Chapter 11 something wicked this way comes...
Charlie Adler walked out of the meeting hall and pulled down the gauze mask covering the lower half of his face, taking a deep cleansing breath of the late October air. He was leaving the hall after he and the few fellow council members not yet affected by the influenza mandated a quarantine of town. They had ordered every possible place for social gathering closed, fearful of the spread of influenza which was rapidly over taking the small community. Just in the last twenty-four hours, fifty two new cases were presented to the overworked doctors and nurses who had set up the gym of the primary school as their base of operations. Of the fifty-two, nine people had already died.
Notices were going up on every bulletin board and shop window available, but it was if the town itself had died. The last train had disembarked a few hours ago, leaving with a mournful whistle as the railroad was notified of the impending quarantine.
It was disconcerting, seeing the streets of the usually busy town deserted on a Wednesday afternoon. There were no cars or buggies moving down the streets, no people to be seen as many kept to their homes to fight the infection on their own terms. Many storefront doors stood open as there was no worry of robbery or looting in the newly formed ghost town. Windows in the buildings high above him stood open, curtains fluttering in the breeze like white flags of surrender.
Charlie moved rapidly to the shops had volunteered to place to quarantine notices in, barely giving each one a second glace until he came to the General Store. He moved quickly, placing the notice in the window before deciding to root through the store on his own for his home. He grabbed wooden boxes from behind the counter and methodically walked down the aisles, locating all the necessary previsions for this unexpected siege. He hauled the boxes out of the store two at a time and loaded them carefully into back of his truck.
Yesterday evening over dinner, he and Sarah had discussed the alarming frequency the sickness was over taking the town and decided it was time for her to give up spending her days in the make-shift hospital. He felt guilty about making her come home from the infirmary, but he was sure their good fortune of not being effected was not to last. Sarah also knew she had done all she could, but still it was with a heavy heart she left the doctors and make-shift nurses to fend for themselves.
It filled him with dread every time he thought about all those beds lined in rows, filled to capacity with sickened town people. He was bone-tired, so weary from worrying about his town, his friends and his family. He scrubbed his face with his hands, the rough stubble of hair grating against his palms. He closed his eyes for a moment, mentally shaking himself awake before entering the store again.
The shopkeeper himself was one of the latest casualties of the flu, so there was no one to mind to the store as Charlie stocked up on provisions. He felt guilty about looting the store in his need, but he pushed it out of his mind, promising restitution as he swept back into the building to make his final rounds. He wasn't the only council member to have the same idea, right after he reentered the store, a few other men trailed after him, silently taking what they needed before heading to their homes or to the infirmary to check on loved ones.
There was no need for words, each knowing there was nothing else left to say. This influenza caught the town and county so off-guard and Charlie could feel the fear coming off everyone not affected in waves, like a fecund odor silently creeping around the town and couldn't be placed and eradicated. Everyone was suspect; no one was sure how or why this plague attacked their town. The people who were not affected were frightened they would be next and they were shell-shocked by the amount of good friends and family they were losing at an alarming rate.
The meeting to quarantine only took a few minutes of their time. They were all in agreement about what needed to be done for the health of themselves and their town. But knowing what needed to be done didn't help with the gaunt, haunted expressions on their faces as many of them dealt with numerable losses of family members overseas and now here, at home.
Charlie was loading the last of the boxes into the truck when he saw someone sitting alone on the train platform at the other end of the street. He wasn't sure as he wasn't close enough, but it might have been Rose and he needed to check. Both he and Sarah agonized over Rose's decision to travel back home alone, even though they both understood her reasons for leaving. They were so afraid they would never see her again, as they both became attached to the young woman as if she were their daughter.
As he drove his truck over to the train station, the sun came out from behind the clouds and their hair lit around their head like a fiery halo. He let of a sigh of thanksgiving as he recognized Rose's flaming red hair. If it wasn't for the halo, he wouldn't have recognized her in the drab gray traveling dress she wore.
"Rose, honey?" he asked as opened the truck door. She was sitting on the bench silently, staring at her hands. "Rose, it's me, Charlie. Do you want me to take you home to Sarah?"
Charlie blanched as she looked up. Her face was as white as death and her cheeks were flushed with fever. "Oh, no, sweetie, not you too." Rose covered her mouth and coughed, her entire upper body spasming as it shook from the force.
Fear filled him as he watched her stand up unsteadily, grasping for her satchel alongside of her. "I lost my car, Charlie," she said weakly. "I had to leave it in Philadelphia. There was no one to crank the gas."
Charlie pulled the mask back over his face and he ran up the steps to the platform just as Rose collapsed back onto the bench.
"I don't feel very well," she said, moving to lay her head down on the wooden seat. "Everything hurts." She closed her eyes tightly, grimacing in pain as the dying sunlight upset her eyes and shot white hot spikes through her skull.
"Here, let me help you," Charlie said as he gently picked Rose up in his arms. The heat radiating through her dress from her fevered body alarmed him. "I'll take you back to the house. Sarah will know what to do." Oh, lord, Charlie thought. Please let her know what to do.
Rose's weight was slack in his arms and her head fell back as she slipped into unconsciousness. The long braid of her hair fell over his arm and swept against his legs as he walked. He prayed she would be okay, the thought of taking her to the infirmary never even crossing his mind. He opened the passenger side of the truck and gently placed her in the cab, his body tensing as he listened to her groan in pain. He shut the door as she began to cough again, running for the driver's side door.
Charlie pushed the truck as fast as it could go on the return home, praying silently Rose would not die before he could get there. The truck skidded to a stop in front of the back porch of the house and he honked the horn repeatedly to alert Sarah.
"Charlie? My word, what is it?" Sarah exclaimed, coming out onto the porch.
"It's Rose, she's sick," Charlie said as he pulled gently pulled Rose's inert form through the driver's side door and into his arms. "It's the flu."
"Oh, lord," Sarah's eyes widened in shock as she held the door open for Charlie. "Take her straight upstairs and put her to bed."
Charlie nodded as he walked through the doorway.
"Do you know how long she's been like this?" Sarah asked as she followed Charlie into the kitchen.
"I don't know. I found her like this on the train platform. She said she had to leave the car in Philadelphia," Charlie said, his voice muffled behind the mask. "She must have taken the train back. Thank God she was able to get back before the quarantine went into effect. She must have been sitting there for hours."
Sarah nodded as she hurried around the kitchen to make preparations, the sound of his footsteps up the back staircase echoing though the silent house. She pulled out a basin from under the sink and rushing to the pantry, she grabbed the container of distilled alcohol on the top shelf. She was muttering to herself, listing all the things she would need to nurse Rose's sickness.
