Page 63 - Fever 1793

Thump.
“What was that noise?” the tall man demanded.
“What noise?” asked the short man.
“I just heard a noise. Upstairs.” He looked at the ceiling.
I shouldn’t have screamed. Grandfather must have heard me and gotten out of bed. I needed to get
these men out of the house.
“Who’s up there? I thought you were alone,” said the tall man.
“It’s just my cat.” I tried to keep the fear from my voice. “Everyone else has died of yellow fever,” I
lied.
“Saints preserve us, more fever victims,” groaned the short man. “Let’s go now. This wench is
probably fever-poisoned too. She don’t look too good.”
The tall man hesitated. “She’s hiding something,” he said. He drew back suddenly and hit me in the
face again.
My head rang and lights danced before my eyes.
“Where’s the money?” the man demanded. “Tell me where the money is.”
“Get away from my granddaughter!”
Grandfather stood in the doorway in his nightshirt, his rifle aimed at the heart of the man who had hit
me.
“Oh, Lord,” said the short man. He put one leg out the window. “I’m going to Fourth Street. The
houses are empty and the cupboards are full.”
“He’s not going to shoot,” said my attacker. “Look at him—he can barely stand. His knees are
knocking together. One puff and he’ll blow over, isn’t that right, old man? Now tell me where you’ve hidden the money or I’ll have to hurt this little girl here.”
“I’ll count to three,” said Grandfather.
He wasn’t fooling around. Grandfather never fooled around when he counted to three. The few times he had whipped me had been when he counted to three and I didn’t listen.
“One.”
The short robber scrambled out the window without another word.
“Two.” Grandfather swayed to one side. He was breathing heavily. Too heavily.
“No, Grandfather,” I pleaded. “Put the gun down.”
He licked his lips and stared down the barrel.
“Three.”
Everything happened at once. The gun fired just as the tall man leapt to the side. The blast knocked
Grandfather against the door frame. The tall man jumped on Grandfather and punched him in the face. I kicked at the tall man until he hit me with the back of his hand and sent me sprawling.
I struggled to my feet. Grandfather’s sword still lay on the floor where the robber had dropped it. I picked up the sword, holding it with two hands. Grandfather had taught me a bit about swordplay along with his other army lessons.
“Let go of him!” I shouted.
The man ignored me. His hands were around Grandfathers throat. Grandfather weakly hit back at the man, but it had no effect. The man struck Grandfather’s head against the floor. Grandfather’s eyelids fluttered, then closed.
“Nooo!” I screamed. I swung the sword and gashed the thief’s shoulder. He howled and rolled to the side, grasping at the bloody wound.
“You cut me,” he said in disbelief. “The wench cut me with the sword.”
“Get out of my house, before I cut out your heart.” I raised the sword and ran at him.
He lurched to the window and crawled through it. I followed, screaming the kinds of words that