Page 41 - Fever 1793

CHAPTER TWELVE September 8th, 1793
Our inhumane neighbors, instead of sympathizing with us tauntingly proclaim the healthfulness of their own cities...
We hadn’t walked far before Grandfather shook with chills.
“Let’s rest a while under that chestnut tree, child,” he suggested.
I untied my apron and filled it with timothy grass until it formed a soft pillow for Grandfathers head. I
wanted to ask him what we should do next, but he was asleep again before I could say a word.
I bit the inside of my cheek to force back the tears. Crying wouldn’t help anything. I put my hand on
Grandfathers forehead. It was hot and dripping.
Think, I commanded myself. We have no food or water. We’re at least ten miles out of the city. It
would take hours to walk back, even if Grandfather felt well. It is just a summer grippe, I told myself. It is just a summer grippe. It had better be a summer grippe, because there is no way to care for him if he is truly ill. I ran my tongue over my dry lips. The first thing we needed was a drink of water.
I slipped Grandfathers canteen from his belt. His chest rose and fell steadily, and his heart thudded regularly.
“I’ll be back soon,” I whispered as I kissed the damp white hair above his ear.
I walked a few hundred paces south to where the road rose sharply. On top of the hill, I squinted along the horizon until I found what I was looking for.
A line of willow trees.
“Old soldier’s trick,” I said as I set off. Find a willow tree and you’ll soon find water nearby.
The stream was sweet and clear. I drank my fill and washed my face. It was much cooler under the
willow than it had been under the chestnut tree. Maybe I could convince Grandfather to move here when he wakes, I thought.
But first I had to find supper. A row of raspberry bushes heavy with ripe fruit lined the other side of the bank. I splashed over and started to pick the fruit.
“Raspberry bushes mean rabbits are about,” I told a curious bluebird watching from a milkweed plant.
Grandfather could snare a rabbit, and I’d cook it over a small fire. With fresh water and food, we could stay under the willow until he regained his strength, then head back to the city. Grandfather would recuperate at home with Mother, and I could care for them both. I ate a handful of berries. My solution was perfect.
“I have a plan,” I shouted as I ran back to the chestnut tree. I held my overskirt out in front of me to keep the raspberries from being crushed. The full canteen sloshed against my backside.
Grandfather slowly opened his eyes. I peered closely. His eyes were bloodshot, but they were not yellow. Good, I thought. Just a summer grippe. He pushed himself up to lean against the tree trunk.
“There’s my cherub,” he said. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me to face the enemy alone.”
“Here.” I fumbled with the canteen. “You need some water. You’ll feel much better.”
Water spilled along his withered cheeks and down his neck. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and
smiled.
“Better than German wine.”
—Letter of Ebenezer Hazard Philadelphia, 1793