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JACK WAS QUARANTINED along with the Armstrongs. His parents would be outraged, but he was happy to be allowed to help care for them. And who would take care of the animals if he left? He would have stayed either way.
He turned his face mask over and over in his hands. How could such a small, simple square of cloth keep out the influenza? And how could something so small you can’t even see it, kill you? He dropped his mask on the kitchen table.
Doc packed his medical bag. “You can go from the house to the barn, work in the garden, but stay close. And under no circumstances do you approach anyone who might happen by. And you may remove the mask only to eat or drink. I don’t know if it matters much anymore, but why risk it.”
“Are they going to recover?” He was going to ask if Doc thought they’d die, but he couldn’t bring himself to even consider the possibility.
“Normally I’d pin my best hopes on Alice, being young and healthy, but this strain seems to be taking them first.” He patted Jack on the arm. “Time will tell. I’ll return tomorrow to check on how you’re doing. Ring if you need me. Leave a message if you have to. In the meantime, I’ll stop and tell your parents what’s going on and that you’re okay. Needn’t have them worrying.”
Jack walked him to the door. “I’ll telephone myself. I want to see if there’s been any news from Harry.” He also didn’t want to subject Doc to his parents’ wrath when they learned he’d been exposed. His father might understand but considering his mother’s already dim view of Harry and Alice’s engagement, she wasn’t going to accept his quarantine gracefully. Jack was accustomed to her temper.
“I’ll bring a quarantine sign. Until then, keep everyone away. No one comes in except me.”
Jack handed him his hat. “Thanks again for coming.”
Doc pointed to the mask. “Put it on. Does you no good sitting on the table. Best thing right now is to try and contain this.”
Jack tied the straps behind his head. Doc nodded, closed the door, and left.
Jack wandered into the parlor. He’d never spent much time in this part of the house. It was strange, like he didn’t belong. The heart of the Armstrong home was the kitchen. He looked over his shoulder at the kitchen. Compared to the somber shade of the parlor, warm sunshine streamed through the open window over the sink. The curtains lifted and fluttered in the breeze. Out of sight, birds sang in the branches. No windows were open in the parlor. The curtains were drawn to keep the sun from fading the furniture. Only formal guests spent time in the parlor.
The clock on the mantle chimed the hour. One. Two. Three. Four. Jack counted each sad note. The air was heavy, full of fear and gloom. No talking. No laughter. No promise of something wonderful baking in the oven. Jack shivered despite the afternoon heat.
Coughing, a moan, pulled Jack from his dark thoughts. Keep them cool, Doc had instructed. We need to get the fever down.
Jack removed three clean dish towels from a kitchen drawer and draped them over his shoulder. He primed the sink pump and filled a pitcher with cold well water. He hesitated then closed the window. Doc insisted on closing all the windows, making the house unbearably hot. Wouldn’t the fresh breeze cool their fevers? But Doc thought it best to keep the influenza germs contained. Perhaps he’d open them for a short time, after dark when it was unlikely anyone would be around. Alice liked to listen to the crickets sing and the night breeze rustling through the leaves. The squeak of the windmill blades would remind her of her thinking place.
He went to Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong’s bedroom first. Filling the wash basin, he dunked two of the towels and used them to wipe the sweat from their faces and necks. He helped each one to sit and coaxed them to swallow a sip or two of the icy water. He wet the towels again and laid one across each forehead. Their fevers ran so high, he’d never be able to keep them cool. Mrs. Armstrong was the worst, but her husband wasn’t much better. Jack was afraid neither one of them would live until morning.
Refilling the pitcher, he went to Alice next. She tossed and moaned in her sleep. Her hair was damp, along with her pillow. Her eyes fluttered at the cool touch of the wet towel on her face. “Was Doc here? I thought I heard his voice.” She tried to sit.
“Drink.” He held a glass to her lips. Alice winced with the effort to swallow.