"What can I do to help?" Charlie said as he came back down the stairs. "I think she's sleeping now."
"Out in the root cellar, I keep my medicines," Sarah winced as the alcohol bottle clattered against the enamel countertop. "You know the shelf where they are. Find the yellow jasmine tincture and bring it in," Sarah stopped, thinking for a moment. "Oh, the camphor, the horehound and the pine oil will help too. Bring those in too. The oil and the camphor will be in small clear glass bottles, everything is labeled and alphabetized. Then when you come back in, stoke up the fire on the stove and put the teakettle on."
"Do you want the willow bark, too?"
Sarah shook her head. "Not at this stage. It has the same ingredient as aspirin. I don't think the aspirin will help now, it may make it worse. You can bring it up though, once the danger has passed, we can use it." Sarah paused as the sounds of Rose's coughing reached her in the kitchen. She was moving on instinct, not trusting the all-purpose healing powers of the new drug recently released to the public.
"When you're done with that, I'll you need to check on our supply of ice. Chip off quite a few pieces and place them in a bowl in the bottom of the icebox to keep cold. Lord knows when we'll get more, but we may need to use it if her fever gets too high."
Sarah became meticulous as her recent nursing training and instincts for healing took over. She poured the distilled alcohol into the basin and reached on the shelf above the counter for the gauze masks she had prepared for use in the infirmary. Having a thought, she rushed out to the parlor for a few sheets of parchment paper. She returned to the kitchen, seeing Charlie standing, awaiting more instructions.
"I'm pretty sure if I was going to catch this influenza, I would have already, but I'm not sure about you, my love. Dip your hands in the alcohol, dry them and then put on a fresh mask whenever you come into Rose's room. You'll dip your hands when you enter and then dip them again upon leaving. But I don't want you in there any more then necessary. Understood?" She smiled gently to lessen the sting of her words.
Charlie nodded and embraced his wife. "I love you," he said, pulling the mask down as he bent and kissed her briefly. "I know you'll do everything you can to save her." Then he rushed out to complete Sarah's requests.
Sarah stopped to grasp the back of the kitchen chair, kneading the wooden ladder slat and sighed, looking up towards the ceiling as Rose coughed again. She was frightened, but she knew it wouldn't help Charlie to see her fear. She took a deep breath and then pushed off the chair to pull down another bowl and placed it in the bottom of the sink. Pumping fresh water into the ceramic bowl, she reached for clean cloths in the kitchen drawer with her other hand to bath Rose's fevered forehead.
A few minutes later, Charlie returned to the house with the sealed jar of yellow jasmine tincture, the gauze packet of horehound and the two vials filled with camphor and pine oil. He placed them on the counter and bent down in front of the wooden ice box, chipping ice off the large block in the bottom recess of the box.
Sarah took a deep breath as she placed a tray on the table and loaded the two basins and cloths onto it. "Charlie, when you are done with the ice, please be a dear and don't forget about the stove and the fire. Place the teakettle on and throw in the horehound and tea leaves. We can strain the tea later, but it will need to steep for at least an hour or two. Then at least it will be ready if we need it."
She picked up the tray and moved to walk up the stairs, but turned back in the kitchen, as she remembered something else to ask of Charlie. "Darling, I'll need three large saucepans filled with water and set to boil, too. If Rose's cough gets worse, or if she seems to be having trouble breathing, we'll need to construct a tent over her bed, and we'll use the steam from the boiling water for the pine oil and the camphor."
"Maybe I should write a list," Charlie said as he picked up the extra piece of parchment paper from the table and rummaged through a kitchen drawer for a writing utensil.
Sarah smiled faintly at him and turned to walk quickly up the stairs to Rose's room. She backed into the room, careful not to jar the tray against the doorjambs. Rose lay curled on her side like a child, breathing heavily through her open mouth. Her nose was raw, chapped and from the sounds of the light snores, obviously stuffed. Sarah placed the tray down on the bureau, lining the objects she needed in order of importance. She dipped her hands in the alcohol and dried them before placing her hand on Rose's head. Her fever was high, but not yet critical.
Moving to the windows, she raised them a few inches to let some cool air sweep into the room. When she was done, she undressed the still sleeping Rose down to her shift and settled her under the covers, propping her shoulders up on the feather pillows.
The compresses were placed in the cold water to soak and she wrung one compress out and placed it on Rose's fevered forehead. Then she picked up the parchment paper and rolled it into a tube. Sarah didn't have a stethoscope, but she knew this method would work almost as well. Rose groaned in her sleep and coughed, causing Sarah to hurry to her side to listen to her lungs. She picked up Rose's limp wrist, counting her pulse as she placed the heavy paper tube to her ear.
Her pulse was thready, but still somewhat strong. Her breathing gave Sarah hope too because it wasn't yet watery, as was so many of the people who died from the secondary infection, pneumonia. If this was the second day of her sickness, maybe Sarah would be able to stop the infection from worsening with doses of the yellow jasmine and horehound tea.
With all her time spent at the infirmary, she knew what the doctors and the nurses would have done to lessen Rose's symptoms. There wasn't anything she could do if she started to hemorrhage from the lungs, but she prayed it wouldn't go that far.
Sarah had seen some instances when the first few cases of influenza were brought into the infirmary where the yellow jasmine had worked, but it was in such short supply, they weren't able to keep up with the demand of all the new patients who were brought in everyday and they had quickly run out. Sarah had struggled with the idea of giving up her tincture to the infirmary, made from the root she purchased on a whim during a trip to a Chicago apothecary this past summer. She had made the tincture when the infection began to spread into the surrounding towns for fear she would need to use it at home. Now she knew she had made the right decision.
She sent the heavens a silent thank you for her grandmother, who entrusted her with the knowledge of botanicals and their many uses.
Sarah spent the next hour by Rose's side, only venturing back downstairs for the tincture, fresh compresses and to check on Charlie and the steeping horehound. When Rose coughed herself awake right after dark, Sarah could see her shoulders bracing against the force of it and she placed her hand gently on Rose's back, feeling a fine constant tremor running through her from back muscles forced to spasm with every cough. The air rattled noisily in her chest with every breathe she took.
Sarah turned up the flame in the lamp by her bedside, smiling gently as she laid her hand on Rose's forehead. Her appearance alarmed Sarah more than she wanted to let on. Her face was so pale and her lips were white, her nose was red rimmed and oozing fluid. The fragile skin under her dark blue eyes was bruised a purplish black from fatigue.
