July 27th, 1891

Clara curled up on the couch reading her newest library book, The Wizard of Oz. Her doll nestled snugly in her elbow, and rain spattered lightly on the windowpane. Her mother sat at her writing desk addressing letters to some charity dinner, and her father moved to open a window to the cool of the evening breeze, when their peaceful evening was interrupted by a sudden, urgent, knocking. Her mother stood up from her chair and pulled on her dressing-gown as her father answered the door. The Morris parents stood huddled outside in the hallway, except for Andrew, who was being held by his father in a bundle of blankets so large Clara could barely see his sandy hair sticking out from the fabric.

"Are you all ok?"

"We didn't know where else to go."

"Come in, quickly"

They moved into the parlor and Mr. Morris set Andrew down on the couch beside Clara. Her father shooed her away, but she hovered by his elbow as the rest of his family explained their sudden arrival. Andrew fell ill a few days ago, hence his absence in school, but had taken a turn for the worse tonight, and they thought he needed a doctor. Mr. Lemay fired off question after question to gauge more information about the young boy's condition and only grew increasingly concerned with each new answer. He shooed Clara away again. She stuck her tongue out and refused to move from his side.

He tried moving Andrew's arms and legs and head, pushing against them and feeling for some invisible sign. Mrs. Lemay put on tea for the rest of the family and ushered them into the dining room where they could wait. Clara followed reluctantly after a hard glare and a snap of her mother's fingers that made it clear there would be no room for argument. It didn't take Mr. Lemay long to make a diagnosis and take Andrew away to an upstairs room. He shut and locked the door behind him on the way out before coming back downstairs to the kitchen to meet the anxiously waiting family.

"Will he be alright? What is it?"

He sighed heavily, and Clara cringed at her fathers troubled look that could only mean that something was very, very wrong. "Polio."

"Will he be ok?" Eleanor Morris asked. Her voice cracked and it was clear she was holding back tears with the dread that only a worried mother knows. The summer sickness infamously only brought suffering in its wake, and though they all knew the risk came every year – especially to those living in poorer tenements - it didn't make the news any easier.

"He will survive," Mr. Lemay answered hesitantly. "It's very good you brought him here as soon as you did. I will be able to help him through the next weeks, possibly months, of recovery, and we'll hopefully be able to…" he stopped, considering his next words. "…to minimize the damage." Mr. Lemay looked to the worry-worn faces and softened his voice in an attempt to comfort them. "He's a strong boy, and what is he now? 9?"

"My age, dad, I'm ten now," Clara corrected.

"Yes, he's a bit older than the children who are normally most susceptible to the illness. He will recover in time."

The Morris's considered this as they glanced at each other. Months… Mr. Morris twisted his hat in his hands. "Don't you have any medicine or something that can help him recover faster?" Clara noticed the anxiety in their look, and something clicked. She gasped softly and skirted around the table to check the calendar hanging on the wall by the pantry. The adults didn't notice her, and continued talking.

Mr. Lemay shook his head somberly, "I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do now, beside keep him comfortable until the fever breaks. Then I'll be able to help him regain his strength, but again… it will take time. I understand you want to him to feel better sooner rather than-"He stopped as Clara tugged on his jacket. "What, Clara? Can't you see we're in the middle of something impor-"

"They're moving," She interrupted, holding up the calendar and pointing at the next week. "All of them. Out west." She looked at the Morris's now, "On the 30th, right? That's only in a few days!"

Mrs. Morris nodded quickly. "If the fever breaks in the next few days, will he be alright to travel, as long as he takes it easy?"

"No," Mr. Lemay answered. His voice was sorrowful, but stern. "Polio is such an epidemic – you know that. It's much too dangerous to risk. Since it affects children, and people who are already weak – it could spread to your other children, or the others you travel with. It could devastate the population there. He has to stay here, for at least two weeks, until we're sure, he's not contagious anymore." He gave Clara a stern look. "That goes for you especially. You mustn't get near Andrew until he's better." His tone of voice let Clara know that there would be no argument, no matter how much she wanted to check on her friend.

"Could you possibly postpone the move until the fall or winter?" Mrs. Lemay asked in an attempt to give some helpful suggestion, instead of just adding to the dire news.

Mr. Morris shook his head. "The company wants us to go immediately. If I tell them no, we'll lose our jobs. It's done."

"Perhaps we could find other jobs?" his wife suggested. "Here in New York, to stay close. We can always find another train company going West, couldn't we?"

"I can try to find you positions in the orphanage," Mrs. Lemay offered. "If there are any openings, I'll put in a recommendation for you."

"And you could still ask your supervisors if you could go with the next crew? There's always a chance they may agree," Mr. Lemay added. "We can keep Andrew here until he heals."

The Morris's considered, exchanging an unspoken word again through a glance, and nodded. Armed now with a hope and a plan, they bade a wistful goodbye to their son through the door of the upstairs room and started home to tell their other boys the news. And left with the sudden quiet of the late evening and helpless to help anymore at the moment, the Lemay's decided to settle down for the night. Hopefully the morning would bring more answers.

