Fever 1793 (9 page)

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tear apart. Instead, I would have to use it whole. I pulled the drawstring at the waist tightly until I could barely poke my thumb through the opening. I would hold open the hem and pray an unusually stupid fish would swim into the trap.

"I bet no soldier ever thought of this one," I said, wading back in the water with my improvised net.

My feet iced right away, and it was hard to find a comfortable position. I had to bend over at the waist, wave the petticoat in the water to make it float, then stand without moving. I wiggled my toes to bring some feeling back in them. How could my feet be so cold while my head was so hot?

A bee buzzed in front of my face. In the distance, I heard a carriage escaping from Philadelphia. Food first, rescue second. I blew the bee away. Where was that stupid parrot? He could be useful and feast on this pest. A fish brushed against my ankle.

"Come little fishy, come down," I murmured. My arms shook from the effort of holding the petticoat open. The fish paused at the edge of the net.

"Just a few more inches. That's it. Keep swimming."

The bee landed on my mob cap just above my eyebrows. I concentrated on the fish.

"You're almost there, my little fried breakfast. Don't stop now."

I prepared to close the petticoat and trap the fish inside.

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"Tea,Mattie!"

King George swooped straight at my head and snatched the bee. The explosion of feathers in my face sent me crashing into the water. I came up sputtering and saw the trout flick his tail and head downstream, where there were no girls with petticoats and no parrots.

"I'll roast you!" I shouted at the king, shaking my dripping petticoat in his direction.

"Fresh thing," he replied.

There was no time to try for another fish. Grandfather was alone and without water. I filled the canteen, scoured the bushes for the last berries, and hurried back.

Grandfather's eyes were still clear, but his nose was red and his throat raspy.

"Cold," he said.

"Cold? Are you cold?" How could he be cold? The sun had nearly dried my wet skirts.

He shivered.

"Shall I make a fire?"

He closed his eyes and nodded. Even the effort of speaking a few sentences had exhausted him.

At home, I would borrow a burning twist of paper from a neighbor when all the fires in the house were cold. I couldn't remember the last time I saw a fire started with flint and tinder. I didn't even have flint and tinder.

Grandfather shivered and moaned. I washed his face

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and neck with the damp petticoat that didn't catch fish. It seemed to comfort him.

"Is there anything to eat?"

I coughed and shook my head.

"All we have are these berries, Grandfather."

"Of course, I forgot." He ate a few. "We need food."

I thought about telling him how close I had been to capturing that trout, but I hated to admit defeat. Grandfather struggled to remove a pouch from his vest.

"There must be a farm hereabout. Pay for a meal and the loan of a few blankets."

"I can't leave you. You look worse."

He held up his hand. "I'll be fine. I'll sit here and watch the wind blow, think about old friends. We need food and blankets. Off with you."

The sun was at its highest as I set out on my search. It felt like a bonfire spitting embers on my head. I took the first narrow road that branched off toward the east, sure that it would lead to a farm.

The man hoeing a field of potatoes took one look at me and ran off. I followed him to a farmhouse, but the door was locked.

"Go away!" shouted a voice inside. "We have children in here. We can't help you if you have the fever."

What was wrong with the world? Would I next see birds flying backward, or cows crocheting doilies? I walked on, stopping now and then to cough or rest my legs.

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The heat rolled to the horizon like waves toward shore. Except for a few raspberries, I had eaten nothing for two days. A flock of geese flew overhead. I could only think of how they would taste with roast potatoes. Grandfather would need more water soon. I needed to go back. I stumbled along, head down, fighting to keep my eyes from closing.

My shoe squashed something brown and green and soft. I shuddered and hurried my pace. I could never abide rotted fruit. It drew flies. Fruit. Fruit?

I spun around, wide awake and hungry. Above me hung gnarled branches heavy with green speckled pears. I grabbed one and bit into it, ignoring the juice that ran down my fingers and chin. I gathered as many pears as I could carry and set off with new energy to find Grandfather. With food, we could hold out for days.

I didn't notice when the pears grew heavy. By the time the chestnut tree was in sight, they felt like tiny anvils weighing me down. I breathed heavily and focused on moving one foot at a time. I turned around. Did I hear voices whispering? A swarm of gnats flew into my eyes. I stumbled and dropped a few pears. I looked up. The chestnut tree seemed farther away. I felt like I was sliding backwards. I wasn't walking on a dirt road, I was slipping across the frozen river. The sun wasn't made of

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fire, it was a monstrous snowball. My teeth clattered together. What was wrong with me?

I saw a figure stand under the tree. I tried to call Grandfather's name, but could make no sound. The wind carried a roaring sound. Why was I carrying these rocks? I stumbled. Where was Mother? Where was Eliza? The balloon. I'll be up in a minute, Mother. Just let me sleep.

Then, blackness.

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

September l2th-2Oth, 1793

Hot, dry winds forever blowing,

Dead men to the grave-yards going: Constant hearses, Funeral verses; Oh! what plagues-there is no knowing!

-Philip Freneau

Pestilence: Written During the Prevalence of a Yellow Fever,
1793

Is she dead?" "Go away, Barney. She's not ready for you."

"I've got to take the bodies to the pit before I'll get my soup. If she's dead, hand her over. I'm hungry."

I opened my eyes to see who was talking. A large woman holding a candle bent over me, and a man waited in the shadows. The light from the candle burned my eyes. I heard moans on both sides of me, and the sound of hammers and saws in the distance.

Where am I?
I thought. I was so cold. Colder than

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New Year's Day. I closed my eyes.

"She looks dead," Barney said. His voice faded away.

I slept and the fever fired my dreams with terror. I was back by the chestnut tree. Dust billowed. As I breathed, dirt caked my throat and settled in my lungs. The road was crowded with carriages pulled by wildeyed horses that crashed into each other as everyone fought to escape.

