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Algernon pretended to faint in horror. “Say it isn’t so!”

Cynthia giggled. “Get better soon, Dad.”

He pressed his fist against his chest like a soldier preparing for battle. “I wouldn’t dare not recover, with four beautiful ladies depending on me!” He coughed yet again, even harder this time, his body wracked with the deep hacking spasms.

“Algernon, I really do think we should send for the physician. You aren’t well.”

“Don’t worry, dear. I am sure it is just a cold. A couple of days of rest and I will be right as rain.”

CHAPTER 33

It wasn’t just a cough. By the next day, Algernon was unable to eat or drink anything, and was coughing hard enough to bring up blood. I ran to town for the doctor. Cynthia and Mother stayed by Algernon’s side, trying in vain to get him to sip fluids.

When I returned with the physician, Comfort met us at the door with a strained expression on her face. “You better hurry,” she told the doctor.

The doctor stayed all that day and night, and into the next day. Despite the doctor’s best efforts, Algernon was failing. He had a raging fever that would not break no matter what we tried. Then the hallucinations began. Algernon would talk endlessly to people who weren’t there. Cynthia remained steadfastly by his side the whole time, trying her best to talk to him and make sense of what he was saying.

Finally, the doctor pulled Mother to the side. “Madam, I must be frank. I have seen this illness only a few times before.”

“Has anyone recovered?” Mother asked quietly.

The doctor slowly shook his head. “I am afraid not, madam. I am sorry.”

Mother drew a shaky breath. “How long?”

“One day. No more. This is a fast-acting disease.”

Mother nodded, her chin quivering. “Thank you for telling me,” she looked past the doctor into the room where Cynthia was beside her father, placing cool cloths onto his forehead and listening to him jabber on, asking an unseen blacksmith the prices of horseshoes.

Algernon died the following morning. I had fallen asleep on the sofa outside Algernon’s room and was awakened when I heard Cynthia cry out, “No! No, no! Dad!” her strangled cry echoed throughout the house.

Cynthia burst out of the room, flew past me, and ran out the front door, sobbing. I looked into the room. Mother was there, sitting beside the bed, holding Algernon’s limp hand, tears pouring down her face as she silently wept.

I walked slowly into where Mother sat and began rubbing her back, but she gave no indication she even noticed me. “I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t move. Comfort bustled in and led me out, shutting the door behind us. “Let them have privacy,” she told me before chivvying me toward the front door.

“Where are we going?”

Comfort marched toward town. “We have to prepare his funeral.”

I didn’t know the first thing about preparing a funeral but Comfort did. I supposed she had learned after Father’s death. She took charge in the same commanding way she had done when Mother and I had fallen to pieces. It seemed that any time a crisis arose, Comfort rose to meet the challenge head on, never faltering, no matter how daunting the task seemed. We visited person after person, arranging for a priest to officiate at the funeral, asking women in town to donate flowers from their gardens, paying the tavern owner to board guests in his inn above the local tavern, and paying for the doctor’s time.

It seemed that the errands went on and on. One person needed to oversee collecting my stepfather’s body and another to carry out the cremation properly, another to go help Mother, and yet another to help with closing all of Algernon’s business accounts and settling debts, which were far greater than I had ever expected. By the end of the day, my feet ached, and I felt utterly exhausted, despite Comfort being the one who had done all the talking and coordinating.

I wearily trudged home beside my sister, who frequently bit her lip and fidgeted with the coin purse in her hand.

“Don’t tell Mother,” began Comfort. “But it took almost everything we had to settle Algernon’s business debts and pay for his funeral.”

A knot twisted in my stomach. We had never had to worry about finances before. “What will we do?”

Comfort set her jaw, determination blazing in her eyes. “We will cross that bridge when it comes. I will figure it out. Mother has enough to worry about right now.”

“You always figure things out,” I said encouragingly. But I saw the worry lines etched deep into Comfort’s face. “What about Cynthia?”

“Let her grieve,” Comfort stated simply. “She will need some time, just like you did. But she will have to help when the money runs out, the same as us.”

She sighed heavily then gave me a small, sad smile. “Don’t worry too much, sis. We have a little left, and I can sell some things to keep us afloat for a few more months. No need to panic yet.”