The next day did not bring more answers or good news. Nor the next one. Nor the day after. The clock slowly crept forward, and every new hour brought another complication to the finely made plans of that night earlier in the week. The orphanage had no more positions open to work, already struggling to earn enough money from fundraisers as it was to run their ordinary operations, much less take on new full-time hires. Exchanging a meal for an odd job, now that would be one thing, but it wasn't enough. The railroad bosses scarcely glanced at Mr. Morris's request for a later deployment. The rent was coming due on their apartment, and with no-where else to turn to on such short notice, the Morris's were seemingly faced with only two options.

Leave Andrew in New York. Or. Face the idea of unemployment and homelessness.

Despite the comfort of knowing the Lemay's would take good care of Andrew; despite knowing they could send for him later on after they had settled into their homestead; despite the promises of a home and land to themselves out on the plains and a steady job and food; despite knowing that, ultimately, this was for the best, it didn't make the decision any easier.

On the eve of the assigned moving day, the family gathered into Andrew's small sick-room. Mr. Lemay opened the door, only for this occasion, so they could say good-bye before leaving on the reasonable assumption that the older age and strong immune system of his older brothers and parents would be able to resist the disease. Clara, on the other hand, was instructed to stay put in her room until after they had left, and so she listened to the proceedings under the crack in her door. She held her doll tight and the tears back, and said a silent prayer of hope that everything would turn out ok after all.

Andrew tossed in bed as he heard the sound of the door squeaking open. That usually meant that the kind doctor had returned with some blankets or a cold glass of water or his dinner, so he rolled over to see who was coming into his room. Upon seeing his family, his eyes widened and he struggled to sit up and smile for them.

His mother and father rushed to his side to embrace their son, quickly followed by his older brothers who nearly tackled him back into bed. He laughed – overjoyed at finally seeing them again – but the laughter turned to fits of coughing that wracked his small frame and forced him to lay back down. Peter and James drew away and gave Mr. Lemay an anxious look. His mother brushed away the sweaty hair with a gentle hand and planted a kiss on his head.

"Is he ok?" one brother whispered.

Mr. Lemay nodded, "He's improving."

"Ma! Ma!" Andrew finally made out.

"I'm here, sweetie. I'm here. You're going to be ok. You'll be ok," she whispered, half sobbing already. "Your friends are going to take care of you, ok?"

"Am I going home?" He rolled over again and laid down on his pillow. Sitting up was so exhausting. Why was he so cold? He weakly pulled the blankets up over his chin.

"Soon," his father answered. His voice caught in his throat. He couldn't lie to his son. He couldn't. "We have to go away now, but you'll come home soon."

"Why are you going away?" Andrew mumbled. Ma and Pa and Pete and James were here. Everything was fine now, wasn't it? "Come back."

"We have to, sweetie. We don't want to but it's the only way for you to be safe," Mrs. Morris said softly. Quiet tears streamed down her cheeks. "You'll be ok. You'll come see us soon."

"And then we'll be together again?"

"Yes, then we'll be together again," his father answered.

"Ok." That was enough for Andrew. "Together is good."

Ms. Morris's voice cracked as she leaned in to give him another kiss and whisper in his ear. "We have to say good bye now, Andrew."

"I don't very much like good byes."

Peter leaned in first. "I'm sorry Andrew, I don't like them either. Be strong, ok?"

"Strong like you?" Crutchie smiled up at his big brother, who would carry him on his shoulders and swing him around the room when he was sad, who would always know just what to say.

"Heh, yeah, I guess so. You're the strongest though."

"Thanks Pete."

"Love you, Andrew."

"Love you too."

Pete didn't say good bye – he bent to give his baby brother a hug and quickly turned to leave the room. Andrew would be ok, and that was enough for him. James was next. He leaned in close to whisper to his best play-mate.

"Hey. Out West, there's all sorts of adventures to have! We're going to have all sorts of fun, ya know, when you come out to us. Think of all the pranks we could pull, huh. You gotta get better for that," his tone was light, but he couldn't disguise the melancholy in his expression, and he shook Andrew's shoulder to get the attention of his slowly slipping into sleep younger brother. "You gotta promise me."

"Promise." Andrew grinned. "I don't wanna be sick anymore either. Funny you're the one saying that."

James gave him a sad smile in return. "Promise you'll get better?"

"I promise," Andrew said, seriously this time. James fell onto him for a hug before pulling away and joining James out in the hall. With nothing left to say, his parents gave Andrew one final hug and kiss and pulled away.

"Love you Andrew."

"Love you."

And with that, the door shut yet again.

A/N: I know, I know this is sad and I'm SORRY. In the musical, Crutchie is assumed to be an orphan with the rest of the boys but I really don't like the idea that EVERYONE'S parents are neglectful/abusive/dead because it doesn't make sense statistically speaking, and it's not practical or historical either. This is my way of reconciling canon plot with my own personal head-canon that he had a good family. Circumstance just happens to be unexpectedly coincidental.

I also realized when I started to edit this that even though I wrote it months ago, I stumbled into either the worst or the best time to be publishing this chapter, given what's going on in current events with the flu and coronavirus (no cigar jokes to be had here, sorry), depending on how you look at it. Again, Circumstance just happens to be unexpectedly coincidental, so I decided to make the best of this opportunity to show that: yes, an epidemic is a very scary thought, and no, these are not things of the past, but that doesn't mean we have to live in fear of the consequences. Now is the best time to reach out to each other (with adequate handwashing) and *help* because that's the way we'll get through this.

I hope that this chapter can be a source of hope that things will be ok in the end, and I promise the next chapter will be more heartwarming. Promise.