Nobody could say exactly when it started, but most agreed it had been during the week of the rattlesnake, give or take a day on either side.
Ronnie the stationmaster had taken his lunch on the steps of the depot, as usual, and had dropped his sliced salt pork and cabbage sandwich into the dust when a large, inquisitive rattlesnake had slid out from under the steps to flick a black ribbon tongue at him. A few people assumed Ronnie had been exaggerating the size of the snake, and had snickered unkindly when he'd shown up red-faced and out of breath at sheriff Brass's office demanding a posse to clear the monster from its lair, but that changed once the tracks in the dirt had been measured. Even Brass, who'd seen a fair share of desert creatures agreed that the size was impressive.
Ronnie offered a bounty for the snake, nicknamed by town scalawags as "The Depot Demon" and set the price at a twenty-dollar gold piece for it. Naturally this piqued fair interest, and the Ecklie boys were in the thick of it, plotting strategies that would have given their mother gray hair just to hear them. Warrick had suggested sending his dog under the steps in place of any person, but even his Rex. a seasoned veteran of rabbit chasing and squirrel hunts had whined and refused to go.
Naturally, this led to more gossip and conversation over at Hodge's Emporium where miners and farmers all at their own favored suggestions on how best to lure the rattler out. Sara had a wonderful time listening in on several of these as she helped fill a few long-standing orders while Mrs. Hodges lay down in the afternoon. Privately she felt sorry for the snake, who had done nothing aggressive or wrong, and she sensed that Grissom would probably agree with her.
One of the freightmen wanted to drive it out with a smudge smoke fire, but other townsmen pointed out that the train platform was all wood and that flames that close to any structure was generally a poor idea. Doc Robbins grumbled that leaving the creature alone would be the most sensible choice, but since there was no profit in that, nobody except Pastor David agreed with him.
Oddly, or perhaps not, it was Pastor David who succeeded in drawing out the Depot Demon. While people gathered, fussed, and offered suggestions, David quietly made his way to the far side of the platform, where the heat of the sun warmed the rocks, and calmly netted the big snake, who was coiled among the rocks and Saguaro there. The fishing net was strong, and with sheriff Brass as an escort, Pastor David had gone out into the old Indian burial grounds and released the big fellow (the snake, not the sheriff) into the rocky foothills. By the time the two men had returned, Hodges was doing brisk business in tonic for the newest passengers from the four twenty out of Arizona.
Grissom had been delivering milk to the Ecklies and Jacquie over at the Willow Branch; through the big front window of the Emporium, Sara caught a glimpse of Zeus good-naturedly towing the haycart down the center road. Grissom looked pre-occupied, and she wondered if he had heard the news about the snake yet. Then Mrs. Pearson had come in with an order for flour and grosgrain ribbon, and it took the better part of an hour to placate her. By then Grissom was gone, and Sara made a mental note to stop in and see him later in the week.
That night, Josiah Ecklie went to bed without complaining, which worried his mother. In the morning he was feverish and flushed; Doc Robbins looked him over and prescribed bed rest and willow bitters to bring his fever down. As he left the Ecklies, Robbins was intercepted by a messenger from Ortfried Brandauer requesting a house call. Robbins made arrangements with Warrick for use of Willy and the smallest wagon available since the Brandaur spread was three miles out of town.
When he returned, Robbins found three more messages waiting for him, and a sense of unease rose up as he looked over the notes. Diligently he worked late into the night, checking on the ill, writing out instructions and rationing out willow bitters. By the time the sun had come up, Jacquie had talked him into a few biscuits for breakfast and a long nap.
"A few more people are sick, but you won't do them any good if you wear yourself out over them," she scolded him lovingly. He understood her concern and agreed to stretch out for a while with a stern order to wake him if anyone took a turn for the worse.
That had been the first day. Over the next three, more cases came in, and when Doc Robbins made it back to Josiah Ecklie, the spots had broken out, red and thick, covering the poor boy from head to toe. "I've got itches, even in places not polite to scratch!" he fretted to Robbins, who gave him a mild glance of sympathy.