"What am I supposed to do?" I cried to people rushing by. "I don't know what to do!"

I ran across the meadow and came upon a troop of soldiers marching, with a drummer boy and flag bearer in front.

"Look at me," I called, holding Grandfather's watch. "Tell me what to do."

"Arretez-vousF
shouted a soldier.
"Arretez-vousf

"I don't understand you," I said. "I don't speak French." I walked toward the men.

Grandfather appeared by the flag bearer. He wore a bloody shirt. He did not recognize me, and he shouted to his troops.

"Ready," Grandfather drew his sword from the scabbard and held it in the sky. He looked at me and narrowed his angry eyes.

"Aim."

The men aimed their muskets at me. Grandfather slashed the sword through the air.

"Fire!"

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"Noooo!"

I jolted awake. Moonlight spilled in through the open windows. I rubbed my eyes, trying to sort out where the nightmare stopped and the waking world began. My sheets and shift were soaked through with sweat, blood, and the foul-smelling black substance that marked a victim of yellow fever.

Yellow fever.

There were beds on either side of me. To my left slept a young woman, her hair in two dirty braids. To my right lay a figure covered with a sheet. A corpse.

Who was dead and who was alive? Was it Grandfather? Was it Mother?

I reached for the sheet, but stopped. My head spun as if I were on a rope swing, twisting dizzily. I closed my eyes until the sensation faded. Taking a deep breath, I lifted the sheet at the side of the body. The hand was thin and the fingers slender, with tapered nails and fine bones. It was not the fleshy, scarred hand of Grandfather. Nor the work-worn hand of my mother. My eyes filled with tears.

Two orderlies walked to the bed of the corpse. They spoke quietly in French. Each man took one end of the dead woman's mattress and lifted, then carried the body away. Just as I slipped back toward sleep, the men brought back the mattress. Empty.

When I woke, the tall windows were shuttered to keep out the sunlight. Steam fairly rose from the reeking

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bodies of the sick, and sweat dripped off the faces of the nurses and orderlies. The room reminded me of the Ogilvie mansion, only larger. The flowing draperies, expensive carpets, and hand-carved furniture that surely belonged here had been removed. What remained were enormous rooms with high ceilings, and a chandelier that reflected the light like a thousand mirrors.

"Oh, my, now that's looking much better, isn't it? You've beat the Grim Reaper, you have, lassie."

A large woman strode to my bedside. She set a tray on the floor.

"I'm Mrs. Flagg, and I'm here to care for you," she said. "We weren't sure you would make it through the night, but that's past now. It's time for you to eat something, so we can get you home to your loved ones."

Mrs. Flagg helped me sit up. "Your granddad has been waiting this whole time for you. Quite a handsome man, isn't he? A captain in the army, he told me. I'll sneak him in here soon as I get the chance. Now drink this." She held a bowl of beef broth to my lips.

I pushed the bowl away. "How is he? How did we get here?"

She set the bowl on her lap. "He doesn't have yellow fever, if that's what you're asking. Told me his heart was acting up in the heat and he had a bit of a cough, perhaps. But he's such a strong man. Imagine, a man his age carrying someone like you all that distance."

I relaxed. If Grandfather was feeling well enough to

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tell exaggerated stories and charm Mrs. Flagg, then there was little to worry about. I reached for the bowl. The salty broth warmed my insides.

"Thank you," I said. "That was delicious."

Mrs. Flagg set the bowl on the floor. She wrung out a rag that had been soaking in soapy water and wiped my face and hands before lifting my dirty hair to wash my neck.

"My mother always said a good wash was the best medicine. If you keep the broth down, we'll let you eat a bit of rice for dinner. Now you rest a spell. I'll be back soon, then the doctor will have a look at you when he makes his rounds. Oh, my gracious! Look who's coming and me wearing this filthy dress."

Grandfather. He never looked so handsome or brave as standing in the middle of the sickroom, his eyes searching all the beds until he found me. I felt like I was six years old again and Grandfather was marching in a parade. He bowed to Mrs. Flagg and sat on the edge of my bed.

"What are you doing in bed, girl? You look healthy enough to jump up and give poor Mrs. Flagg here a hand!" Grandfather said as he kissed my cheek.

Mrs. Flagg wagged her finger at him. "Don't you be giving her any ideas, Captain. What this young thing needs is rest and nourishing food. And she'll get both of them here or my name isn't Bridget Flagg!"

"Bridget," exclaimed Grandfather. "A melodious name for a beautiful lady."

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I rolled my eyes while Mrs. Flagg giggled. "Excuse me," I said, interrupting the two of them. "Where are we? And how long have we been here?"

Mrs. Flagg was all business. "No one has told you? Poor little chickie! You're at Bush Hill, and a good thing it is you are!"

Bush Hill!

"We must leave," I said as I pulled the blanket off my legs. "We must go. This is a dangerous place. Grandfather, take me home." I tried to stand, but my legs gave way.

"Now, now, Mattie," Grandfather stammered. Mrs. Flagg took me by the shoulders and sat me back down. Before I knew it, I was lying down with a sheet tucked so tightly over me that I couldn't move.

"That will be enough standing up, young miss," said Mrs. Flagg firmly. "You've nothing to fear. Bush Hill is now a respectable place. Your grandfather was a clever, kind man to bring you here."

The city had turned a mansion on Bush Hill into a hospital for fever victims. According to the gossips, Bush Hill was one step away from Hell, filled with dead bodies and criminals who preyed on the weak. It was a place to stay away from, not a place where a young girl should lay about and sip broth, even if her grandfather was mooning over her nurse.

Mrs. Flagg lifted a mug of cool tea to my mouth. "You listen to me. This here Bush Hill is not the same

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