Page 100 - Fever 1793

“We tried to keep her in bed, it was clear she was still quite ill. We sent messages to every town we could think of, but those who bothered to reply had not seen you. Lucille was frantic. She rose at midnight and took one of our horses to search for you herself. We found her two days later, near death at the side of the road. It took weeks for her to recover.”
“I’m much better now,” Mother said.
Mrs. Ludington shook her head in disagreement. “We came when we heard that President Washington was returning. Lucille said that would be the sign that your Grandfather was waiting for. Where is the Captain? I didn’t see him when we came in.”
“He died,” I said flatly.
“Oh. Oh, my. I’m so sorry,” Mrs. Ludington said.
Mother looked into the fire. I waited for her questions, but there were none.
“Did the doctor prescribe any treatments for you, Mother?” I asked.
Mrs. Ludington jumped in. “She is supposed to live a life of leisure, those were his exact words. The
second attack nearly took her off to join your father. It damaged her heart.” She arched her eyebrows. “She won’t be able to run the coffeehouse anymore. She should sell it and buy a small house near us.”
Mother pressed her lips together tightly.
“We’ll talk about that later,” I said quickly. “Can I get you something to eat, Mrs. Ludington? Some stew?”
The farmer’s wife stood up. “I promised my husband I would return today, and it is a long ride back. I must
I tried to convince her to stay the night, or at least take a meal with us, but she was determined. She bent over and hugged Mother briefly, said good-bye to me, and left.
I peeked in the front room. A few customers had left; the rest were smoking their pipes and enjoying their conversation.
Mother coughed. “Is this your work or Eliza’s?” she asked.
“Mine,” I said as I sat down across from her. “I wanted to open again. Eliza wanted me to sell.”
The clock ticked.
“William is dead, then?”
The clock ticked again, then rang the hour. I waited until the noise stopped.
“Yes. In September.”
“Oh, Mattie.” Tears welled in Mother’s eyes. “Dear God, I was so worried. I couldn’t find you, no
matter where I looked. I searched and searched until I fell ill again. I couldn’t sleep, I was so afraid you were . . .”
“I’m fine, I’m fine. Shh. Please don’t cry. Everything is better now. I’m home, you’re home. You don’t have to worry anymore.” I drew up a chair next to her, and she leaned against my shoulder. I cradled her head in my arms until her sobs quieted.
“Tell me how you fared,” she said. “I can remember so little, and I’ve lost track of all the weeks.”
I told her everything, from the time the death cart dumped her at the front door to the first frost. I didn’t give her all the details of the intruders or the night Grandfather died. There would be time for that later when she felt stronger.
Mother’s eyes drifted back to the fire burning in the hearth. Her hands lay in her lap, withered and limp. I had never seen her hands stay still before. They had always been busy with cleaning or needlework or polishing.
I had a sudden sense of what was to come and I blinked away the tears. “Help me upstairs, Mattie,” Mother said. “I need to rest.”