"Hi honey," Sarah whispered as she sat down beside her on the bed.
"Hi," Rose croaked, her throat moving painfully. She brought her hand up to her neck as she grimaced with pain.
"Don't try and talk yet, okay?"
Rose nodded, coughed and then sneezed explosively. Sarah handed her a linen handkerchief to wipe the mucous from her nose.
"We are going to try a few things, honey, to make you better. Do you think you're up to swallowing some liquid?"
At Rose's nod, Sarah stood and poured out a teaspoon of her tincture. Rose swallowed it painfully, grimacing from the sting of her sore throat and also from the bitter taste. Sarah gently brought a glass of ice water to her lips and Rose sipped the water slowly, savoring it, allowing it to trickle down as it soothed her raw throat. She handed the glass to Sarah and coughed again.
Rose blew her nose into the handkerchief and tried to clear her clogged throat. "Am I going to die?" .
"Oh, honey," Sarah said as she sat back down beside her. "Not if I have any say in it. Do you hear me?"
Rose nodded weakly, feeling so horrible, not sure if she minded death coming to call. She coughed as she settled into the pillows.
"I'm glad you found your way back here."
Rose smiled weakly and looked down at the handkerchief clasped in her hand. "I didn't have anywhere else to go."
"Were you able to find your mother?" Sarah asked as she smoothed Rose's hair back from her forehead.
Rose nodded and looked away from Sarah to the window alongside her bed.
"It was a dreadful there," Rose whispered, pausing to cough once again. "The town seemed dead, everything was closed up and deserted. I've never in my life seen Philadelphia that way. The people I saw seemed catatonic from shock and my mother was sick – is sick with influenza," Rose paused to cough and to swallow painfully.
"I don't know if she'll recover," Rose whispered as wet tears slid down Rose's cheeks and splattered against her shift as terrible regrets assailed her. "I didn't realize how much I missed her until I was faced with the realization she never wants to see me again."
Rose closed her eyes, feeling utterly miserable from influenza and from the loss of her mother.
"You don't have to talk about it Rose, if it will pain you to do so," Sarah said quietly as she grasped Rose's hand in her own.
"I know," Rose said as she squeezed Sarah's hand gently. She closed her eyes and began to whisper again.
"I can't say I blame her for reacting the way she did. I don't know what I would have done differently if our positions were reversed. I don't think I should have gone back," Rose stopped and shrugged her shoulders. "She still loves me," Rose paused to cough once more. "At least I will always have that to remember her by."
Rose blinked, feeling suddenly light-headed. Her head was pounding as if someone were repeatedly using her skull as an anvil. She closed her eyes and the blackness exploded in white lights behind her closed lids. She was so tired and she took a shallow breath, struggling not to cough.
"I think I should try to sleep for awhile."
"That's a wonderful idea. I won't be far if you need me," Sarah said as she squeezed Rose's hand once more and stood up from the bed. Rose looked up at her, smiling weakly.
Rose closed her eyes as Sarah turned the lamp down low and moved out of the room. Her entire body ached and she was alternating between shivering and feeling too warm. She needed to sleep as she hoped she would be able to rest as her body continued to betray by coughing her awake every time she would slip into slumber.
She finally fell into restless lurid dreams of no meaning, finding herself driving alone down endless roads with white naked figures jumping in and out behind from behind the trees lining the road
As she approached a crossroads, the dream suddenly shifted and she was standing by the railing of a wooden Man o' War on a storm lashed sea. A wave overtook the deck and she was swept into the heaving water. She saw her father briefly in the middle of the maelstrom, standing above the waves, smiling down at her as she fought for her life. But he vanished as she screamed his name, reaching for him as saltwater filled her open mouth. Drowning, she slipped under the black water as the nightmare shifted abruptly and she found herself in her old primary school back in Philadelphia.
The slate blackboard she was standing in front of was smeared with white chalk and nonsense words she couldn't understand. In her dream state, she knew she was being punished for something she'd done by having to clean the blackboard. She reached down into the bucket next to her, eyes on the board, her lips moving as she tried to read the words. As she came up with the sponge to wipe the blackboard, she dropped it in revulsion as a warm viscous fluid dripped down her arm from the soaked sponge. Gasping, she looked down into the blood filled bucket and turned towards the classroom and found the wooden desks arranged in a circle. Grinning skeletons stared back at her from the desks in the darkened classroom. She could hear their bones clicking as they shifted positions in their seats. Rose's mouth opened in closed in fear and astonishment.
In the center of the room stood a black rabbit the size of a man. He knelt down and scratched a Hopscotch grid onto the wooden boards with a knife and asked her to play. A purple kangaroo stood nearby, watching her as he tossed a skull from one paw to the other. Rose cried out, running from the room and into her old bedroom at the Bukater mansion.
The room looked exactly as she left it a few days before, except on the edge of the bed sat Caledon Hockley.
"Hello Rose. I've missed you so," he said tauntingly, smiling at her cruelly as he leapt from the bed towards her, attempting to grab her. Rose pulled her arm free from his iron grasp and fled the room, with him thundering after her. In her heart, she knew if she was caught he would kill her. Panicked, she could hear herself whimpering as she ran down the hallway towards the stairs and freedom.
At the top of the stairs, all the lights in the house went out. Blind, she screamed as she lost her footing on the top step and tumbled down the stairs. Landing ungraciously at the bottom, she took stock of her body, noticing she was miraculously unhurt.
"Where are you, Rose? Have you missed the touch of my hands on your body? I've waited for this moment for so long, I can't wait to feel the soft skin on your neck as I slowly strangle the life out of you," Cal said in the darkness, his voice becoming more menacing as the sounds of his footsteps echoed above stairs. "I'm coming for you," Cal called from the hallway above and when he laughed, Rose felt a chill run down her spine.
A dim flickering light was illuminating her body as she sat up at the bottom of the steps. It distracted her from the fear of Cal and realized briefly he had disappeared as a deep keening noise came from the parlor. She stood and quietly walked towards the light and the pocket doors. Opening them silently, she peeked around the corner, her eyes widening by the amount of candles and candelabras flickering with flame on every flat surface of the room. The overwhelming scent of flowers washed over her, large bouquets of white orchids and gardenias surrounding the standing figures in the front of the room.
Her father held her mother tightly as Ruth cried into his chest, unable to look at the coffin in front of them, sitting in front of the large picture window. Rose walked through the room, invisible to the grieving people lined up in chairs all around her.
