Page 64 - Fever 1793

would have raised every hair on my mothers head. I chased the man for a block before I realized that Grandfather was out of danger. But he needed me back home, not standing in the street in the dead of night brandishing a bloody sword like a pirate.
He was sitting up when I returned.
“Don’t move, I’ll help you.” I dropped the sword to the floor and struggled free of the bonds that held my hands together.
He looked at me with a slow smile. “Always knew you had it in you,” he said hoarsely. “You’re a fighter, no doubt about that.”
“Hush, don’t say a word,” I cautioned. I grabbed my bedding and made a pillow for his head. “I’ll get you some water.”
“No,” he insisted. He grabbed my shift. “Stay.”
The moonlight quivered as thin clouds scuttled across the sky. I could smell the stench of the intruders and the soap Grandfather had used to wash his face before he went to sleep. His eyes started to close, but he forced them open. He fumbled for my hand.
I’m sorry, Mattie,” he panted. I’m leaving you alone.”
I shook my head mutely. No. No. This would not happen. No. Please God. Anything but this.
He nodded once. “My time. Too early. So sorry.”
I covered my mouth to hold in the scream and rocked back and forth. After all he had been through, to
die like this. Don’t die. I couldn’t hold the words back. “Don’t die, Grandfather. Please don’t die. I love you. Please, please. Oh dear God, please don’t die.”
My face was wet, my tears splashing onto his cheeks.
“Strong,” he whispered. “Beautiful. Clever. My sweet Mattie.” His eyes closed.
I bent down to kiss his forehead. I thought I heard his last words.
“Love you.”
Dead? Grandfather couldn’t be dead. My grandfather—candy-giving, wood-chopping, tobacco-
smelling grandfather. Who carried me through Philadelphia like a princess. Who knew every politician, printer, carpenter, and captain. Who fed stray dogs. Who curbed Mother’s tongue. Who carved me a doll’s cradle. Who dried my tears.
Dead.
I held my breath and waited for the earth to stop spinning. The sun need not rise again. There was no reason for the rivers to flow. Birds would never sing.
The sound came straight from my heart, as sharp as the point of a sword. I shrieked to the heavens and pounded the floor with rage. “Nonono! Don’t take him! Nonono!”
I picked up the sword and attacked a chair as if it were Death itself. When the chair was a pile of firewood and the sword dull, I fell to my knees by the side of my grandfather’s body.
Dead. Growing cold.
I straightened his arms and legs so he might lay with dignity. What should I do next? There was no one to ask. I felt like a baby girl just learning to walk, only the ground under my feet was shaking and I had no one to hold on to.
Silas padded in and rubbed himself along Grandfathers hand. He lay down beside me. I took a shaky breath and looked at the face that had loved me so much. The light was gone from his eyes, blown out. I gently closed his eyelids with my fingertips. I was not afraid to touch him. There were other things to do. Think now. I tried to remember the funerals I’d seen. I dimly remembered seeing an elderly woman’s body during a wake when I was younger. There was a bandage round her jaw to keep her mouth closed.
I pulled myself from the floor and marched to the clothespress. I took out a few of our finest napkins and a linen tablecloth. A small package thumped to the floor, but I didn’t bother to examine it. I used the napkins to bind up Grandfather’s jaw.