Page 50 - Fever 1793

concentrating on the next jaundiced face.
“What’s the trouble, love?” asked Mrs. Flagg as she brought a dinner tray. As I poured out my
concerns to her, she tucked a napkin under my chin.
“Too many questions. You’ll make yourself sick again. There is only one thing for you to worry about:
finishing this here meal. You won’t be leaving here for a few days at least. You can’t solve tomorrow’s problems today, but you can put some meat on those skinny bones.”
I nodded and dug into my supper. It didn’t take long to finish the small portion of mutton and bread. When it was gone, Mrs. Flagg handed me a bowl of rice and boiled prunes.
“It’s got a wee bit of sugar on it,” she whispered. “Young ladies need something sweet. And when you’re done with that, you’ll have a good wash and move to your new bed over in the barn.”
The barn wasn’t at all what I imagined. The faint smell of manure was everywhere, but the walls were whitewashed and the dirt floor swept clean. The oak doors stood open to let in sunshine and whatever breeze there was. Thick stone walls kept the inside as cool as a cellar. I preferred the smell of hay and horses to the death stench of the hospital. It was a relief to be around people who had the strength to sit up and didn’t cry out in pain.
Grandfather looked in on me several times a day. I think he was uncomfortable being around the sick. Mrs. Flagg filled me in on his activities: He helped to organize the delivery of food and the burning of filthy mattresses and rags; he sat in on the committee meetings where decisions were made about raising money and caring for the sick. He had pitched a tent in the yard and told me stories about watching the stars at night. I think he secretly enjoyed the commotion. It reminded him of the War again. It gave him something to do.
I would gladly have joined him, but I was too tired. I spent several days eating mutton that tasted like saw dust, picking bugs off my blanket, and sleeping. I did not have any more nightmares, but I always woke confused, thinking I was surrounded by people I knew, instead of sick strangers. Once I thought I saw Nathaniel, but it was another nameless orderly. I wondered if I were being haunted by ghosts.
How had Nathaniel fared? Was he lying in a sickbed thinking of me? Doubtful. He was probably painting flowers for one of Master Peales daughters who watched him with stupid cow eyes. I couldn’t remember where I had put his painting before we left home. Had I shown it to Mother? What if she found it? Would she burn it?
Thinking of Mother made me twist and turn restlessly. She had not responded to the letters Grandfather sent to the Ludingtons. I could see her ordering the Ludington pigs to march in a straight line, or replanting their corn fields in orderly rows. If I had recovered from the fever, surely she was on her feet again. Unless . . . I couldn’t think of that possibility. But why hadn’t she written?
Maybe she was glad to be rid of me for a while. Eliza would miss me, but I had no idea how to find her. Some thought that black-skinned people couldn’t get yellow fever, but I had seen two sick in the hospital. Eliza lived close to the river, where the disease had started. Who would take care of her if she were sick?
Every day I felt stronger and had more questions. By the sixth morning, I felt ready to explode with frustration. I left my bed for the first time and walked to the necessary without assistance. This was a sweet victory. After lunch, I was visited by Mrs. Flagg and a frowning clerk with a spotted face who carried an account book, an ink pot, and quill.
“We have not been able to contact your mother, Miss . . .,” said the man as he squinted to read the writing on the page.
“Cook.”
“Miss Cook.” He scribbled on the page. “You are well enough to leave. It would be immoral to turn a