When Pappa finished reading, he told me that he had a patient coming to the apothecary that night and that he wanted me to stay in the house.
“Is it someone with the fever?” I asked.
“No. It is someone who is very busy during the day. He is only able to come to our shop at nighttime.”
“Do you know what he wants?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you have enough medicines to help him?”
“Yes. Don’t worry about anything, Sarah. Our delivery of medicines should be here in another day or two, and as long as the ague continues to abate, we should have sufficient supplies to get us through.”
“But …” I began.
“I have to go now, Sarah. Do not leave this house.” He chucked me under my chin the way he had done when I was a child and my shoulders relaxed. I couldn’t understand why we suddenly had visitors in the night when we never had before.
He left the house and closed the door to the apothecary behind him. I heard him slide the rod across the door. I felt a pang of hurt because I knew why he did that—so I couldn’t go into the shop while his patient was in there.
What was going on? I felt a stab of sorrow that he didn’t trust me.
I cleaned up from our meal slowly, trying not to make any noise, while I waited to hear some sound either from the shop or outdoors. For a long time I heard nothing. I had given up on learning who Pappa’s patient was when I saw a faint light flicker outside. I extinguished the only candle that was burning in the house and crept to the window, hoping to see the person standing out there. I couldn’t see anyone.
But moments later I heard Pappa unlock the outside door to the apothecary and two sets of soft footfalls made their way to the rear of the shop.
I strained to hear their voices through the wooden door that separated our house from the shop. They were speaking in very low tones, as if they didn’t want to be overheard.
Who could possibly overhear them but me?
No one.
Why would Pappa be taking such care not to let his daughter hear his conversation with a patient?
There was no explanation.
I continued listening at the door to the apothecary until I heard the stranger leave. I hurried to our front door and, as silently as I could, opened the door a hand’s width to see who was leaving. I would hear Pappa sliding the rod to come back into the house, so as soon as I heard him I could close the door quickly and be in the bedchamber doorway before he could come into the house.
The moon shone brightly on the dusting of snow outside. There was no other light save for the low orange glow coming from the embers in the fireplace behind me, so I didn’t worry that the person could see me.
I covered my mouth with my hand to keep myself from gasping aloud when I saw the man coming around the corner of the house from the shop.
It was the stranger from behind the tannery in Town.
The same boots, the same cloak, the same long hair.
And then a sudden recognition dawned on me like a shaft of sunlight through a heavy cloud—he had been the person leaving the apothecary the night Pappa was doing business by candlelight. The same boots, the same cloak, the same long hair.
Who was he? And what did he want with my father?
I knew better than to ask Pappa about the man the following morning, and later that day we became very busy as a wagon bearing a delivery arrived from Philadelphia with all kinds of supplies, medical implements, and medicines. Between patients who came into the apothecary, we sorted and catalogued the items in the delivery.
Gray light was seeping across the sky from east to west when I told Pappa I would leave to prepare our supper. He nodded, noting something in his ledger, and I left the shop quietly.
After supper Pappa and I read for a short time by the fire, then I went to bed. I hadn’t been asleep long when I heard a soft scraping sound coming from the main room. Creeping to the coverlet that hung in the door frame, I watched as Pappa disappeared into the apothecary. Was he worried about our inventory? Did he forget something in there? Was he conducting further business in there under the blanket of darkness?
I only hesitated a moment before stepping across the main room in my bare feet. The floor was still warm from the fire, but as soon as I opened the apothecary door a crack, I could feel the cold from the room envelope me.
“Pappa?” I called out in a hoarse whisper. Why was I whispering?
“Yes, Sarah, I’m over here.”
“Are you all right, Pappa? I heard the shop door open and I thought you might need help in here. Are you alone?”
“Yes, I’m alone. I, uh, merely forgot to make a notation in the ledger before eating supper. I came in to do it in case I forget before morning.”
“All right, then. Good night, Pappa.”
“Good night, my dear.”
Pappa wasn’t telling me the truth.
The next day Widow Beall sent for Pappa because she needed a poultice for one of her children. Pappa went to examine the child to know exactly what was required in the poultice and, though I knew better, I sneaked into the apothecary and opened the ledger to the pages where he had noted the contents of the delivery.
Something wasn’t quite right. Not everything was listed. I remembered having seen a pair of small forceps and those were not noted in the thick book on the page marked “Supplies.” Nor were the pliers I had seen, nor the small saw, nor the tins that would normally be used to catch blood and store tablets and other small medicines.
I wondered why those items had been left off the list, and how many other items that I couldn’t remember had been left off, too.
