Immediately, the mother began babbling happily in Portuguese. She stood to make room for Caroline, who sat on the bed and took the boy's face in both of her hands.
"She say thank you, Senhora. You save her son's life and she say you have great magic."
"No," Caroline said sharply. "No magic. Tell her I accept her thanks, but I did no magic. His body healed itself, with God's help."
His skin felt cool to the touch, and his breathing sounded almost completely normal. "Amazing!" she murmured, unable to believe her own eyes and hands.
Examining him, Caroline found that his lungs had cleared almost entirely and his fever was gone, as were the red pustules. She then turned to examining the mother, who had developed a full-blown case of measles.
Caroline reached into her medical bag and withdrew a bottle of quinine. She found a chipped china cup stacked in a corner of the room and poured about an ounce into it.
"Tell her to do exactly as I say," she said to Ines. "She and her son can go home, but she must rest until the rash goes away. This is quinine." She spoke to Ines as she handed the cup to the woman, and Ines translated.
"Mix a pinch," she demonstrated, taking a small amount of the powder between her thumb and index finger, "with this much water. Take it twice a day until the rash clears. Ines, the rest of her people have got to get help."
Ines stopped translating and gazed guiltily at Caroline.
"Why won't you let me help them?" Caroline asked.
"Senhora, what can you do? You will leave in the morning."
Pain clutched at Caroline's chest. She'd almost forgotten. The problem with the mail boat had been repaired and the captain planned to leave at first light. "You're right," she said, her shoulders slumping in abject defeat. "Let's go back to the house. You can bring them some food to take back with them."
"Sim, Senhora," Ines agreed, and they turned to go.
When they reached the house, they saw Jason at the edge of the courtyard, surrounded by a stand of fan palms, their fronds rustling in a gentle, cooling breeze. His bewildered, forlorn expression tugged at Caroline's heart. He reminded her of a lost little boy, standing there beneath a distant moon, gazing at the house he'd built with his own hands as if he'd never seen it before.
"What will we do?" Ines whispered.
"You go around the house to the kitchen," Caroline said, pressing her medical bag into Ines's hands. "I'll distract him."
Ines gazed at her dubiously, as if she didn't particularly like that plan, but she did as she was told, and Caroline studied Jason again.
He seemed so vulnerable, standing there in the moonlight, so fragile, despite his physical size and strength. She remembered his powerful grace, his masculine beauty as he'd showered at the beneficio. That powerful body housed a brittle soul. How she longed to reach that soul, to mend his bruised heart.
He wouldn't allow himself to suffer, to grieve the losses he'd experienced in his lifetime. Yet he suffered for his people. He'd suffered for Ernesto's parents and for Vincente who had been injured because of his own carelessness. What a terrible weight of responsibility he bore!
What was he thinking? If she could understand that one mystery, perhaps she could find a place in his heart and his life. But she couldn't read his eyes in the darkness, and she knew that if she approached him now, his melancholy would instantly give way to anger.
Ines had been right about one thing—Jason Sinclair was the most private, withdrawn man she had ever encountered. The more she tried to break through his reserve, the more he withdrew. She could hardly blame him, after the way he'd described his early life. A child needed emotional nourishment in order to grow, and Jason's emotional growth had been stifled, his spirit all but extinguished by a life of poverty and cruelty. The only way he'd been able to survive was by burying his feelings so deeply that no one, least of all his brutal father, could dig them out.
"Who's there?"
His voice startled her so that her heart leaped into her throat. She'd tried to be still and quiet, but something had alerted him to her presence. It was as if he possessed some special affinity for the jungle, a kinship that had allowed him to distinguish her minute noise from the usual nighttime sounds.
"Show yourself," he demanded, the threat in his voice