"Where is he?" Evelyn asked her, alarmed.
She turned and headed upstairs, and Evelyn followed her quickly. She lead her to his bedroom, where he is laying on his bed, looking extremely pale and weak.
She kneeled at the bed. "Father? What happened?"
He turned his head to look at her and smiled through the thin film of sweat covering his face. "Don't worry about me, Evelyn. How was lunch?"
"Father, don't try to ignore this. You're terribly sick. Has someone called for the doctor?" she asked Monica. There was a distant knocking at the front door and Monica rushed off to answer it. Evelyn turned back to her father to find him coughing feebly.
"When did this cough start?" she asked, entwining her hand in his. He waved his other hand dismissively, but continued coughing quietly.
"Father, this is serious. How long have you had that cough?"
"I will be asking the questions here, thank you, Miss Saunders," said a brisk voice. Evelyn turned around to find the doctor striding into the bedroom carrying a black briefcase.
"Doctor Rutherford, thank you for coming," she said quietly in response. She stood and watched him bend over her father.
"Michael, this really isn't necessary," said Evelyn's father, laughing slightly. The laughter set off another coughing fit. Rutherford pulled out a handkerchief from his coat pocket and handed it to her father, who held it to his mouth as he coughed. Evelyn glanced at the doctor's face to find his dark brows knitted together as he gazed down at his patient. Evelyn's father ceased his coughing.
"Thank you," he rasped, laying the handkerchief down on the bed next to him lest he need it again. Evelyn saw a small red spot on the white material.
"Is that...?" she started, stepping closer.
Rutherford stepped in front of her. "Governor, when did this cough first hit you?"
"A few months ago."
"And you did nothing about it?" Rutherford started rummaging through his briefcase.
"It's just a cough."
"It may have started as just a cough, but it may have developed into something more serious after you failed to treat it." He pulled out a stethoscope and fastened it into his ears. He placed the other end on her father's chest. "I need you to breathe deeply for me." Evelyn's father complied, and she detected a faint wheeze in his breathing. Satisfied, the doctor removed the stethoscope and placed it back inside the briefcase.
"I'm going to need to draw some of your blood," he said absently, now looking for something else.
Evelyn's father groaned. "All this for a mere cough?"
"I'm telling you, it's not just a cough." He pulled out a needle. "Hold out your arm, please."
Grumbling, her father obeyed, and she saw his pallid face wince as Rutherford extracted some of his blood. Wasting no time, the doctor placed the few drops of blood on a makeshift scientific slide and placed it under a small microscope, also taken from the briefcase.
"Miss Saunders," Rutherford said, turning to you. "Could you take me to a room that is well-lit?"
"Yes, of course." She exited her father's room and lead the doctor down to the kitchen. He set his microscope down on the table and studied the sample of her father's blood. Evelyn patiently watched him, fiddling with a strand of her wet hair. Rutherford finally straightened and sighed.
"Miss Saunders, I'm afraid your father has latent tuberculosis. In English, it means he's got the consumption, but fails to show the more obvious symptoms, and cannot spread the disease to others."
Evelyn shut her eyes tight for a moment, trying to remain calm. She opened them and asked, "Will he be alright?"
"The cough has been going on for a good while, and you noticed the blood he coughed up into the handkerchief." Evelyn nodded, trying to read his expression. The doctor sighed again. "Allow me to be blunt. Your father is fatally ill. He won't be able to hold on much longer."
Evelyn sank into a chair at the table, shocked. "But he seemed so healthy!"
Rutherford nodded. "Most victims do. And your father, being the governor of Port Bryant, obviously felt the need to hide his slight symptoms from the public. And...his daughter, apparently."
Suddenly they heard Monica's voice yelling from upstairs. "Miss Evelyn! He's passing!"
A wave of fear and nausea passed through Evelyn's entire body and she immediately dashed upstairs. She burst into his room to see his hand drop pathetically from Monica's. She picked it up and patted it roughly. "Come on, sir, stay here," she whispered desperately. Evelyn felt Rutherford sweep past her and pull Monica up from off her knees.
"He's gone," he muttered, failing to feel a pulse.
Tears clouded Evelyn's vision as she pushed the doctor out of the way and collapsed next to her father's bed, clutching his arms with her shaking hands and kissing his forehead frantically as if the contact would bring him back.
"Miss Saunders, I'm sorry, but your father is dead."
"No..." Evelyn moaned, her tears spilling onto his chest. "He can't've just--"
"He's gone." She felt Rutherford trying to pull her away but she refused to move.
"Miss Saunders, it's over. Come on...you need to get up." She felt him forcefully peel her grip off of her father's body and push her away from the bed. She watched with agony as he pulled the blanket over her father's body and face.
Evelyn's world seemed to go numb after she glimpsed her father's face for the last time. She was vaguely aware of voices, and Monica taking her to her bedroom. She removed her still-wet clothes and helped her climb into bed. Evelyn felt the sensation of her tears soaking her face as she sobbed herself to sleep.