was on fire, and they found Euphora shivering in bed. Papa and Mrs. Purcell shuffled both her and Euphora into Papa’s bed, closed the door, and told Clara and Billy they couldn’t enter the room.
This tall man who had awakened her smelled of lemon, mint, and something else. A chemical of some kind.
“ Are you a minister? Are we going to die?” Her throat burned as she eked out the faint whisper.
“ No, you both must have lucky stars about you. You are not going to die, not right now anyway and I’m not the minister, I’m Doctor MacAdams. Mrs. Purcell called for me night before last and I have been back to see you twice.”
She had no recollection of his visits.
“ I was going to take your pulse just now. May I have your wrist back?”
As she lifted her hand and offered it to the doctor, she tried to swallow, but the pain was so severe she stopped before fully gulping. From his blue waistcoat pocket he retrieved a watch and stared at it while he gently pressed his fingertips into the soft side of her wrist. His long brown eyebrows curled up toward the ceiling and his square chin was marked on the right with a purple scar.
Mrs. Purcell went to the washstand, picked up a towel, then sat near Euphora and placed the cloth across her forehead.
“ You both are going to survive and be fine,” she said.
“ You’re a spiritual medium, I hear,” the physician said as he studied his watch. “How long have you and your sister been Spiritualists?”
“ A few months.” The words cut her like a knife twisting inside her ears.
He let go of Izzie’s wrist and returned the watch to his pocket.
“ You’re much better. Your pulse has slowed a bit. Your temperature is a little lower. How does your throat feel?”
“ Terrible.”
“ Putrid sore throat disease. You two really are very lucky. I’m leaving Mrs. Purcell with Winslow’s Baby Syrup. The morphine in it will soothe your throat and help you sleep. She’ll give you that as I have prescribed, but the most important thing is water. You and your sister must drink two gallons every day until you are well. And hot wet compresses on your neck. Mrs. Purcell will do that for you every half hour. She’s already been doing it since you fell sick and added her own compound tincture to the cloths— capsicum, myrrh, lobelia, and I don’t know what else.” He glanced at Mrs. Purcell. “She’s in charge of that. I want you to drink the water. I should think it will be three weeks or so.”
Putrid sore throat disease. Diphtheria. They might have died. Children died of it all the time. She remembered a few winters ago one family down the street back in Homer losing two little boys.
She looked at her sister. “Is she really going to be all right?”
“ She’s asleep now, but she was awake earlier.” Mrs. Purcell leaned over Euphora and patted Izzie’s hand. “Go ahead and rest. I made a big pot of red pepper and golden seal tea. You are to drink it weak and gargle it strong. That’s my own remedy and the doctor agrees to it.”
“ She knows far more than I do.” Doctor MacAdams chuckled and stood. “I’ll be back in the morning.”
Bag in hand, the physician strode across the room and ducked slightly to make it through the door. As he pulled the door closed, he nodded at Mrs. Purcell and then was gone.
<><><>
A FEW DAYS LATER, Izzie could swallow without excruciating pain, but she was too weak to walk across the room. She hadn’t seen Papa since the night she fell sick. Mrs. Purcell told her that as soon as the physician told Papa what she and Euphora had, he took off and hadn’t been back since.
The tall physician came by twice more and asked if they were drinking all of the two gallons of daily water. He took Euphora’s pulse, then hers both times, but on the last visit, Izzie thought he held on to her wrist a very long time.
He said, “I hear from
This tall man who had awakened her smelled of lemon, mint, and something else. A chemical of some kind.
“ Are you a minister? Are we going to die?” Her throat burned as she eked out the faint whisper.
“ No, you both must have lucky stars about you. You are not going to die, not right now anyway and I’m not the minister, I’m Doctor MacAdams. Mrs. Purcell called for me night before last and I have been back to see you twice.”
She had no recollection of his visits.
“ I was going to take your pulse just now. May I have your wrist back?”
As she lifted her hand and offered it to the doctor, she tried to swallow, but the pain was so severe she stopped before fully gulping. From his blue waistcoat pocket he retrieved a watch and stared at it while he gently pressed his fingertips into the soft side of her wrist. His long brown eyebrows curled up toward the ceiling and his square chin was marked on the right with a purple scar.
Mrs. Purcell went to the washstand, picked up a towel, then sat near Euphora and placed the cloth across her forehead.
“ You both are going to survive and be fine,” she said.
“ You’re a spiritual medium, I hear,” the physician said as he studied his watch. “How long have you and your sister been Spiritualists?”
“ A few months.” The words cut her like a knife twisting inside her ears.
He let go of Izzie’s wrist and returned the watch to his pocket.
“ You’re much better. Your pulse has slowed a bit. Your temperature is a little lower. How does your throat feel?”
“ Terrible.”
“ Putrid sore throat disease. You two really are very lucky. I’m leaving Mrs. Purcell with Winslow’s Baby Syrup. The morphine in it will soothe your throat and help you sleep. She’ll give you that as I have prescribed, but the most important thing is water. You and your sister must drink two gallons every day until you are well. And hot wet compresses on your neck. Mrs. Purcell will do that for you every half hour. She’s already been doing it since you fell sick and added her own compound tincture to the cloths— capsicum, myrrh, lobelia, and I don’t know what else.” He glanced at Mrs. Purcell. “She’s in charge of that. I want you to drink the water. I should think it will be three weeks or so.”
Putrid sore throat disease. Diphtheria. They might have died. Children died of it all the time. She remembered a few winters ago one family down the street back in Homer losing two little boys.
She looked at her sister. “Is she really going to be all right?”
“ She’s asleep now, but she was awake earlier.” Mrs. Purcell leaned over Euphora and patted Izzie’s hand. “Go ahead and rest. I made a big pot of red pepper and golden seal tea. You are to drink it weak and gargle it strong. That’s my own remedy and the doctor agrees to it.”
“ She knows far more than I do.” Doctor MacAdams chuckled and stood. “I’ll be back in the morning.”
Bag in hand, the physician strode across the room and ducked slightly to make it through the door. As he pulled the door closed, he nodded at Mrs. Purcell and then was gone.
<><><>
A FEW DAYS LATER, Izzie could swallow without excruciating pain, but she was too weak to walk across the room. She hadn’t seen Papa since the night she fell sick. Mrs. Purcell told her that as soon as the physician told Papa what she and Euphora had, he took off and hadn’t been back since.
The tall physician came by twice more and asked if they were drinking all of the two gallons of daily water. He took Euphora’s pulse, then hers both times, but on the last visit, Izzie thought he held on to her wrist a very long time.
He said, “I hear from
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