CHAPTER EIGHT
Cathy came back inside having hitched up her horse to the buggy. Tugging on a thick overcoat, she arched an eyebrow towards her guest and sighed, not liking the way he struggled getting dressed one bit. “Are you fit for travelling? The air is becoming sharp.”
“I’ll be fine,” he said. He’d managed to pull on trousers and shirt from her husband’s wardrobe she had so methodically laundered and repaired as he slept. He winced as he pushed his arm through a sleeve. “I can feel it. The infection. Smell it too.”
“Well, the doc will sort it, I am sure. I am thinking we cut across to Haven, which is closer. Doc Farlow is a smelly old goat, but he is a good doctor, so everyone says. After my man died, they all told me he is better than the doc over in Bethlehem.” She bit down hard o
