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"Gavin!"

Gavin, shocked himself, lowered Jefferson to the bed and then put his ear to Jefferson's little chest.

"His heart's beating very fast."

"We've got to get him to a doctor . . . to a hospital!" I cried.

Frantic now, I ran out of the room and screamed as loud and as hard as I could.

"Help! Help! Aunt Fern! Aunt Charlotte! Someone!"

Aunt Charlotte came running out of her bed-room, Luther pulling up his pants as he followed quickly behind.

"What's wrong, dear? What's wrong?"

"It's Jefferson! He's very, very sick. He's passed out," I said and began to cry. Luther went in to see.

"What the hell's all the noise?" Aunt Fern cried, sticking her head out from her doorway.

"It's Jefferson. He's sick," Aunt Charlotte told her.

"Oh no, not that again. So keep giving him aspirin and stop shouting. There are two people who need their beauty sleep down here," she complained and slammed the door.

"Luther wants us to take him to the hospital right away," Gavin said, emerging. "He says he's seen this before."

I looked at Luther who stood behind him, his face full of concern, his eyes dark, the lines in his forehead and temples deep.

"Oh Luther, what is it? What's wrong with my little brother?"

"Can't be certain, of course," he said slowly, "but it looks like what happened to my cousin Frankie thirty-odd years ago after he cut himself on a rusty plow blade."

"What . . ." I asked, my heart hesitating, my breath caught. Gavin and I looked at each other. "That cut on his leg," I said. Gavin nodded. I turned back to Luther. "What happened to your cousin, Luther?"

"He caught tetanus," he said and shook his head. He didn't have to continue. I knew that meant his cousin Frankie had died. Terrified, I hurried into my room and scooped up my clothing. I dressed quickly, my hands shaking the whole time, and then Gavin and I bundled Jefferson in his blanket. Gavin carried him out and we started down the corridor to the stairway. All the while, Jefferson never opened his eyes, never uttered a sound. My heart was pounding as I walked behind them. I kept my head down.

This was all my fault, I realized. If I hadn't run off and dragged my little brother with me . . .

The curse wasn't on him, I thought; it was on me, on my side of the family. I had no right to pull him under the same dark clouds and expose him to the same hard cold rain. Everything and everyone I touch suffers eventually, I concluded sadly.

"Oh dear, oh dear," Aunt Charlotte said, walking beside me and wringing h

er hands. "The poor little boy."

"What the hell's going on?" Aunt Fern called from behind as we reached the top of the stairway. Luther had already gone down and out to bring the truck around front. I didn't feel like saying anything to Aunt Fern and neither did Gavin. We ignored her and continued down the stairs.

"I'd better get some coffee up here soon!" she screamed.

"Don't you give her anything, Aunt Charlotte," I said when we reached the bottom of the stairs. "Don't even give her a glass of water. She doesn't deserve it."

Aunt Charlotte nodded, her attention and concern more on Jefferson. She followed us out to the truck.

"You sit with him up front," Gavin said, "and I'll sit in the rear of the truck. Get in first and I'll hand him in," he directed. Luther came around to help, but Gavin had firm control of it all. He placed Jefferson gently into my lap. I cradled his head against my bosom and rocked him as Luther got back into the truck.

"Oh dear, oh dear," Aunt Charlotte said, standing aside and wringing her hands. Gavin hopped on and we started down the bumpy driveway.

"Gonna hafta go all the way to Lynchburg," Luther said. "That's the nearest hospital and that little boy needs a hospital now."

I didn't reply. I tried to swallow, but couldn't. All I could do was nod and stare down at my little brother's sickly face. His lips were open very slightly, but his eyes were fully closed, the eyeballs still.