A minister stood up and started to speak, but like the words on the blackboard, Rose couldn't understand the language he was speaking. Approaching the open coffin without disturbing the service, she gasped and cried out, tears instantly forming and spilling down her cheeks.
It was she who lay in the coffin, white in death, her long red hair wet and tangled against her breasts. Rose was wearing the pink dress she wore when Titanic sank. The only make up on her face was a slash of red lipstick as bright as blood. Her hands were folded gently over stomach in a parody of sleep. Her mother's sobs grew louder and Rose turned back to her parents, suddenly realizing she died the night Titanic sank. Her body was recovered from the wooden plank she lay on and she was here in the middle of her funeral service. Was everything that happened to her after she left the Carpathia and entered New York some strange type of purgatory while she awaited judgment?
She frantically waved her hands in front of her parent's faces, trying to let them know she was there standing in front of them. "No!" She screamed as she realized they couldn't see or hear her.
She stood helplessly by; tears streaming down her face as her father leaned down to kiss her good-bye and closed the coffin with a resounding thunk.
Rose awakened explosively as Sarah and Charlie were building a tent over her bed of quilts and she struggled briefly, mistaking them in her fear for her parents who were preparing her for burial in her nightmare. "I'm so scared, I can't be dead," Rose whimpered. "I don't want to die. I'm not ready to die yet."
Sarah calmed her down by pulling Rose into her arms, rocking and crooning to her as if she were a small child. Rose pulled in a penetrating breath of camphor and pine oil and she allowed herself to be soothed back down into unconsciousness.
Sarah awakened her a little while later to administer another dose of the tincture. Rose has lost all sense of time, entombed in the darkness of quilts so she wasn't sure how much had passed, be it hours or days. Her chest felt lighter, as the steam and camphor loosened the phlegm in her chest. She coughed it up freely and spat into the basin Sarah offered.
"How are you feeling?" Sarah asked, glancing down in the basin, checking for blood. Satisfied by what she saw, she placed the bowl on the dresser outside of the tent. In the dim light coming through the quilts, Rose could see her clothing was damp and wrinkled from the steam. Her hair was falling out of her always perfect bun and stray hairs were tucked behind her ears and away from her face.
"I think I feel better." Rose croaked and cleared her throat. "Could I have some water?"
Sarah ducked under the side of the tent again and came back a moment later with a glass of ice water. "You frightened us something fierce last night. I was afraid we were going to have to douse you in a tub of ice water, your fever went so high."
Rose sipped the water gratefully, realizing she was sweating profusely. "Did my fever break?" She whispered.
Sarah smiled slightly. "It would seem so. It may be a good idea to keep you in the tent for a little while longer. You'll breathe much easier in here."
"What time is it?" Rose asked.
"Almost lunch time. We made it through the night. Poor Charlie is sound asleep on the sofa in the parlor; his body gave up a little past dawn."
"You should sleep for awhile, Sarah. Thank you for everything you're doing for me. I don't think I would have made it this far without you."
Sarah patted her hand. "We're not out of the woods yet, sweetheart. This influenza is a wicked little bug, so you may relapse at any time. You would feel even worse if you develop pneumonia."
Rose understood all too well the hidden meaning behind her words. If she relapsed again, or if the influenza developed into pneumonia there might not be anything Sarah could do help her. She could very easily become another statistic of the horrifying number of people who were succumbing to the influenza at an alarming rate.
"Besides," Sarah continued. "I moved a chair under the tent next to your bed and I'll stay to watch over you. Someone needs to refresh the water in the basins when they start to cool." She smiled gently and handed Rose the water glass again.
"How much longer?" Rose coughed as she asked. "How much longer until I'm out of danger of this turning into pneumonia?" She placed the glass on the bedside table.
"I don't know. I would say at least another three or four days to be on the safe side."
"But you're not afraid to be here with me?" Rose asked as she kicked the covers off of her legs and feet. Her skin felt as if it were crawling with ants, she was so hot and sweaty.
"No," Sarah said as she sat back down in the chair. "I told Charlie the same thing. For some reason I can't explain, I've been exposed to this bug for over a week and a half now and I haven't even had a sniffle." Sarah was surprised to feel her eyes welling with tears.
Rose leaned her head back against the pillow and coughed. "How bad is it here? How many people have died?"
Sarah choked off a sob as the emotions she had been so careful to keep hidden broke the surface and swelled. "So many, Rose. Too many."
Her throat closed up briefly as she tried to keep dam the flood which threatened to break free. "I'm so worried about Charlie," Sarah's head fell into her hands and she sobbed quietly. "I can't lose him. But I can't seem to protect him from it either, which makes me feel so helpless." Sarah stood up and left the tent briefly and came back in a moment later with a lace handkerchief clutched in her hand.
"There's so much death here, Rose. I don't know how I can cope." She grasped the arms of the chair and bowed her head.
"I know," Rose whispered.
"When the telegram arrived that morning, I knew something was wrong because they knocked on the front door. No one ever uses the front door," Sarah paused to wipe her tears.
"I saw the uniforms and the expressions on their faces and I knew one or both of my sons were dead. When they handed me the notice and told me how sorry they were, I sank to my knees on the front porch and wished I were dead too. My heart was breaking and I had no one to turn to."
Sarah stopped and pressed both hands over her eyes as if they burned with weariness.
Rose started to cry, remembering and feeling ashamed Sarah was here all alone when the news was delivered. When she came home from flying that evening, she knew something was wrong because the house felt dead. Charlie sat at the kitchen table, staring at his hands, his face stained with tears. Sarah was given a dose of laudanum by the family doctor and was sleeping fitfully upstairs. Rose embraced Charlie briefly, before he broke away from her and left for the hangar. All night she sat at the table, not sure what to do, her heart breaking for her surrogate parents and the brother she never knew.
"But as much as I wanted to die, I couldn't. I had you and Charlie to take care of. Doug was still alive somewhere over in Europe. I couldn't die, but I won't lie to you, when the flu broke out here, I went to nurse the sick, not caring if I caught the flu and died too," Sarah took Rose's extended hand and squeezed.
Sarah sobbed and Rose cried right along with her. Rose had experienced every emotion Sarah was suffering from right now. She knew all Sarah needed from her was to listen.
Sarah handed Rose the horehound tea and Rose grimaced at the smell and taste, but she sipped it dutifully.
Sarah cleared her throat and wiped her eyes and took a deep breath punctuated with several uneven breaths.
"I can't let you die, Rose," Sarah said, her voice filled with determination. "I can't lose you too. I refuse to let you go. You're going to live, damn it. I promise."