"You've got measles and you shouldn't scratch unless you want scars. I'll get your mother and Miss Judy to give you an oat bath; that'll help, but in the meantime, No scratching!"
Easier said than done, of course. Robbins relaxed a bit; Measles would bring Green Meadows to a bit of a standstill, but not many people died of them-only the older folks, and sometimes a toddler . . . . still, at least one man at Pearson's boarding house was running a dangerously high fever, and the railroad had been warned to pass by Green Meadows for the next week or so.
In the thick of it, the women of Green Meadows rose to the crisis calmly taking charge. Catherine Willows and Jacquie took turns dosing Greg Sanders with willow bark tea and eggnog; his case was mild and he enjoyed the attention. Martha Pearson had her hands full with three cases at her boarding house but kept them as confined and comfortable as she could. Hodges extended credit for nearly everyone, and doled out oats for bathing. When his missus lost her breakfast out in the back garden later in the week, though, he panicked and sent her to bed, coming to Sara to plead for help.
Sara did. She'd had measles herself as a young teenager, and remembered the misery of the illness quite well. However Mia Hodges had no fever, merely a little dizziness and a sense of embarrassment at her momentary loss of dignity. She protested that she was fine, and that there were too many chores that needed attention for her to spend the day in bed. Sara left the Hodges to work out their differences in privacy and stepped across the road to Warrick's Livery.
Warrick was there, watering the stock, looking healthy but a bit grim. One of the freightman was in a bad way in the shanties on the other side of the tracks, and nearly every farm had hands down with fevers. Consequently, the work had begun to pile up all over town. Laundry was undone, rubbish unhauled, goods and supplies undelivered. He looked up at her and his expression cheered for a moment as he nodded. "Miz Sidle . . . things okay at the Emporium?"
"We're all doing all right. How about this side of Main Street?" came her quick question. For a second she flexed her hands, wishing she'd brought her notebook with her, but then chided herself; time enough to write the story up after people recovered. Warrick finished pumping and hooked one of the buckets to the brace across his shoulders.
"Josiah's better, Jonathon's coming down with it. Most of the freightmen are out today, but only one of them is really bad off. The sheriff's been patrolling to make sure everyone with property in town are protected from robbers." he began to lift the buckets, and Sara helped him get his balance. She knew better than to offer to help; nevertheless she followed him and pulled open the door to the barn.
"So far no one's died and that's something to be thankful for," she commented gently. Warrick set the buckets down and unhooked them. Efficiently he poured one then the other into the big trough running down the center of the barn and watched as the horses came forward to drink.
"We haven't heard from everyone. I don't think anyone's seen Professor Grissom since his last milk delivery," Warrick grunted. "I'd go out if I had the time, but being short-handed like this . . . "
"I'll go," Sara blurted, then drew in a breath as her anxiety traded placed with her embarrassment. "I mean, it would be prudent to check in, just for peace of mind . . . "
Warrick re-shouldered the bucket brace and nodded. "Yes it would. I know both the sheriff and Doc Robbins would appreciate it, and I can fix you up with Willie. That one needs the exercise," he added with an exasperated little snort. "Too many oats and not enough trot. When do you plan to go?"
Sara thought quickly. "I've promised Martha Pearson to help her with the laundry most of this morning, so if we can hang it all by noon I'll leave after then."
"Good. I'll tell the Doc and he can make up a bundle of medicines to take with you. Grissom might be just fine, but if he's not—" Warrick sighed, "-then you'll probably need to get his fever down and make sure he doesn't do anything foolish."
"Foolish?" Sara asked curiously. Warrick sighed and headed back to the pump outside while she followed him once more.
"Miss, I've seen men out of their heads with fever, and sometimes it's a curse. Most are too weak to stand, but now and then you get a stubborn one who'll try to keep going. The professor now, he knows he's the only one out at his place, and he'll feel responsible to those animals of his."
Sara thought of Zeus and Bessie, and nodded. "You're right-so . . . let me get on with Mrs. Pearson's laundry and I'll be back as quick as I can. Will you see Doc Robbins before noon?"
