Page 14

“Come, Granny, just one more sip.” Sara held a steaming cup of tea, a special blend of herbs she’d mixed to Granny’s exacting instructions.

Granny gave her a wan smile but didn’t lift her head from the pillow. “I’ve had enough, dearie. I do hate to miss the Sabbath service, but it can’t be helped.”

Sara chewed her lip, worry gnawing at her. Granny’s energy had always seemed boundless.

“Why don’t you go?” Granny reached out and grabbed her hand. “You can tell me about the sermon when you get home.”

“I... I don’t usually attend.” Sara picked up a basket of mending, hoping Granny would let the matter drop.

“You should.”

Sara sighed. She avoided church whenever possible. “I don’t get any comfort from it, so why should I go?”

Granny snorted. “It’s not about hearing what you want to hear. You go to hear what you need to hear.”

“What about the Learys’ youngest? You said you’d come look in on his fever today,” Sara said, hoping Granny would drop the subject of church. Besides, if anything could get Granny out of bed, it would be a sick child. “Maybe this afternoon, if you have a rest this morning?”

Granny made a noncommittal sound and closed her eyes, as though their brief discussion had sapped all her strength.

Fear rushed at Sara as her eyes traced the thin form on the bed.

Granny was the only person she had left.

She’d picked Sara up when Colin died and taught her how to live again. She couldn’t lose her.

Granny’s decline was so gradual that Sara hadn’t noticed it at first. She’d lost weight and slept more, but this was the first day she hadn’t gotten out of bed.

“You go,” Granny said, her eyes still shut.

It took Sara a moment to comprehend Granny’s words. “To the Learys? Without you?”

“You’ve come with me scores of times. You know what to do.”

“They want you . You’re the healer.”

Granny’s hand slid across the worn squares of the quilt to grasp Sara’s arm. “You’re a healer, too.”

Sara’s heart pounded, a familiar wave of panic rising in her throat. She never wanted to hold another life in her hands. Once was enough. “No, I’m not.”

“Ye are.” Granny’s voice took on something of its former astringency.

Sara turned away to tidy the breakfast tray. Granny didn’t know what she was asking. Sara accompanied Granny on sick visits whenever she could, partly to help the older woman, and because it fascinated her. But she wasn’t a healer. Colin’s death was proof of that.

“I’ve seen you with the sick.” Granny was nothing if not persistent. “You’ve a sense about you—you know what they’ll be needing.”

Sara swung around to face Granny. “What if I go and he doesn’t get better?”

“What if ye don’t go and he dies?” The tray tilted in Sara’s hands at Granny’s blunt words.

“The herbs you mixed for me’ll work as well as anything.

It’s fluids they need for a fever.” Granny raised her head off the pillow, her eyes refusing to leave Sara’s.

“It’s time you were using the gifts God gave you.

Now, go.” She collapsed back on the pillow, closing her eyes.

In the kitchen, Sara stood for a moment, staring at the collection of dried herbs that hung from the ceiling.

I can’t do this. She reached up and grasped a brown leaf, her hands unsteady.

It turned to powder between her fingers.

But what if it were Evie? She snapped off a few sprigs of feverfew and put them in a small cloth sack.

“Where’re you off to?”

Sara jumped and turned. Molly stood at the back door, her eyes darting from the herbs to the sack in Sara’s hand.

Sara cleared her throat. “The Learys. The youngest has taken sick.”

Molly snorted. “They’ve more where that one came from.”

Her cruel words erased the last of Sara’s hesitation. If she refused to help, she’d be no better than Molly. She scooped out a handful of elderberry flowers from the tin in the cupboard.

“They’ll have nothing to pay you with, you know. Don’t know why Granny bothers.”

“Granny’s not going. Just me.” Granny wouldn’t accept payment, in any case. Not from a family as poor as the Learys.

“She still feeling poorly?”

There was no worry or compassion in Molly’s voice.

Just a curiosity bordering on eagerness that turned Sara’s stomach.

Sara jammed her cap on her head, pushed past Molly, and out the back door.

If something happened to Granny, Molly would kick Sara to the curb.

There were plenty of tenants who could pay more.

It wouldn’t come to that. She’d find another position and get Granny out of Irish Town. She’d pay for a doctor, too.

Sara arrived at the Learys to find the front room awash with mourners.