“It’s the influenza, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Jack turned her pillow to the cool, dry side and eased her down. “You need to rest now.”
Her father clutched at the bedroom door frame for balance. “Didn’t need the doctor to tell us that.” A racking cough buckled his knees and he slid down the wall. Jack caught him before he hit the floor.
“Dad?” Alice tried to raise herself up on her elbows, falling back.
“You should be in bed.” Jack supported him with his free arm. “Can you walk if I help you?”
Mr. Armstrong nodded. “Is Alice going to be okay?”
“Don’t worry. I got this, sir. You’re all going to be well before you know it.” He wasn’t accustomed to lying to his employers, but it seemed like a kindness under the circumstances. He owed them that much.
The clock struck six.
Where did the time go?
Mr. Armstrong pulled a chair over from the dining set and sat down heavily between the two bedrooms. “Go. Check on the animals. Take care of the milking. I’ve got this until you’re done.”
Jack hesitated. He didn’t like leaving them like this. Mr. Armstrong belonged in bed, but he understood a man’s need to take care of his family. He would feel the same if Alice was his.
Mr. Armstrong leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. Every shallow breath rattled in his chest.
“I can hear them, both my girls, from here.” His voice was a painful sounding rasp.
Jack grabbed his hat from where he’d left it on the dining room table. “I won’t be long.”
“Do it right, not fast.” More coughing.
* * *
ALICE’S BICYCLE STILL leaned where she’d left it the day before. Jack wheeled it into the barn to keep it safe until she was well enough to ride again.
She will be well enough to ride again.
He slammed Sugar’s stall door shut in frustration. “She can’t die. The Armstrongs can’t die.” He shouted to no one, kicking the empty milk bucket against the far wall. He loved her and her parents. They were more like his family than his own. According to news reports, not everyone died. Some people recovered. He knew Alice could never be his wife, but at least if she were married to Harry, she’d be family. She would be his sister and he could live with that.
He did the milking, closed the chickens into their coop for the night, and went back inside.
* * *
HE SPREAD THE BEDDING from his room onto the hall floor between their bedrooms where he could easily hear if they needed him. He tossed and turned, listening to every little sound, to every chime of the clock. He listened to the night sounds coming from Alice’s open window, the sound of her shade slapping softly against the glass in the breeze. He listened to every cough and labored breath.
What if Alice dies?
What if I never get to see her again? Hear her laugh?
What if I never get the chance to tell her how much I love her?
He prayed harder than he’d ever prayed for anything before.
* * *
WHEN JACK WASN’T LYING there, listening, he was going back and forth between them with fresh cold cloths for their heads and cool water for their raw throats. One day became two. Then three.
Alice’s parents had the worst of it. Their fevers left them incoherent, mumbling and moaning, unable to respond to his questions or offers of comfort. They were delirious with pain, their eyes wide and pleading when the coughing took over then distant from exhaustion when the coughing stopped.
Unlike her parents, Alice had none of the telltale blue in her lips and fingertips. When she coughed, no blood bubbled up from her lungs. Jack told himself this was a good sign she’d be one of the lucky ones. But he feared for her parents.
He spent hours at her bedside, wiping her brow, doing anything he thought might make a difference, willing her to live.
“I love you, Alice,” he whispered. “More than Harry ever could. And I would spend every day of the rest of my life proving it to you if only you loved me in return.” He brushed back the damp curls stuck to her brow and cheeks.
“Jack?” Alice’s eyelids fluttered. “Did you say something?”
His heart raced. Had she heard him? Had he just ruined everything? “Do you need anything?”
“Thirsty.” Her voice cracked.
He brought her a glass of water and held it while she drank. “Rest now. I’m going to check on the animals. I won’t be long.” He stood to leave.
“I love you, too, Jack,” she mumbled.
It’s the fever talking. He couldn’t let himself believe otherwise.
