chair, his head on his mother’s bed. Gently, she moved him into a more comfortable position, covering him with a soft blanket so he would not catch a chill. She could not resist touching his cheek, feeling the stubble that had arisen in the three days since he had seen a razor. Seeing him stir a bit at her touch, she stole away. A few minutes later, as she sat beside Annie, waves of dizziness came over her.
“I can’t get sick!” she whispered frantically to herself. As the nausea filled her, she laid her head down and, for the first time, finally slept.
* * *
Jerking awake, Lucy did not know what time it was or how long she had been asleep. She thought it might be Sunday’s dawn, but with the shutters nailed down, it was hard to know. Church bells still tolled steadily, but for the dead, and there was no bellman calling the hour. Mindlessly, she checked the fire and saw that Adam must have banked it in the few hours she had slept.
Annie and Cook both looked better. Their fevers had broken, and they were sleeping heavily, their bodies exhausted from the battle against death.
As she smoothed Lawrence’s matted hair from his head, she hummed a tuneless little song. Poor little urchin. She could tell he was about to die, and he’d never had a chance to truly live. She was holding the boy’s hand when Adam came down, his face stricken as he peered in at her, a mute plea in his eyes as he passed.
From the next room, she heard Adam sink down on the kitchen bench. Wordlessly, she left the pantry, knowing in that instant that his mother had passed. She sat beside him and put her arms around his neck, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Instinctively, he nestled his face in her shoulder. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he wept.
She didn’t know how long their tears flowed, or how long he held her tightly. Gradually, the room began to take on light. Lucy was starting to feel strange in his arms, dreamy and wonderful, especially when she felt Adam brush his lips against her forehead.
Lucy heard herself murmur something, but with the queerness of it all, she didn’t know what she had said.
The next instant, he had grasped her by the shoulders and looked closely at her. “Lucy!” he exclaimed. “You’re sick! You must go to bed!”
“No,” she protested weakly. “I can’t, they need me.”
“No, child.” Cook’s voice came from the kitchen wall. Though it lacked Cook’s normal blustery raucousness, Lucy was very glad to hear her speak at last. Lucy and Adam hurried into the pantry to look at her.
“I believe I’m starting to be fine now.” Cook began to raise herself from the bed but fell back into the covers.
Adam hurried over to pull another blanket over her and Annie, who was still slumbering peacefully. “No one is getting up right now,” he said firmly. “I’m going to get Lucy to bed and—oh, my sweet, I’m so sorry.”
Lucy was staring dumbly down at little Lawrence. His cherubic face still had a bit of a rosy flush, but he had taken on the fixed features of death. Little Lawrence had died! The room began to swirl, and she gave in to the light-headedness.
* * *
When she awoke, it was dark again and she was confused by her surroundings. She heard Adam’s voice as though from a distance. “Please eat, Lucy. Please take some soup.”
She opened her mouth obediently and swallowed, hot liquid coursing in a welcome way down her throat. She felt it all the way into her stomach. She blinked at Adam. “Where am I?” she asked.
Adam smiled, a quick harried grin. “You’re in my chamber. My father insisted that you rest here, considering how you took care of everyone.” Reading her thoughts correctly he added, “Now, no more questions until you’ve taken some more soup.” He raised the spoon to her mouth. Again she swallowed obediently, but then everything came back to her with a start.
“Your mother, I’m so sorry! Oh, and little Lawrence! What about your father, and—?”
“Everyone else is fine,” Adam broke in. “Don’t worry. You’re the only one who’s sick now.”
She felt weak. “Am I going to die?” She gulped.
“Oh, I expect so.” Unexpectedly, he grinned. “But not today. You did give me, us, a scare, though. You don’t have the plague. You’re just worn out from taking care of