Warrick nodded, working the big metal handle of the pump. "He's been needing a ride to reach the Brauns and the Brandaurs, so he'll be in sometime this morning. I'll have Willie ready to go for you when you get back. And Miss Sara?"
She looked at him; Warrick gave her a tired but sincere smile. "Thanks. From me and others-Green Meadow may not be big as St. Louis, but we care about each other here."
Sara nodded, and felt a warmth deep in her stomach; a glow of shy pride at being included in that last statement. Still marveling at that, she quickly made her way across the road to Martha Pearson's boarding house and knocked just under the Quarantine sign.
The laundry took most of the morning, and Sara hated it, even when she knew it was necessary. There were five beds at Pearson's along with the washing up for the tenants, who paid for the service in their rent. Martha Pearson usually had her two maids, Sadie and Juana to handle the load, but Sadie had been borrowed by Doc Robbins to help him out on his rounds, and Juana was home nursing her little girl. By the time Sara and Martha Pearson had strung up the last workshirt and cotton sheet on the twine lines strung out back the sun was high and Sara was soaked and exhausted. The only recompense was the warm smile from the proprietress.
"City-bred you may be, Miss Sidle, but it's clear you aren't afraid of hard work. I'm positively grateful for you help today, and that's a fact," Martha murmured, wiping a straggle of iron-grey hair back from her forehead. In her faded apron and brown calico workday dress she seemed less imposing and more human; Sara admired her snapping green eyes.
"Thank you . . . although I must return the compliment. I had no idea there was so much physical labor to running a business like this."
The other woman laughed, her rough red hands on her hips. "Oh yes, keeps me up from dawn to sunset, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Where else do I have the final word in the lives of young, wet-behind-the-ears scalawags, eh?"
Sara smiled, remembering earlier when Martha Pearson had moved from room to room, cajoling and nursing her tenants, bossing this one and coddling that one. Her tenants were loyal to her, albeit in the shy and sometimes argumentative ways some single men had, and all of them followed her directives.
"Sometimes it's good to be the queen."
"It's always good. Now I've got some broth to simmer and bread to bake; I'd be honored to put some by you if you have a moment to spare."
Thinking of Grissom, Sara nodded. Broth would do him good, sick or not, and a chance to dry out a little before leaving was a sound idea as well. she accompanied Martha Pearson to the kitchen of the boarding house. An hour later Sara left with a crock jug of steaming broth and a warm brown bread loaf wrapped in a towel.
Warrick was good as his word and had Willie harnessed by the time she crossed the road. He handed her a wicker basket covered in cloth. "From Doc Robbins-he says he's written the instructions on the bottle." Warrick helped her up to the seat and handed her the reigns. "Send Willie home if you run into trouble-he knows the way."
Sara nodded and directed the wagon over to the Emporium. Moving quickly, she found Hodges behind the counter, writing in his ledger. Quietly she spoke. "Mr. Hodges, I'm going out to Professor Grissom's place to check on him since nobody's seen him in a few days. I'd like to take a few supplies and will be glad to pay for them once I return."
Hodges looked up, his expression slightly troubled. "Are you sure that's wise?"
"There isn't anybody else to spare," Sara replied softly, "And I promised Mr. Warrick I'd send Willie back if there was a problem."
Hodges nodded. "You'll need cornmeal for mush, most likely and matches if he's let his fire go out, and probably a peck of oats, just like everyone else who's itching . . . and Miss Sara-" he motioned to her to come around the counter. When she did, Hodges fished out a burlap bag and set it down, opening it carefully. A gleaming revolver lay on the rude cloth. "Do you know how to handle a weapon?"
"Yes," Sara admitted in a tone that brooked no further questions. Hodges handed it to her, his voice low.
"I doubt you'll need it, but better prudent than not," he sighed. "We haven't had any trouble in years, nevertheless-"
When Sara rode out half an hour later she felt a new anxiety. All of the goods were bundled behind her in the wagon and the day was overcast, with a scent of rain on the wind. It wasn't unusual for showers in the spring, but Sara preferred not to be out driving in it. She hurried Willie along and kept an eye on the low-hanging clouds, hoping the sheets would be dried before the downpour started.