Echo Mountain - Lauren Wolk Page 0,81

plant known to draw blood from the hands that picked it.

“Her fever’s bad,” Esther said. She frowned at Larkin. “Why didn’t you come up before now? Ellie could have gone for honey without you.”

Before he could reply, I said, “Stop that, Esther. You only came here yourself because you were scared to be home without Mother.”

“But he’s her grandson! And I didn’t know she was Mrs. Cleary.”

“What difference does that make?”

“Hush now,” Cate said. She was trembling, her face white and dry. “It doesn’t matter.”

Larkin said, “You knew her when she was Mrs. Cleary? From town?”

“From when she was a nurse. In Bethel,” I said. “But I’ve changed so much, and she has, too, that we didn’t recognize each other.”

“But you haven’t,” Larkin said, looking at Esther.

“Haven’t what?”

“Changed.”

“Yes, she has,” I said, looking steadily at my sister. “She cleaned out that wound with no one here to teach her how.”

I took the honey jar from my pack.

“You found some honey?” Cate said.

“Yes.” I nodded. “If, by found, you mean wrangled some in exchange for cleaning a chicken coop and then stole the rest from a hive.” I craned my neck so she could see where I’d been stung.

“More spunk,” she said. “That’s good.”

Larkin pulled the blanket off Cate’s leg.

The wound, clean now, was still a dirty mess and, despite myself, I wished again for maggots.

I gave the honey to my sister. “I’ll pull back the edges,” I said, nodding at the wound. “You squeeze the honey in, Esther.”

After a long moment of no, Esther slowly dumped the whole comb out into her hand and carefully squeezed it over the wound. “Like this?”

“Just like that,” I said.

While we worked, Cate trembled and flinched, but she didn’t make a sound.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Larkin take her hand.

When I glanced up at his face, I was stunned by the grief I saw there.

I looked around the cabin. “We’ll need more bandages. The wash that was on the line. Where is it?”

Esther said, “I put it in the trunk.”

I went, found a clean sheet, used my knife to notch it at one end, ripped away three long strips, brought them back to the bed, and wrapped them around Cate’s leg, under and around, again and again until I ran out of cloth.

“I took some honeybees to my father so they could sting him,” I told her.

“What?” Esther said, looking at me sharply.

Cate looked at me, too, wide-eyed. “To wake him up?”

I nodded.

“Did it work?”

“Some. Not enough.”

She settled back against the pillow. “Step by step. That’s the way out of something hard.”

I smoothed Cate’s bandage in place and pulled her blanket over it.

To Esther, I said, “Will you brew some willow bark tea? For her fever?”

“She’s already had some,” Esther said, wiping her sticky hand on a rag.

“Then give her some more,” I said.

“There aren’t any more twigs.”

“Then go find the tree,” I said, trying not to sound impatient. “Willows are thirsty. Look near the spring.”

When she’d gone, Larkin said, “Your sister isn’t much like you.”

Which was true, though it wasn’t.

I watched Cate reach out tiredly to run her hand down Captan’s back.

“Do you really think Captan is Quiet’s daddy?” I asked Larkin.

He nodded. “I do believe he is.”

Cate, hearing this for the first time, said, “Who’s Quiet?”

I almost said, My pup.

“One of the pups at home.”

“They look like Captan did when he was young,” Larkin said.

Cate smiled. “Must be handsome then.”

“They are,” he replied. “And spoken for, or I’d ask for one.”

“Spoken for?”

“To be hunters,” I said. “In exchange for a milk cow.”

Which was when Esther came through the door, her fist full of willow twigs like a Quaker bouquet.

Which led Larkin to add another log to the fire.

Which made the kettle hum.

“Last time, the honey worked in a day,” I said to Cate, who nodded.

“And it may do the same this time. If not, you’ll have to cut me after all.” She tried and failed to look brave about that.

“But you can’t cut her,” Esther said to me, her own voice trembling a little. “You won’t need to do that. Will you?”

“Oh, child,” Cate said, “it might not come to that.”

But then the kettle began to scream.

And Esther turned toward the fire.

And Larkin scraped willow bark into a mug, where the hot water would soften it into medicine.

And I thought of the dead honeybees. And the terror of the snake. And the willow buds withering on the floor, just there by Larkin’s feet. And my mother’s mandolin, its strings