head, my neck stiff and sore. “She came back early to help me, did she not?”
Matilda whispered, “Nanna Ellen walked you back from the Gates of Hell last night and rescued you from the Devil’s touch. Of this I am sure.”
“But Uncle Edward—”
“Uncle Edward tried his best, and your condition worsened with each passing hour. But Nanna Ellen . . . she somehow . . .”
“Somehow what? What did she do?”
The wounds from the leeches began to itch, and when Matilda saw me scratching them, she held both my hands in her own. “What she did took place behind closed doors, but when she emerged an hour later, it was clear your fever had broken and the danger passed, but she spoke nothing of her methods, despite Pa’s and Uncle Edward’s queries. Instead, she walked from your room to her own and closed the door without so much as a single word. Uncle Edward beat on her door for nearly five full minutes before finally giving up and returning to your side only to see what Ma and I were already seeing; the sweats from your fever were gone and you were resting peacefully in this very bed—still and quiet, only the rise and fall of your chest to tell us you were still amongst the living.” Matilda glanced at Nanna Ellen’s closed bedroom door. “She rests in there still.” She leaned in close. “I saw Thornley bring something to her after she left your room. A large bag. Something inside was moving. She opened before he knocked, opened it only enough to take the bag, then closed the door behind her.”
“That is ridiculous.”
“That is what I saw.”
“You must have been dreaming.”
She defiantly crossed her arms. “I saw it.”
I examined the wounds running the length of my arms, turning them in the light.
“Does it hurt?” Matilda asked.
I was sore, and I knew from past experience it would take days before I would heal, and I told her so, although the wounds seemed to be healing faster this time, already scabbing over and itching something fierce.
Her voice dropped even lower, to a hush barely heard above the birdsong outside. “There is more. When Nanna Ellen first arrived last night, when she shouted for all of us to leave your room, she looked like herself: a young, healthy woman. But when she emerged from your room, she was anything but; it was like she aged a dozen years in those minutes she was in here. Her face had gone pale and dry, her hair limp and brittle. And her eyes were those of an old woman. I caught a glimpse of them as she shuffled to her room, but only a glimpse, for she turned away and shielded her face behind the shadows as she rushed past and closed her door on us.”
“What color were they?” I asked her, already knowing her response.
“Blue as the sea when she entered, the deepest gray when she left.”
“So, it’s happening again?”
Matilda nodded.
* * *
? ? ?
MA RETURNED WITH a glass of claret and handed it to me. “I nearly forgot: Uncle Edward said you are to drink this the moment you awake.”
I was not typically fond of claret. I didn’t develop a taste for wine until later in life, but I knew from past experience the drink would quicken the return of my strength—what little I had in those days anyway. I took the glass in hand and forced the liquid down without so much as a single breath between gulps. The wine was warm and dry and not entirely horrible to my young palate, but alcohol nonetheless, and I quickly felt the effects wash over me. I returned the glass to Ma, who eyed me curiously. “You must be dehydrated; I thought I would have to fight you to get it all down. After witnessing that, I’m beginning to wonder if perhaps this sickness of yours is nothing more than a hangover, that you have been sneaking off to the pubs at night.” She said this with a twinkle in her eye. I knew it was in jest; I couldn’t help but smile at