I turned quickly to the shelf where Pappa kept his liquid medicines and remedies. With bottles tinkling and bumping each other, I hurriedly looked for items we had received the previous day. Pappa would label them in Latin in his strong hand later in the day, after he returned from Widow Beall’s house, but I felt sure I could remember at least some of the remedies we had received. I wanted to know if they were missing, too.
And as surely as day turns to night, I realized several bottles were not among their brethren on the long wooden shelf. I did not know how much time I would have before Pappa returned from the Widow’s house, so I did not dare dawdle in the apothecary to look for the things I knew I had seen the previous day.
While I waited for Pappa to come home, I sat in the main room and wondered what he could have done with the missing supplies and remedies. There were boxes and crates on the floor of the apothecary—items from Philadelphia often came in wooden boxes because they had to be protected—so it was possible he had hidden the items in one of those.
But why? Why would Pappa have to hide his inventory?
As the days passed, the fever returned to Town and it seemed everyone in the village had caught it except for a very few people. We were lucky to have escaped it. It caused fits of coughing, flushed and hot skin, and labored breathing. Pappa did not let me leave the house, though he left on several occasions without explanation.
“I rely on you for too many things now that Mamma is gone,” he said one morning. He had a wistful look in his eyes as he stared out the window. “I know you want to see Patience, but I’m afraid I just can’t let you go anywhere until this fever has exhausted itself. God willing, it will go away and never return to these shores.”
“I don’t mind, Pappa. I want to help in the apothecary and I don’t mind staying home. I am content doing my chores and watching the snow fall outdoors.” I wondered how Patience’s mother was faring in the snow. She disliked snow as much as Patience did and with a new baby about to arrive, she must have been feeling trapped in the house. I prayed that the fever hadn’t visited their family. I prayed for Arthur and his family, too, asking God to keep them all well.
It had been snowing for four days. A deep blanket of white covered the ground in graceful hillocks and curves. It made fascinating shapes where the wind blew it into corners and around obstacles. A little bit of snow came in under our door, but I was quick to sweep it into a small pile and put it outside whenever I noticed it. There were times I forgot about my chores in my enchantment when the snow was falling. The ground around our house was perfectly smooth and white—I remembered how Mama had disliked the snow. She had missed the milder winters in England.
When my thoughts turned to Mamma, I often got right back to work to keep my mind and my hands busy. I would bake, mend, clean, and even wash our clothes in snow that I melted over the fire.
I was tidying the hearth one evening long after the sun had gone down. Pappa was in the apothecary and there came an urgent thumping noise at the door. I hurried to open it.
I was shocked when the stranger from behind the tanner’s shop stumbled through the door, holding his arm. By the light of the moon I could see a jagged line of blood droplets trailing behind him in the snow. Blood seeped between his fingers and he looked at me, surprise evident in his eyes.
“Is William here? I am in need of his services.” He spoke through clenched teeth.
I helped him to sit down on the stool near the fire. His legs appeared a bit shaky and his pallor had turned a ghastly gray. I turned and ran to the apothecary door.
“Pappa! Come quickly. There’s a man in here who’s hurt.” I turned back to the man sitting by the fire with his eyes closed. He was taking big gulps of air.
It only took a moment for Pappa to reach the man’s side.
“What happened?” he asked grimly as he gently peeled off the man’s cloak.
“Wolf,” was all the man could utter.
The man’s answer shocked me into paralysis. I could only stare at him, my mouth open, as Pappa worked to free the man’s arm from his shirt sleeve so he could examine the wound more closely.
“Sarah, are you listening? I need your help,” Pappa said in a sharp voice. I looked at him in confusion, obviously having missed something he had said. His words pushed me into action.
“What do you need?” I stepped closer to him.
“Get me a pair of snippers, a roll of lint, and a jar of honey. You know where they are in the shop.” I fled to the apothecary and rifled through Pappa’s supplies until I spied the thin box containing rolls of lint. I grabbed a roll, then took a jar of honey and a pair of snippers from the counter and returned to Pappa, who was telling the man to close his eyes and look away from the wound.
He took the snippers from me and carefully cut the skin from around the gaping gash. The skin was craggy, its edges rough. Pappa, I knew, wanted to make the edges of the skin smooth and straight so he could see the wound more closely. He examined it while I held the lamp aloft near the man’s shoulder. I tried not to look as the man inhaled sharply every time Pappa touched the skin to cut it.
Finally Pappa seemed satisfied with his work. He took the honey I held out to him and applied a thick coating to the wound. Then he took the lint and wrapped it carefully around the man’s arm. “I’ll need to replace this every day until you’re healed, Richard,” he told the man.