Charlie Adler walked out of the meeting hall and pulled down the gauze mask covering the lower half of his face, taking a deep cleansing breath of the late October air. He was leaving the hall after he and the few fellow council members not yet affected by the influenza mandated a quarantine of town. They had ordered every possible place for social gathering closed, fearful of the spread of influenza which was rapidly over taking the small community. Just in the last twenty-four hours, fifty two new cases were presented to the overworked doctors and nurses who had set up the gym of the primary school as their base of operations. Of the fifty-two, nine people had already died.
Notices were going up on every bulletin board and shop window available, but it was if the town itself had died. The last train had disembarked a few hours ago, leaving with a mournful whistle as the railroad was notified of the impending quarantine.
It was disconcerting, seeing the streets of the usually busy town deserted on a Wednesday afternoon. There were no cars or buggies moving down the streets, no people to be seen as many kept to their homes to fight the infection on their own terms. Many storefront doors stood open as there was no worry of robbery or looting in the newly formed ghost town. Windows in the buildings high above him stood open, curtains fluttering in the breeze like white flags of surrender.
Charlie moved rapidly to the shops had volunteered to place to quarantine notices in, barely giving each one a second glace until he came to the General Store. He moved quickly, placing the notice in the window before deciding to root through the store on his own for his home. He grabbed wooden boxes from behind the counter and methodically walked down the aisles, locating all the necessary previsions for this unexpected siege. He hauled the boxes out of the store two at a time and loaded them carefully into back of his truck.
Yesterday evening over dinner, he and Sarah had discussed the alarming frequency the sickness was over taking the town and decided it was time for her to give up spending her days in the make-shift hospital. He felt guilty about making her come home from the infirmary, but he was sure their good fortune of not being effected was not to last. Sarah also knew she had done all she could, but still it was with a heavy heart she left the doctors and make-shift nurses to fend for themselves.
It filled him with dread every time he thought about all those beds lined in rows, filled to capacity with sickened town people. He was bone-tired, so weary from worrying about his town, his friends and his family. He scrubbed his face with his hands, the rough stubble of hair grating against his palms. He closed his eyes for a moment, mentally shaking himself awake before entering the store again.
The shopkeeper himself was one of the latest casualties of the flu, so there was no one to mind to the store as Charlie stocked up on provisions. He felt guilty about looting the store in his need, but he pushed it out of his mind, promising restitution as he swept back into the building to make his final rounds. He wasn't the only council member to have the same idea, right after he reentered the store, a few other men trailed after him, silently taking what they needed before heading to their homes or to the infirmary to check on loved ones.
There was no need for words, each knowing there was nothing else left to say. This influenza caught the town and county so off-guard and Charlie could feel the fear coming off everyone not affected in waves, like a fecund odor silently creeping around the town and couldn't be placed and eradicated. Everyone was suspect; no one was sure how or why this plague attacked their town. The people who were not affected were frightened they would be next and they were shell-shocked by the amount of good friends and family they were losing at an alarming rate.
The meeting to quarantine only took a few minutes of their time. They were all in agreement about what needed to be done for the health of themselves and their town. But knowing what needed to be done didn't help with the gaunt, haunted expressions on their faces as many of them dealt with numerable losses of family members overseas and now here, at home.
Charlie was loading the last of the boxes into the truck when he saw someone sitting alone on the train platform at the other end of the street. He wasn't sure as he wasn't close enough, but it might have been Rose and he needed to check. Both he and Sarah agonized over Rose's decision to travel back home alone, even though they both understood her reasons for leaving. They were so afraid they would never see her again, as they both became attached to the young woman as if she were their daughter.
As he drove his truck over to the train station, the sun came out from behind the clouds and their hair lit around their head like a fiery halo. He let of a sigh of thanksgiving as he recognized Rose's flaming red hair. If it wasn't for the halo, he wouldn't have recognized her in the drab gray traveling dress she wore.
"Rose, honey?" he asked as opened the truck door. She was sitting on the bench silently, staring at her hands. "Rose, it's me, Charlie. Do you want me to take you home to Sarah?"
Charlie blanched as she looked up. Her face was as white as death and her cheeks were flushed with fever. "Oh, no, sweetie, not you too." Rose covered her mouth and coughed, her entire upper body spasming as it shook from the force.
Fear filled him as he watched her stand up unsteadily, grasping for her satchel alongside of her. "I lost my car, Charlie," she said weakly. "I had to leave it in Philadelphia. There was no one to crank the gas."
Charlie pulled the mask back over his face and he ran up the steps to the platform just as Rose collapsed back onto the bench.
"I don't feel very well," she said, moving to lay her head down on the wooden seat. "Everything hurts." She closed her eyes tightly, grimacing in pain as the dying sunlight upset her eyes and shot white hot spikes through her skull.
"Here, let me help you," Charlie said as he gently picked Rose up in his arms. The heat radiating through her dress from her fevered body alarmed him. "I'll take you back to the house. Sarah will know what to do." Oh, lord, Charlie thought. Please let her know what to do.
Rose's weight was slack in his arms and her head fell back as she slipped into unconsciousness. The long braid of her hair fell over his arm and swept against his legs as he walked. He prayed she would be okay, the thought of taking her to the infirmary never even crossing his mind. He opened the passenger side of the truck and gently placed her in the cab, his body tensing as he listened to her groan in pain. He shut the door as she began to cough again, running for the driver's side door.
Charlie pushed the truck as fast as it could go on the return home, praying silently Rose would not die before he could get there. The truck skidded to a stop in front of the back porch of the house and he honked the horn repeatedly to alert Sarah.
"Charlie? My word, what is it?" Sarah exclaimed, coming out onto the porch.
"It's Rose, she's sick," Charlie said as he pulled gently pulled Rose's inert form through the driver's side door and into his arms. "It's the flu."
"Oh, lord," Sarah's eyes widened in shock as she held the door open for Charlie. "Take her straight upstairs and put her to bed."
Charlie nodded as he walked through the doorway.
"Do you know how long she's been like this?" Sarah asked as she followed Charlie into the kitchen.
"I don't know. I found her like this on the train platform. She said she had to leave the car in Philadelphia," Charlie said, his voice muffled behind the mask. "She must have taken the train back. Thank God she was able to get back before the quarantine went into effect. She must have been sitting there for hours."
Sarah nodded as she hurried around the kitchen to make preparations, the sound of his footsteps up the back staircase echoing though the silent house. She pulled out a basin from under the sink and rushing to the pantry, she grabbed the container of distilled alcohol on the top shelf. She was muttering to herself, listing all the things she would need to nurse Rose's sickness.