By the fourth day she rested a little easier and, when awake, was aware of Jack and seemed glad for his company. The familiar spark in her eyes glimmered whenever she woke to see him sitting at her bedside. She smiled and tried to tease him about the mask, but her raw throat allowed no more than a whisper to pass before she started coughing again. The wheezing scared him the most. Doc said it was the pneumonia that killed.
She squeezed his hand. “What time is it?”
“Almost midnight.” He laid his other hand on top of hers. “Don’t try to talk. You need to rest.”
“You, too.” She doubled over and he held her until the coughing stopped. She took a small sip from the glass he offered.
“One more.” He held it to her lips.
She grimaced and tried to push it away.
“Yes.”
She glared at him but did as she was told. “Mom? Dad?”
“Sleeping.”
They both jumped at the sound of a strangled cough from her parents’ room. Alice tried to get out of bed. “They need me.” Jack held the covers tightly over her. She was too weak to fight him.
“I’ll check on them and let you know.”
“But . . .” Alice tried again to get out of bed.
“I’ll go.” Jack stared at her long and hard until she gave in and relaxed. When he returned, she was asleep. He straightened her blankets and tiptoed out.
He stepped stocking-footed into the yard, not bothering to put on the dirty boots he’d left at the back door. He removed his mask and stuffed it into his pants pocket. Leaning against a tree, he took a deep breath of cool night air. The sky was wide open with stars, a full moon, and hardly a cloud in sight. He took another deep breath and slowly let it out. Hopefully by morning he’d have better news about her parents’ health. Right now, things didn’t look good. He didn’t want to have to lie to her.
How many others in Pine Lake were sick? How many more would soon join them? How many would die? Would he be the next one to get sick? What about his parents? What about Harry and Fin? When he’d telephoned his parents about the Armstrongs, he’d been told there was no news. He hadn’t talked to anyone except Doc since. Jack prayed they weren’t sick or dead somewhere with no one to notify their families.
He put his mask back on and went inside. He stopped outside Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong’s open door. Their breathing was raspy, but they were still breathing. Moonlight fell across their bed and he watched their chests struggling to rise and fall with each desperate breath. Mrs. Armstrong moaned, and her husband reached out to hold her hand. She quieted at his touch, and her fingers curled around his. Jack never knew two people who loved each other as much as Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong. Certainly not his parents.
He went to Alice’s room. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, her head slumped against her chest. She attempted to stand.
He rushed to her side. “What are you doing? You need to rest.”
“I need to check on Mom and Dad. You promised to tell me how they’re doing, but you didn’t come back.”
“You were sleeping.” He lifted her legs and covered her. “They’re resting.” It wasn’t a complete lie.
“What about you? Have you slept at all?”
“Enough.” Another lie. “If you promise to stay in bed, I promise to get some sleep.”
Alice nodded and closed her eyes.
Jack stretched out on his makeshift bed. He hadn’t realized how tired he was.
* * *
IT FELT LIKE ONLY A couple minutes had passed, but when he opened his eyes, the room was flooded with sunlight. The only sound was the birds singing their good morning songs.
It was too quiet. He jumped to his feet and fell to his knees with a crash. His bad leg had fallen asleep.
“Jack? What happened?”
His fall must have woken her. “I’m fine. Stay in bed.” He pushed himself up and, with the support of his cane, stumbled to the Armstrong’s room, cursing his limitations.
Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong still held hands. Quiet, peaceful, they no longer tossed or moaned or struggled to breathe. They passed away while he slept. He promised Alice he would care for them. He reached out and closed their eyes. He removed the dried towel from Mr. Armstrong’s forehead and used it to wipe the blood-tinged foam from their mouths.
“Jack?” Alice tumbled against him. Her knees crumbled when she saw her parents, the truth. He’d failed to keep them alive. Coughing mixed with her sobs. Jack set his cane aside, lifted her like she weighed no more than a feather, and limped back to her room.
I’m sorry, Alice. I’ll never fail you again.