Home by Morning by Alexis Harrington Page A

Some of them even stayed down. But if they were of any help, it was minimal. She didn’t go to bed, but instead sat up in a chair in her apartment with both doors open so that she could hear him. Not that it would have been difficult—his cough was so harsh, it sounded as if it could lift the roof off the second floor. During those moments when she sat in her kitchenette, drinking coffee and trying to think of some treatment, she composed wires to Dr. Martin at Seattle General and to the Red Cross office, which had opened the year before in Portland. Although she had to explain to Dr. Martin why she would not be coming to Washington as soon as he’d asked, she also asked for some up-to-date information from him regarding the influenza that stood poised on her hometown’s doorstep.
    At least it gave her something else to think about besides Cole and the effect he still had on her.
    She drank her coffee bitter and black. Sugar and cream were hard-to-get luxuries these days; in fact, it was considered a badge of honor to do without, and a mark of shame to consume anything that should be going to the troops. Her hands shook with fatigue and caffeine as she worked to stem the tide of self-reproach that kept trying to engulf her.
    How could she have cocooned herself so tightly that she’d been out of touch with the events taking place around her? How had she not heard about this sickness invading the civilian population?
    She knew the answer, but it was no comfort, and it was not an excuse she could accept.
    Yes, thoughts of those helpless people in the tenements still haunted her. But her fate had been decided years ago. By becoming a physician, she’d also made a tacit agreement to accept the good with the bad. Dealing with human suffering was part of her profession. Not every life could be saved. And even for those that could be, not every outcome was positive.
    Only—only there had been so many that weren’t…
    Still, kicking herself would do no good. She had to take up her calling where she’d left it and do her best to learn all she could about this epidemic.
    The pale streaks of dawn seemed to come late due to the heavy, lead-gray sky that threatened rain. At about seven o’clock, Jess heard sharp knocking on the front door. Not knowing what to expect, she ran down to answer it. She recognized Helen Cookson, Eddie’s mother, standing on the other side of the glass.
    Helen’s fine-boned face looked drawn and wilted. Her hair, shot with silver threads, was pulled into a bun, and Jessica imagined she’d had no more sleep than she herself.
    “I came as soon as could,” Helen said, her voice quavery. Out front, Horace Cookson was wrapping the reins around the brake of their farm wagon. “How is my boy?”
    Jess stepped aside and let her in. “His fever is higher than I would like, and he has moments of…confusion.”
    “Confusion?”
    “Delirium,” Jess conceded. “I’m giving him medication, but I’m not sure how much it’s helping. Mostly what he needs is good nursing and rest.”
    “Cole said it’s the influenza.” Helen’s tone gave it grave importance.
    The influenza .
    “Yes.” At least she hadn’t said plague .
    Horace, dressed haphazardly in overalls and a blue-striped work shirt, walked in. These clothes seemed more suited to him than the boiled shirt and crooked tie that went with his mayoral duties. “Had to milk the cows first. The cows can’t wait.”
    Helen gave her husband a tight-lipped look. “Can I see him?”
    “Yes, of course. Eddie’s upstairs.”
    After she was out of earshot, Horace turned to Jess and dropped his voice to a confidential tone. “Helen’s got herself in a downright conniption over this. I sure appreciate you looking after the boy for us. Even though it’s only influenza, I knew he’d be in good hands with you.”
    “I’m sorry I had to send Cole Braddock out to your place last night, but I thought you should know about the situation.”
    “It’s