"What can I do to help?" Charlie said as he came back down the stairs. "I think she's sleeping now."
"Out in the root cellar, I keep my medicines," Sarah winced as the alcohol bottle clattered against the enamel countertop. "You know the shelf where they are. Find the yellow jasmine tincture and bring it in," Sarah stopped, thinking for a moment. "Oh, the camphor, the horehound and the pine oil will help too. Bring those in too. The oil and the camphor will be in small clear glass bottles, everything is labeled and alphabetized. Then when you come back in, stoke up the fire on the stove and put the teakettle on."
"Do you want the willow bark, too?"
Sarah shook her head. "Not at this stage. It has the same ingredient as aspirin. I don't think the aspirin will help now, it may make it worse. You can bring it up though, once the danger has passed, we can use it." Sarah paused as the sounds of Rose's coughing reached her in the kitchen. She was moving on instinct, not trusting the all-purpose healing powers of the new drug recently released to the public.
"When you're done with that, I'll you need to check on our supply of ice. Chip off quite a few pieces and place them in a bowl in the bottom of the icebox to keep cold. Lord knows when we'll get more, but we may need to use it if her fever gets too high."
Sarah became meticulous as her recent nursing training and instincts for healing took over. She poured the distilled alcohol into the basin and reached on the shelf above the counter for the gauze masks she had prepared for use in the infirmary. Having a thought, she rushed out to the parlor for a few sheets of parchment paper. She returned to the kitchen, seeing Charlie standing, awaiting more instructions.
"I'm pretty sure if I was going to catch this influenza, I would have already, but I'm not sure about you, my love. Dip your hands in the alcohol, dry them and then put on a fresh mask whenever you come into Rose's room. You'll dip your hands when you enter and then dip them again upon leaving. But I don't want you in there any more then necessary. Understood?" She smiled gently to lessen the sting of her words.
Charlie nodded and embraced his wife. "I love you," he said, pulling the mask down as he bent and kissed her briefly. "I know you'll do everything you can to save her." Then he rushed out to complete Sarah's requests.
Sarah stopped to grasp the back of the kitchen chair, kneading the wooden ladder slat and sighed, looking up towards the ceiling as Rose coughed again. She was frightened, but she knew it wouldn't help Charlie to see her fear. She took a deep breath and then pushed off the chair to pull down another bowl and placed it in the bottom of the sink. Pumping fresh water into the ceramic bowl, she reached for clean cloths in the kitchen drawer with her other hand to bath Rose's fevered forehead.
A few minutes later, Charlie returned to the house with the sealed jar of yellow jasmine tincture, the gauze packet of horehound and the two vials filled with camphor and pine oil. He placed them on the counter and bent down in front of the wooden ice box, chipping ice off the large block in the bottom recess of the box.
Sarah took a deep breath as she placed a tray on the table and loaded the two basins and cloths onto it. "Charlie, when you are done with the ice, please be a dear and don't forget about the stove and the fire. Place the teakettle on and throw in the horehound and tea leaves. We can strain the tea later, but it will need to steep for at least an hour or two. Then at least it will be ready if we need it."
She picked up the tray and moved to walk up the stairs, but turned back in the kitchen, as she remembered something else to ask of Charlie. "Darling, I'll need three large saucepans filled with water and set to boil, too. If Rose's cough gets worse, or if she seems to be having trouble breathing, we'll need to construct a tent over her bed, and we'll use the steam from the boiling water for the pine oil and the camphor."
"Maybe I should write a list," Charlie said as he picked up the extra piece of parchment paper from the table and rummaged through a kitchen drawer for a writing utensil.
Sarah smiled faintly at him and turned to walk quickly up the stairs to Rose's room. She backed into the room, careful not to jar the tray against the doorjambs. Rose lay curled on her side like a child, breathing heavily through her open mouth. Her nose was raw, chapped and from the sounds of the light snores, obviously stuffed. Sarah placed the tray down on the bureau, lining the objects she needed in order of importance. She dipped her hands in the alcohol and dried them before placing her hand on Rose's head. Her fever was high, but not yet critical.
Moving to the windows, she raised them a few inches to let some cool air sweep into the room. When she was done, she undressed the still sleeping Rose down to her shift and settled her under the covers, propping her shoulders up on the feather pillows.
The compresses were placed in the cold water to soak and she wrung one compress out and placed it on Rose's fevered forehead. Then she picked up the parchment paper and rolled it into a tube. Sarah didn't have a stethoscope, but she knew this method would work almost as well. Rose groaned in her sleep and coughed, causing Sarah to hurry to her side to listen to her lungs. She picked up Rose's limp wrist, counting her pulse as she placed the heavy paper tube to her ear.
Her pulse was thready, but still somewhat strong. Her breathing gave Sarah hope too because it wasn't yet watery, as was so many of the people who died from the secondary infection, pneumonia. If this was the second day of her sickness, maybe Sarah would be able to stop the infection from worsening with doses of the yellow jasmine and horehound tea.
With all her time spent at the infirmary, she knew what the doctors and the nurses would have done to lessen Rose's symptoms. There wasn't anything she could do if she started to hemorrhage from the lungs, but she prayed it wouldn't go that far.
Sarah had seen some instances when the first few cases of influenza were brought into the infirmary where the yellow jasmine had worked, but it was in such short supply, they weren't able to keep up with the demand of all the new patients who were brought in everyday and they had quickly run out. Sarah had struggled with the idea of giving up her tincture to the infirmary, made from the root she purchased on a whim during a trip to a Chicago apothecary this past summer. She had made the tincture when the infection began to spread into the surrounding towns for fear she would need to use it at home. Now she knew she had made the right decision.
She sent the heavens a silent thank you for her grandmother, who entrusted her with the knowledge of botanicals and their many uses.
Sarah spent the next hour by Rose's side, only venturing back downstairs for the tincture, fresh compresses and to check on Charlie and the steeping horehound. When Rose coughed herself awake right after dark, Sarah could see her shoulders bracing against the force of it and she placed her hand gently on Rose's back, feeling a fine constant tremor running through her from back muscles forced to spasm with every cough. The air rattled noisily in her chest with every breathe she took.
Sarah turned up the flame in the lamp by her bedside, smiling gently as she laid her hand on Rose's forehead. Her appearance alarmed Sarah more than she wanted to let on. Her face was so pale and her lips were white, her nose was red rimmed and oozing fluid. The fragile skin under her dark blue eyes was bruised a purplish black from fatigue.
