Page 39 - Fever 1793

the hum of insects in the barley fields along the road, and the beat of Grandfather’s heart blended into a lullaby.
I woke when the wheels stopped turning. I had to shield my eyes from the sun.
“Why are we stopping?” I asked. The farmer didn’t answer, but pointed up the road. The baby cried. Four horsemen armed with muskets blocked our way.
Robbers! I felt for the small purse hidden in my pocket and nudged Grandfather with my elbow. The
farmer let his hand drop to the knife handle rising up from his boot. The baby wailed and the horse shifted nervously in his traces. The riders advanced.
One of the men lifted his hat.
“Don’t be afraid, we mean you no harm.”
The farmers hand stayed on the knife.
“You are entering Pembroke,” said a second man. “Planning on staying here?”
“Just passing through,” said the farmer. “I’m taking these folks on up to Gwynedd, and the wife and me
are heading for her mother’s in Bethlehem.”
“We don’t have any money,” said the farmer’s wife.
The first man took a piece of paper from under his coat.
“We aren’t highwaymen, Ma’am. We have been authorized by the town council to keep out fever
victims. I have to ask you to step down so our doctor here can have a look at you. If you aren’t sick, you can pass through town. If you are, you’ll have to turn around.”
The farmer jumped to the ground. His wife handed their baby down to him, then hopped into the dust herself. I shook Grandfather to wake him. The doctor examined the little family, peering under their eyelids and looking down their throats. I shook Grandfather harder.
“Wake up,” I said. “There is a doctor who must see us.”
He didn’t move. Something twisted inside me. I pinched his nose.
“Grandfather,” I said, my voice louder. “Please wake up.”
“Is there a problem here, Miss?” The doctor walked to the side of the wagon. He opened one of
Grandfather’s eyes with his fingers. Grandfather woke with a start.
“What in the name of heaven!” Grandfather shouted. He broke off into a coughing fit. “Water,” he
croaked.
I looked at the men on horseback.
“Can he have some water, please? We have been traveling in the sun all morning.”
The men looked at each other and at the doctor. Grandfather stopped coughing and leaned back
wearily.
“I’m fine, child. I can wait until we get to the farm. I seem to have contracted a summer grippe.” He
tried to sit up straighter. “No need for further delay. Off we go!”
The doctor stepped back and covered his mouth with his hand.
“Take this man back to the city,” he commanded. “He is infected with disease.”
“No!” the farmer shouted.
One of the horsemen turned his horse and galloped away.
“Nonsense,” Grandfather said. “There’s nothing wrong. . . .” He broke off coughing again. I stared in
horror, first at Grandfather, then at the doctor.
“You must help him,” I cried. “If he is sick, you must help him.”
The farmer grabbed me under the arms, pulled me from the wagon, and threw me onto the road. He
and the doctor lifted Grandfather and deposited him beside me. King George squawked and circled above the commotion.