Richard. It seemed a refined name for someone who went about after dark, conducting business in the backs of unlit rooms. He was far younger than Pappa—so how had Pappa come to know him?
“Thank you, William,” Richard said. He winced and swallowed hard.
“Sarah, please get a piece of willow bark from the shop and bring it here,” Pappa said. For the second time, I hastened to the apothecary and, holding a candle so I could see the writing on the bottles and jars, found the willow bark. I removed the cap from the jar and took one rather large piece back to Pappa. He handed it to Richard with the instruction to chew on it for the relief of pain caused by the wolf’s bite.
“Was there only one wolf?” asked Pappa. “And where did you come upon it?”
Richard swallowed hard again, then tilted his head back and let out a short burst of breath. “I was coming through the woods to see you when I was attacked. I know not how many wolves there were. There seemed to be two or three, but I could be mistaken. One wolf could have just as easily done this damage.” Pappa nodded gravely.
I was intrigued by Richard’s voice. I knew from the way he spoke that he was from England. Now I was even more curious to learn how he was acquainted with Pappa. Had he known Mamma, too?
“Can I get you a drink of cider?” I asked, standing before the young man. He looked up at me and nodded, chewing furiously on his willow bark.
“The bark will lessen the pain from the bite, but it will take some time,” Pappa cautioned. “Perhaps you should sleep here tonight. You should not be going back to town with a wolf out there, and you already hurt.”
Richard touched his bandaged arm gingerly. “It would not be proper, William.”
“Bah. Who cares about propriety right now? Would you rather be eaten alive by a wolf?”
Richard grimaced. “Of course not.”
“Then you’ll stay here. You’ll use my bed in front of the fire. That way I can keep watch on your wound and treat it again if the need arises.”
“You’re very kind, William. Thank you.”
“Pappa, if you would prefer to let him sleep in the bed, that would be fine,” I said.
“I think he should stay in front of the fire, where he will be warmer,” Pappa said, glancing at me. His pointed look told me I had said enough.
When I had poured cider for Richard and a measure for Pappa, too, I retired to the bedchamber, pulling the coverlet across the doorway after me. I lay in bed for a time before going to sleep, listening to the low voices of Pappa and Richard in the main room. I could not hear what they were saying, but it was evident from Richard’s weakening voice that he was in pain and needed to sleep.
Pappa must have known it, too, because very soon their talking ceased. I could hear Pappa dragging the sleeping mat in front of the fireplace. I could hear soft scuffling sounds and knew Pappa was helping Richard down onto the mat. A groan of pain from Richard confirmed this. Then I heard the creak of the rocking chair and I knew that Pappa was settling into it for a long night of watching Richard.
The hideous, angry look of the wolf bite weighed heavily on my mind. I kept returning to the same horrifying thought: had something like that, only worse, befallen Mamma the day she disappeared?
When I woke up the next morning Pappa and Richard were still sleeping. Pappa looked uncomfortable, slumped in the rocking chair, his chin resting on his chest. I wondered about Richard’s ability to sleep through the pain of a wolf bite—he must have been exhausted. I shivered from the cold in the room as I bustled about quietly, fixing the morning meal for the two men. The fire needed wood, but I dared not add wood because it would make so much noise. Pappa always rose early, but I was sure he hadn’t enjoyed much sleep. Both men needed to rest.
I returned to the bedchamber and tidied the tiny room while I waited for them to stir. I wished I had something to read, but it was so dark in there that I probably would have had to strain my eyes to see even the largest print. I sat on the edge of the bed wondering again about the wolf that had bitten Richard. Could that very same wolf have been prowling about the day Mamma disappeared?
My thoughts were interrupted by sounds of movement from the main room. I pulled aside the coverlet and peered into the gloom. Richard was attempting to raise himself from his position in front of the fire. He winced as he tried to rest on one elbow, then he lay back down and exhaled heavily. My father stirred in his chair, but only shifted slightly and gave a loud snort before going back to sleep.
I must have made an involuntary noise, because Richard looked in my direction. I looked down, embarrassed that he had seen me behind the coverlet. He probably thought I had been watching him sleep. I stepped into the room, determined to prove that hadn’t been the case.
“I was tidying the bedchamber when I heard a sound. Can I help you?” I asked in a whisper.
Richard grimaced in pain, still lying on the floor. He tried lifting his injured arm, but was only able to get it a few short inches from the floor.
“Can you help me to sit?” he asked.
I stepped toward him just as Pappa looked up with a start.
“What? Hmm?” he asked. He realized then what was happening and stood up to help Richard himself.
“I’ll take care of Richard, Sarah. Is there food ready?”