"Hi honey," Sarah whispered as she sat down beside her on the bed.
"Hi," Rose croaked, her throat moving painfully. She brought her hand up to her neck as she grimaced with pain.
"Don't try and talk yet, okay?"
Rose nodded, coughed and then sneezed explosively. Sarah handed her a linen handkerchief to wipe the mucous from her nose.
"We are going to try a few things, honey, to make you better. Do you think you're up to swallowing some liquid?"
At Rose's nod, Sarah stood and poured out a teaspoon of her tincture. Rose swallowed it painfully, grimacing from the sting of her sore throat and also from the bitter taste. Sarah gently brought a glass of ice water to her lips and Rose sipped the water slowly, savoring it, allowing it to trickle down as it soothed her raw throat. She handed the glass to Sarah and coughed again.
Rose blew her nose into the handkerchief and tried to clear her clogged throat. "Am I going to die?" .
"Oh, honey," Sarah said as she sat back down beside her. "Not if I have any say in it. Do you hear me?"
Rose nodded weakly, feeling so horrible, not sure if she minded death coming to call. She coughed as she settled into the pillows.
"I'm glad you found your way back here."
Rose smiled weakly and looked down at the handkerchief clasped in her hand. "I didn't have anywhere else to go."
"Were you able to find your mother?" Sarah asked as she smoothed Rose's hair back from her forehead.
Rose nodded and looked away from Sarah to the window alongside her bed.
"It was a dreadful there," Rose whispered, pausing to cough once again. "The town seemed dead, everything was closed up and deserted. I've never in my life seen Philadelphia that way. The people I saw seemed catatonic from shock and my mother was sick – is sick with influenza," Rose paused to cough and to swallow painfully.
"I don't know if she'll recover," Rose whispered as wet tears slid down Rose's cheeks and splattered against her shift as terrible regrets assailed her. "I didn't realize how much I missed her until I was faced with the realization she never wants to see me again."
Rose closed her eyes, feeling utterly miserable from influenza and from the loss of her mother.
"You don't have to talk about it Rose, if it will pain you to do so," Sarah said quietly as she grasped Rose's hand in her own.
"I know," Rose said as she squeezed Sarah's hand gently. She closed her eyes and began to whisper again.
"I can't say I blame her for reacting the way she did. I don't know what I would have done differently if our positions were reversed. I don't think I should have gone back," Rose stopped and shrugged her shoulders. "She still loves me," Rose paused to cough once more. "At least I will always have that to remember her by."
Rose blinked, feeling suddenly light-headed. Her head was pounding as if someone were repeatedly using her skull as an anvil. She closed her eyes and the blackness exploded in white lights behind her closed lids. She was so tired and she took a shallow breath, struggling not to cough.
"I think I should try to sleep for awhile."
"That's a wonderful idea. I won't be far if you need me," Sarah said as she squeezed Rose's hand once more and stood up from the bed. Rose looked up at her, smiling weakly.
Rose closed her eyes as Sarah turned the lamp down low and moved out of the room. Her entire body ached and she was alternating between shivering and feeling too warm. She needed to sleep as she hoped she would be able to rest as her body continued to betray by coughing her awake every time she would slip into slumber.
She finally fell into restless lurid dreams of no meaning, finding herself driving alone down endless roads with white naked figures jumping in and out behind from behind the trees lining the road
As she approached a crossroads, the dream suddenly shifted and she was standing by the railing of a wooden Man o' War on a storm lashed sea. A wave overtook the deck and she was swept into the heaving water. She saw her father briefly in the middle of the maelstrom, standing above the waves, smiling down at her as she fought for her life. But he vanished as she screamed his name, reaching for him as saltwater filled her open mouth. Drowning, she slipped under the black water as the nightmare shifted abruptly and she found herself in her old primary school back in Philadelphia.
The slate blackboard she was standing in front of was smeared with white chalk and nonsense words she couldn't understand. In her dream state, she knew she was being punished for something she'd done by having to clean the blackboard. She reached down into the bucket next to her, eyes on the board, her lips moving as she tried to read the words. As she came up with the sponge to wipe the blackboard, she dropped it in revulsion as a warm viscous fluid dripped down her arm from the soaked sponge. Gasping, she looked down into the blood filled bucket and turned towards the classroom and found the wooden desks arranged in a circle. Grinning skeletons stared back at her from the desks in the darkened classroom. She could hear their bones clicking as they shifted positions in their seats. Rose's mouth opened in closed in fear and astonishment.
In the center of the room stood a black rabbit the size of a man. He knelt down and scratched a Hopscotch grid onto the wooden boards with a knife and asked her to play. A purple kangaroo stood nearby, watching her as he tossed a skull from one paw to the other. Rose cried out, running from the room and into her old bedroom at the Bukater mansion.
The room looked exactly as she left it a few days before, except on the edge of the bed sat Caledon Hockley.
"Hello Rose. I've missed you so," he said tauntingly, smiling at her cruelly as he leapt from the bed towards her, attempting to grab her. Rose pulled her arm free from his iron grasp and fled the room, with him thundering after her. In her heart, she knew if she was caught he would kill her. Panicked, she could hear herself whimpering as she ran down the hallway towards the stairs and freedom.
At the top of the stairs, all the lights in the house went out. Blind, she screamed as she lost her footing on the top step and tumbled down the stairs. Landing ungraciously at the bottom, she took stock of her body, noticing she was miraculously unhurt.
"Where are you, Rose? Have you missed the touch of my hands on your body? I've waited for this moment for so long, I can't wait to feel the soft skin on your neck as I slowly strangle the life out of you," Cal said in the darkness, his voice becoming more menacing as the sounds of his footsteps echoed above stairs. "I'm coming for you," Cal called from the hallway above and when he laughed, Rose felt a chill run down her spine.
A dim flickering light was illuminating her body as she sat up at the bottom of the steps. It distracted her from the fear of Cal and realized briefly he had disappeared as a deep keening noise came from the parlor. She stood and quietly walked towards the light and the pocket doors. Opening them silently, she peeked around the corner, her eyes widening by the amount of candles and candelabras flickering with flame on every flat surface of the room. The overwhelming scent of flowers washed over her, large bouquets of white orchids and gardenias surrounding the standing figures in the front of the room.
Her father held her mother tightly as Ruth cried into his chest, unable to look at the coffin in front of them, sitting in front of the large picture window. Rose walked through the room, invisible to the grieving people lined up in chairs all around her.