She was too late. Two-year-old Sean’s pale form was laid out in the living room.

His mother sat beside him, her eyes wide and vacant and her body swaying back and forth in time to a funeral dirge only she could hear.

Sara looked away, tears of sympathy springing to her eyes. No mother should face this.

The Learys’ older children stood around their mother, their faces gaunt with loss and hunger.

Sara scanned their faces for signs of illness.

It was certain to spread when people lived so close together, in a home meant for one family that now housed five.

If only the people of Irish Town could earn a decent living.

Clear a farm and create a life for their families.

All they needed was what they’d been promised when they’d boarded a ship to leave everything familiar.

All they got was the same grinding poverty they left behind.

Her eyes landed on Mr. Leary, standing stern and tense across the room. He took one look at Sara and strode to her side.

“Where’s Granny O’Connor?” he said, cutting off her words of consolation.

“She’s ill. She sent me... I—I’m sorry I’m too late.”

“Not too late for Jennie. She’s in there.” Mr. Leary waved a weary hand toward the dingy kitchen where a five-year-old Jennie lay on a mat on the floor. A bright red rash spread up her swollen neck.

Sara made tea, then bathed the little girl with cool water.

At first, her movements were slow and hesitant, and her hands trembled as she wiped the cloth over Jennie’s forehead.

What if she somehow made it worse? When the tea cooled, she managed to get the little girl to swallow small sips.

Keep them cool and drinking every chance you get.

Sara repeated Granny’s rules to herself as she got to work. She could do this.

As the hours slipped by, Sara was dimly aware of the songs of the mourners in the next room and Mr. Leary’s restless pacing.

By evening, Jennie rested comfortably, her fever down.

Sara let out a long breath as the girl slipped into a natural slumber.

Her color was better. She’d even opened her eyes and asked for her rag doll. All signs pointed to an improvement.

“Bless you, Sara O’Connor.”

Sara looked up to where Mr. Leary had joined her. He looked down at his sleeping daughter and a tear slid down his cheek.

“I don’t figure we could bear to lose her. Not after little Sean.” He flexed his hand and reached down to smooth the hair back from his daughter’s face. “I reckon it’ll help Maudie, too,” he said. “Would you go tell her Jennie’s on the mend? She’ll believe it better from you.”

Maud was alone in the front room, staring down at her hands. As Sara approached, she saw the woman held a small cap that she twisted round her fingers. Her pain was almost palpable.

“Maud?” The woman gave no response, though her hands stilled, the knuckles growing white as she clutched the child’s hat. “Jennie’s better.”

Maud’s head jerked up. “Better?” Her voice was a low rasp. She stood and took two quick steps forward. “She’s better?”

Sara nodded. “She’s sleeping now. I think she’ll be all right.”

Maud’s face crumpled. “Oh, thank God. I... I couldn’t have borne to lose another baby.”

She rushed to Jennie’s side, her relief seeming to snap her out of her paralysis.

Sara saw Mr. Leary curve his arm around his wife’s shoulders.

Saw Maud lean her head on his chest. Despite the tragedy of this day, Sara felt a flicker of hope.

You’re a healer, too. For the first time, Granny’s words didn’t feel impossible.

It was late by the time Sara crept back into her makeshift bed in the corner of Granny’s room. She was so tired that she only removed her shoes before stretching out on her pallet.

“Well?” Granny’s voice carried across the room, making Sara jump.

“He was already gone.”

“Oh, the poor little mite.” There was a moment of silence, heavy with loss.

“But his sister will recover, I think. The rash hadn’t spread far, and she could still swallow.”

In the gloom, Sara saw Granny’s head lift from the pillow. “The rash, was it red?”

“Yes.” Sara didn’t elaborate. She didn’t need to. Granny knew as well as she did what that rash meant.

Sara had a feeling she’d better sleep while she could. She’d seen scarlatina before and she knew one thing for certain. Where there was one case, there would soon be more.

“Still no word from your young partner?” Osgoode leaned through the doorway into James’s office. Most barristers in Toronto kept their offices above the courthouse. It was convenient, but James couldn’t help but wish for more privacy.

James looked up from the notes he was making for his next case, his body tense. “No.” He didn’t elaborate. The less Osgoode knew of Andrew’s whereabouts the better. Besides, none of James’s inquiries had yielded answers.