The Usurper's Crown by Sarah Zettel

snapped Ingrid. “I tried to tell you what was wrong with Grace, and you only worried about whether the neighbors would believe we had both kept our virginity safe.”
    “Ingrid!” thundered Papa.
    “Well, I will tell you what the neighbors think of that.” She barreled on, too hot and angry to stop. “The neighbors don’t care! Half of them are bastards of one stripe or the other! But for God knows what reason you have decided that Grace is wicked, and that I am implicated in her supposed wickedness, because I care what becomes of her, and you don’t.”
    “You will not speak so in this house!” Papa raised his heavy hand.
    Ingrid did not even flinch. “Go ahead,” she said. “Strike me down, but I tell you this. That blow had better lay me in my grave next to Grace, because if it does not, I will leave this house and I will blacken our name from Sand Island to Bayfield and right down to Chicago.”
    Mama had gone paper white. She moved forward, a slow, sleepwalker’s motion that reminded Ingrid of watching Grace slip forward in the darkness.
    “If I ever hear it you speak so again in this house, mine will be the hands that throw you out into the dirt.”
    “How can you?” Ingrid flung her hands open wide. “She’s your daughter.”
    “Do you think for one instant I have forgotten?” spat Mama. “I am responsible for her. I am responsible for whatever deviltry has taken hold of her! God forgive me, this is my fault!” Mama buried her face in her hands. “My fault!”
    Ingrid wanted to feel sorry, she wanted to feel pity, but all she felt was tired. “Listen to me. I am going out. I will return by morning. If all goes well, Grace’s affliction will be lifted. After that you can do as you like with me. All I ask is that you consider that I might have been telling nothing but the truth.”
    She meant to leave the house then, but even as she turned she realized she could not leave Grace here. Who knew what Papa and Leo would do when she was called out to the shore. So, instead, Ingrid stormed up the stairs to her bedroom.
    Grace lay under the covers, as still as any corpse.
    “Come, little sister,” said Ingrid gently. “Let’s get you dressed, shall we?”
    Through the floorboards, Ingrid could hear the voices of her family raised in argument and blame. She tried in vain to shut them out as she moved about the room, gathering Grace’s clean linen, her thickest skirt, and layers of shawls. Grace’s skin was horribly cold to the touch and Ingrid had to dress her as if she were a rag doll. Grace’s eyelids did not even flutter under Ingrid’s attentions, and nothing passed her lips but the sigh of her breath.
    “Perhaps I should become a nurse,” muttered Ingrid as she sat Grace up. “I seem to be making a profession of hauling the sick about with me.”
    At the same time, she knew she would never be able to carry Grace all the way down to the beach. Biting her lip, Ingrid pulled the string holding the scrap of iron off from around Grace’s neck and tossed it onto the bed.
    As the iron thudded against the quilt, Grace’s head jerked upright and her eyes flew open wide. Her gaze lighted for a moment on Ingrid, but then slipped past her to the door. Her hand tightened briefly on Ingrid’s arm as she used Ingrid to pull herself to her feet. She took three faltering steps, and collapsed, measuring her own length on the floorboards.
    Ingrid dropped at once to her knees beside Grace. Grace lifted her bedraggled head and saw Ingrid, truly saw her for the first time in this whole hellish month.
    “Help me, Ingrid,” rasped Grace. “Help me go to him.”
    “Yes,” said Ingrid, although the word choked her. “We are going to him now.”
    Ingrid raised Grace up, shocked at the strength of her sister’s grip. One step at a time, they together made their way down the stairs to the front room. Their family stopped their arguing and stared in a silent astonishment as Ingrid supported Grace to the