A minister stood up and started to speak, but like the words on the blackboard, Rose couldn't understand the language he was speaking. Approaching the open coffin without disturbing the service, she gasped and cried out, tears instantly forming and spilling down her cheeks.
It was she who lay in the coffin, white in death, her long red hair wet and tangled against her breasts. Rose was wearing the pink dress she wore when Titanic sank. The only make up on her face was a slash of red lipstick as bright as blood. Her hands were folded gently over stomach in a parody of sleep. Her mother's sobs grew louder and Rose turned back to her parents, suddenly realizing she died the night Titanic sank. Her body was recovered from the wooden plank she lay on and she was here in the middle of her funeral service. Was everything that happened to her after she left the Carpathia and entered New York some strange type of purgatory while she awaited judgment?
She frantically waved her hands in front of her parent's faces, trying to let them know she was there standing in front of them. "No!" She screamed as she realized they couldn't see or hear her.
She stood helplessly by; tears streaming down her face as her father leaned down to kiss her good-bye and closed the coffin with a resounding thunk.
Rose awakened explosively as Sarah and Charlie were building a tent over her bed of quilts and she struggled briefly, mistaking them in her fear for her parents who were preparing her for burial in her nightmare. "I'm so scared, I can't be dead," Rose whimpered. "I don't want to die. I'm not ready to die yet."
Sarah calmed her down by pulling Rose into her arms, rocking and crooning to her as if she were a small child. Rose pulled in a penetrating breath of camphor and pine oil and she allowed herself to be soothed back down into unconsciousness.
Sarah awakened her a little while later to administer another dose of the tincture. Rose has lost all sense of time, entombed in the darkness of quilts so she wasn't sure how much had passed, be it hours or days. Her chest felt lighter, as the steam and camphor loosened the phlegm in her chest. She coughed it up freely and spat into the basin Sarah offered.
"How are you feeling?" Sarah asked, glancing down in the basin, checking for blood. Satisfied by what she saw, she placed the bowl on the dresser outside of the tent. In the dim light coming through the quilts, Rose could see her clothing was damp and wrinkled from the steam. Her hair was falling out of her always perfect bun and stray hairs were tucked behind her ears and away from her face.
"I think I feel better." Rose croaked and cleared her throat. "Could I have some water?"
Sarah ducked under the side of the tent again and came back a moment later with a glass of ice water. "You frightened us something fierce last night. I was afraid we were going to have to douse you in a tub of ice water, your fever went so high."
Rose sipped the water gratefully, realizing she was sweating profusely. "Did my fever break?" She whispered.
Sarah smiled slightly. "It would seem so. It may be a good idea to keep you in the tent for a little while longer. You'll breathe much easier in here."
"What time is it?" Rose asked.
"Almost lunch time. We made it through the night. Poor Charlie is sound asleep on the sofa in the parlor; his body gave up a little past dawn."
"You should sleep for awhile, Sarah. Thank you for everything you're doing for me. I don't think I would have made it this far without you."
Sarah patted her hand. "We're not out of the woods yet, sweetheart. This influenza is a wicked little bug, so you may relapse at any time. You would feel even worse if you develop pneumonia."
Rose understood all too well the hidden meaning behind her words. If she relapsed again, or if the influenza developed into pneumonia there might not be anything Sarah could do help her. She could very easily become another statistic of the horrifying number of people who were succumbing to the influenza at an alarming rate.
"Besides," Sarah continued. "I moved a chair under the tent next to your bed and I'll stay to watch over you. Someone needs to refresh the water in the basins when they start to cool." She smiled gently and handed Rose the water glass again.
"How much longer?" Rose coughed as she asked. "How much longer until I'm out of danger of this turning into pneumonia?" She placed the glass on the bedside table.
"I don't know. I would say at least another three or four days to be on the safe side."
"But you're not afraid to be here with me?" Rose asked as she kicked the covers off of her legs and feet. Her skin felt as if it were crawling with ants, she was so hot and sweaty.
"No," Sarah said as she sat back down in the chair. "I told Charlie the same thing. For some reason I can't explain, I've been exposed to this bug for over a week and a half now and I haven't even had a sniffle." Sarah was surprised to feel her eyes welling with tears.
Rose leaned her head back against the pillow and coughed. "How bad is it here? How many people have died?"
Sarah choked off a sob as the emotions she had been so careful to keep hidden broke the surface and swelled. "So many, Rose. Too many."
Her throat closed up briefly as she tried to keep dam the flood which threatened to break free. "I'm so worried about Charlie," Sarah's head fell into her hands and she sobbed quietly. "I can't lose him. But I can't seem to protect him from it either, which makes me feel so helpless." Sarah stood up and left the tent briefly and came back in a moment later with a lace handkerchief clutched in her hand.
"There's so much death here, Rose. I don't know how I can cope." She grasped the arms of the chair and bowed her head.
"I know," Rose whispered.
"When the telegram arrived that morning, I knew something was wrong because they knocked on the front door. No one ever uses the front door," Sarah paused to wipe her tears.
"I saw the uniforms and the expressions on their faces and I knew one or both of my sons were dead. When they handed me the notice and told me how sorry they were, I sank to my knees on the front porch and wished I were dead too. My heart was breaking and I had no one to turn to."
Sarah stopped and pressed both hands over her eyes as if they burned with weariness.
Rose started to cry, remembering and feeling ashamed Sarah was here all alone when the news was delivered. When she came home from flying that evening, she knew something was wrong because the house felt dead. Charlie sat at the kitchen table, staring at his hands, his face stained with tears. Sarah was given a dose of laudanum by the family doctor and was sleeping fitfully upstairs. Rose embraced Charlie briefly, before he broke away from her and left for the hangar. All night she sat at the table, not sure what to do, her heart breaking for her surrogate parents and the brother she never knew.
"But as much as I wanted to die, I couldn't. I had you and Charlie to take care of. Doug was still alive somewhere over in Europe. I couldn't die, but I won't lie to you, when the flu broke out here, I went to nurse the sick, not caring if I caught the flu and died too," Sarah took Rose's extended hand and squeezed.
Sarah sobbed and Rose cried right along with her. Rose had experienced every emotion Sarah was suffering from right now. She knew all Sarah needed from her was to listen.
Sarah handed Rose the horehound tea and Rose grimaced at the smell and taste, but she sipped it dutifully.
Sarah cleared her throat and wiped her eyes and took a deep breath punctuated with several uneven breaths.
"I can't let you die, Rose," Sarah said, her voice filled with determination. "I can't lose you too. I refuse to let you go. You're going to live, damn it. I promise."