“After that she had a bigger business than ever, in spite of a set-back or two, like old Mis’ Gerton’s rheumatism, and Brother Gilly Jones’s baby dying one night of the croup when him and Kate was praying over it and wouldn’t send for the doctor. Kate said that it was the Lord’s will, and the baby’s appointed time to die; and Brother Gilly Jones, being sanctified, and having eight more children anyhow, he agreed with Kate, and said he felt perfectly resigned; though Sister Jones, poor thing, never has got reconciled to this day.
“Of course those things never fazed Kate, and she was just on the top notch all the time, and going day and night. And every Sunday there would be testimonials in church about healings, and faith begun to take hold on both sanctified and sinner, till it actually got to the point that folks’ religion was doubted if they sent for a doctor. And when spring opened up, the doctor said his occupation was so near gone that he felt justified in going on that camp-hunt he had been wanting to make for fourteen years; so he made up a party of men—Masons and such—and went down on Green River for two weeks’ hunting.
“Well, you ought to have seen Kate that morning the doctor left. He wasn’t out of sight before she turned loose a-shouting over the triumph of righteousness, and over having actually run the devil out of town; and she held a thanks-meeting up at her house that night, and we had a full-salvation time.
“Kate invited me to stay with her while the doctor was gone; so I shooed my chickens down to ma’s, so’s I could have my mind free from worldly cares, and shut up my house, and went. We had a mighty joyful, edifying time for two days.
“The third night Kate woke me up sudden from a good sleep, about three o’clock in the morning. ‘Melissy,’ she says, ‘get up and light the lamp. I don’t know what on earth’s the matter with me,’ she says; ‘I feel awful, and have got all the aches there is inside of me.’ ‘For goodness’ sake, Kate,’ I says, rolling out of bed, ‘I reckon you are getting the grippe.’ She groaned. ‘It’s worse than the grippe, Melissy Allgood,’ she says; ‘I feel like I’m going to die.’ I lit the lamp and brought it over by the bed. ‘I do believe you have got some fever, Kate,’ I says. ‘I am eat up with it,’ she says, ‘and with aches, and have a terrible gone feeling all over. I tell you, Melissy, I’m an awful sick woman. Oh, what shall I do—what shall I do?’ ‘Do?’ I says, no little surprised. ‘Why, pray, of course.’ ‘Well,’ she says, kind of faint-like, ‘you’d better be about it.’
“I was a little outdone by her lukewarmness, but I got down on my knees and went to praying. Kate kept up a consid’able groaning. In about five minutes she says: ‘Get up from there, Melissy Allgood, and do something for me. I’m a terrible sick woman,’ she says. ‘Gracious sakes alive, Kate,’ I says, ‘there ain’t another thing I can do but anoint you with the oil.’ I run and brought the sweet-oil. ‘Take it away!’ she says. ‘The smell of it makes me sick! I won’t have it!’ I was completely dazed, and it seemed to me like the world was turning upside down. But what can you expect of a woman that don’t know what the feeling of pain is, and never had a sick day since she was a young child and got through the catching age? I fell down on my knees and went to praying again, not knowing just what to do. Kate stopped me again. ‘Melissy Allgood,’ she says, ‘are you going to let me lay here and die, and not stretch out even a finger to help me?’ she says. ‘Why, Kate,’ I says, plumb petrified, ‘you know I’m doing the very best that can be done.’ I says: ‘You must have patience and faith, and wait on the time of the Lord.’ ‘Oh!’ she says, fairly crying, ‘what on earth made the doctor go off and leave me? He might have known something would happen to me. He ought to have stayed here, where he belongs! He’d know what to do for me if he was here,’ she says. ‘He wouldn’t let his own dear wife lay here and die!’
“’Kate,’ I says, ‘you are wandering, the worst kind. I’m going after Mary Alice Welden.’ So I slipped on my shoes and dress and run down the street to Mary Alice’s, and we hurried back as fast as we could. I told Mary Alice that Kate was sick, and out of her mind to that extent she was calling for the doctor. Mary Alice said she certainly must be mighty bad off, and that we must pray with abounding faith, and be firm. When we got back, Kate was still a-groaning and crying. Mary Alice told her to cease her complainings and put her trust in One who was mighty to save. Then Mary Alice snatched up the bottle of sweet-oil that set there on the table, and started at Kate with it. ‘She won’t have it on her,’ I says, ‘it ain’t no use to try.’ ‘She’s got to have it,’ Mary Alice says, ‘whether she wants it or not. It’s a part of James’s directions.’ Kate begun to holler and throw out her arms when she saw the oil coming. ‘Take it away,’ she says; ‘it makes me sick!’ ‘You hold her hands,’ Mary Alice says, ‘while I pour it on her.’ So I set down and took a good grip on Kate’s hands, and Mary Alice poured the oil on her, and it went all over her face and head and the pillow, she kept threshing around so lively, and hollering till her mouth was full. Then Kate she cried and carried on, and said we were treating her shameful, and would be sorry for it when she was dead and gone: We never paid any attention to her, of course, but got down on both sides of the bed and went to praying as loud and earnest as we could, so as to drown the groaning. Then Kate said she didn’t want to be prayed for nohow, that what she wanted was the doctor. Mary Alice told her she was plumb out of her senses, and didn’t know what she was talking about. And Kate said, no such a thing; that she was a mighty sick woman, but she was in her right mind, and knew what she wanted, and that it was the doctor. She said the doctor was the only friend she had on earth. She said the doctor wouldn’t stand by and see her die and never lift a hand, and she knew it. She said he would know of something to give her that would ease them aches and pains, and let her die in peace. But she said of course if the doctor was there she wouldn’t need to die—that he would save her. She set up in bed. ‘Melissy Allgood,’ she says, ‘run over and tell your pa to mount his horse and ride for the doctor,’ she says, ‘and never stop till he finds him!’ ‘Land of the living, Kate,’ I says, ‘you know the doctor is thirty mile and more away, and nobody knows where he’s at by now.’ ‘Tell Mr. Garry I say not to stop till he finds him!’ Kate says. ‘And to keep life in me till he gets here,’ she says, ‘I want old Dr. Pegram, at Dixie, sent for immediate. He ought to get here in three hours’ time. You tell Tommy T. Nickins to take my mare and go for him, quick!’ she says. ‘And Mary Alice Welden, you go down in the cellar and bring me one of those bottles of blackberry cordial, to keep up my strength till Dr. Pegram comes.’
“Mary Alice and me were smitten dumb right there where we was at, on our knees. ‘Kate Negley,’ I got the voice to say, ‘are you sure them are your right-minded wishes, and not the devil speaking through you?’ ‘I tell you to do what I say, and hurry up!’ Kate says. ‘Do you reckon I want to die?’
“Mary Alice rose and walked out with never a word; but if I ever saw complete disgust wrote on anybody’s face, it was hers. I had to go down and get the blackberry cordial myself, and you ought to have seen Kate make away with it. Then I went out and started off Tommy T. and pa.
“Old Dr. Pegram was there inside of three hours, dosing out big pills for Kate to take every half-hour, and powders every fifteen minutes; and it looked like Kate couldn’t swallow them fast enough to suit her. Dr. Pegram told ma and me that Kate had a mild case of the grippe, and there wasn’t no earthly danger.