Hush Now, Don't You Cry(53)

I carried it to the bedside. I glanced out of the window. The first rays of dawn were streaked across the Eastern sky. It was almost day. Outside my window a bird began to chirp—tentatively at first and then more confidently. It all seemed so calm and serene and normal, almost as if that bird was mocking me. Was this to be the last day of my present life? That thought flashed through my mind. I looked at the tumbler in my hand.

“I’m not going to let you die, Daniel Sullivan!” I shouted at him. “Do you hear that? I will not let you die.”

I lifted his head, forced his mouth open, and tipped the liquid down his throat. He coughed and retched and fought, then fell back like a dead thing. Immediately afterward I was scared at what I had done. But it was too late. He had swallowed most of it.

“On fire,” he whispered. “I’m on fire.”

Again I didn’t hesitate. I pulled off the bedclothes. I ran to get a wet wash cloth, then I lifted his nightshirt and I began to sponge him down. He moaned, tried to sit up, then collapsed again. He lay so still that I thought for a moment I had killed him. I covered him with the sheet and heard him take a faint breath. At least he was still breathing. I rested my head on the pillow beside him. “I love you,” I whispered. I took his hot hand in mine and closed my eyes.

The next thing I knew a shaft of bright sunlight hit me full in the face. I woke with a start, wondering for a moment where I was and why my neck hurt like billy-o. Then I saw Daniel lying on the bed beside me. His breath was no longer ragged and his face looked peaceful. I touched his hand and it was cool. I sat there, staring at him unblinking. Dead. The word tried to force its way into my head, however hard I tried to push it back. Daniel was dead. He had died while I had slept. I hadn’t even had a chance to say good-bye to him. A great bubble of rage and despair came into my throat.

“No!” I shouted. “No. No.”

Daniel’s eyes flickered slowly open. “What’s all this racket about?” he murmured in a husky voice.





Nineteen

For a moment I thought my eyes were deceiving me. Then his eyes focused on me and he smiled with recognition.

“Daniel. You’re alive.” I threw myself on him and covered his cheek and forehead with kisses.

“What have I done to deserve such a display of affection?” he asked, bringing the words out with difficulty as if it was a big effort to talk.

“You nearly died, you idiot,” I said. “I’ve been up with you all night. The doctor was here and he had pretty much given up hope. And the priest gave you the last rites.”

“That’s funny. I seem to remember hearing Latin and I kept telling myself that I was late for church and I’d get into trouble. I believe I thought I was still an altar boy.” He turned away and stared up at the ceiling. “I had all kinds of bad dreams. People trying to kill me. Monsters trying to swallow me alive.”

“I know. You were hallucinating. You kept thrashing around and kicking the covers off.”

“I was too hot.”

“I know you were. That doctor told me to keep you covered so that you’d sweat out the disease, but I couldn’t stand to see you as hot as that. I took the covers off and sponged you down.”

“Typical Molly, doing exactly what she was told not to.” He gave me a tired smile and closed his eyes again.

“I was scared that I’d killed you,” I said. “I was so scared, Daniel. I thought you were going to die.” And a great hiccupping sob escaped from my throat.

He reached up and stroked my cheek. “There, there,” he said. “Don’t cry. I’m still here and everything’s going to be just fine.”

“Yes,” I said, unable to stop the tears now. “Everything will be just fine. I’ll go and make us both a cup of tea.”

Daniel had just fallen asleep again when there was a tap at my front door and Mrs. Flannery was standing there. “We’ve just come back from church, so I thought I ought to stop by and see how you were doing,” she said and she came into the front hall without being invited.

“Oh, church. Is it Sunday?”

She nodded. “A terrible business. They go so quickly with pneumonia, don’t they? But at least my brother gave him the last rites, and that’s a comfort, isn’t it?”

“Mrs. Flannery, he’s fine. That is, he’s not fine yet, but he’s much better. The fever broke. He’s breathing almost normally again.”

Her face lit up. “Well, that’s a miracle, isn’t it? I’m so happy for you, my dear. Mrs. McCreedy was going to send over one of the local girls to help you out but I’ll be happy to cook you a good breakfast. What would you say to ham and eggs and maybe some flapjacks? Perhaps your man could take a lightly boiled egg?”