“Yes, Pappa, there is porridge. I thought you both might like eggs, too, but I haven’t been outside yet because I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Thank you,” he said, nodding. “If you’ll gather the eggs, I’ll help Richard to sit up and then get some wood on the fire.”
I reached for my cloak, then for the basket that we kept on a shelf near the door. As soon as I opened the door, I was beset by a shock of air so cold it made me sneeze. I hurriedly pulled the door closed behind me, not wishing to let any more cold air into the house, and strode to the coop where the hens were abed. I unlatched the henhouse door with fingers that fumbled from the cold, then stepped inside, wrinkling my nose from the odor. But it was warm in there, and I was grateful for its brief respite while I gathered several eggs. I promised the hens I would return shortly with their food, then ran back to the house.
“It’s cold out there today!” I exclaimed when I was inside. The fire was beginning to roar again with wood Pappa had added, and the room was growing a bit warmer.
“I’m sorry to make you go outside,” said Richard from where he sat on the stool next to the table. He looked worn and haggard. The apothecary door was closed, and I assumed Pappa was in there.
“Don’t apologize,” I said, setting the basket on the table and taking off my cloak. “I have to go back outdoors to feed the animals. I’ll do that as soon as I’ve prepared your eggs.”
“It is very kind of you.”
I am sure I blushed, but I didn’t say anything.
Pappa came into the room from the shop just a few moments later, rubbing his hands together. “Sarah, we may need to open the door between the house and the shop today so I can get some heat in there. I don’t want my medicines to freeze.”
I was cracking eggs into the pan hanging over the fire. “That’s fine, Pappa. It will still be warmer in here than it is outside,” I said with a smile. “I’ll be grateful for any heat from the fire when I get in from feeding the hens and cows.”
I put the eggs on our trenchers, along with a scoop of porridge for both men, and took them to the table.
“Thank you.” Richard looked up at me with his arresting eyes as he spoke, and for the first time I noticed what I had missed before.
A white scar ran from the outer corner of his right eye diagonally down to the corner of his mouth. I was so startled when I saw it that I almost dropped his trencher before him on the table.
“I haven’t had eggs in a long time. These look good,” he said. He had surely noticed my rudeness on seeing his scar and was no doubt ignoring my reaction to be polite.
I knew the color was rising in my cheeks and I hastened to retrieve the cider from the shelf where it sat. I poured three mugs of cider while the men ate their eggs.
“How is your arm feeling now that you’re moving around a bit?” Pappa asked as he took a bite of porridge.
Richard looked at his arm and tried lifting it as he had when he first woke up. “It’s quite lame from sleeping.”
“I’ll redress it before you leave this morning,” Pappa said. “Will you be able to get back to the village by yourself, or will you need my help?”
“I’ll be fine getting back by myself. I must thank you again for your hospitality and your speed in binding my arm last night.”
“Do you need more willow bark?”
“No, thank you. I have some in Town.”
I watched the exchange with interest, wondering why I had only seen Richard in the village one time. I wondered where he lived and what his occupation was.
As soon as the men had finished eating, I cleared away their trenchers and they went into the apothecary. I wondered if Pappa would bring the rolled lint into the house to dress Richard’s arm, but I knew it was unlikely. Last night had been an emergency; Pappa had had no choice but to remove Richard’s shirt while I watched, but I knew it had been improper and an action Pappa would not willingly repeat in the light of daytime. I could hear their low voices in the shop as I cleaned up from our meal and readied to go outside to the cow pen.
“Sarah, I will accompany Richard as far as Daniel Ames’s house to make sure he is strong enough to continue on to town, then I will stop in at Widow Beall’s house to make sure she doesn’t need anything. I’ll be back before long.”
“All right, Pappa.”
“Thank you again for your assistance last night,” Richard said as Pappa helped him pull his cloak on. I noticed, as I hadn’t before, that the cloak was too small for Richard’s frame. I glanced at his boots, which had seemed heavy and sturdy from a distance in town, but upon closer examination were torn and stained.
“You are welcome,” I said, then ducked out the door in front of them. While I fed the animals I wondered about Richard. He carried himself with a decided air of refinement, but the scar on his face and the shabby cut of his clothes…
“Hullo!” came a voice from beyond the henhouse.
I glanced up to see Arthur standing there.
“Good morning,” I answered. “Is everyone at your house well? Have you come for medicine?”
“No, thanks be to God,” he answered with a smile. “Everyone is well. I came to see if you would like to walk again with me today.”
I decided I didn’t care what people might think if they saw us out walking again. “I might be able to walk for a short while later this afternoon. I have mending to do today and I must do that while the light is strongest.”
“Very well. I’ll come for you later today,” he answered. With a short wave he turned around and disappeared from view.