”

He nodded faintly, eyes already fluttering shut again. “Alright… jus’ don’t take too long, darlin’.”

A little while later, Oma returned with a warm mug cupped carefully in both hands. She sat beside him and brushed his shoulder until he stirred.

“Logan,” she said softly. “Sit up for a bit, love.”

He groaned but obeyed, slowly pushing himself upright against the pillows. “Smells strong.”

“It’s herbal tea made with ginger, chamomile and lemon. My papa made something like this for me when I was little and had a cold.”

He blinked at the mug and scrunched his nose. “Ain’t gonna lie—I was hopin’ for somethin’ sweet.”

She smiled faintly. “I put some honey in it.”

That seemed to soften him a bit. He took the mug, sipping slowly, then gave her a crooked look. “Still tastes terrible.”

She laughed. “It’ll help, I promise.”

He drained half of it, then handed it back and leaned back with a sigh. “It’s worse than I thought. My whole body feels weak… like I been trampled by a team of oxen.”