“Agathe, would you be too upset if . . .”
“If you went to Sander’s house? Of course not.”
There was much that Madlen wanted to say, but she settled on just one thank-you. She gave her aunt a quick peck on the cheek and ran off to Sander’s house.
She knocked and waited. Nothing. She knocked again, at first just once, then again and again. Finally, she turned the doorknob and walked in.
“Roswitha? Mechthild?”
She heard Sander coughing in the adjoining room. She quickly walked over to the room and stepped in. She saw Roswitha, her eyes filled with tears, as she held Sander, newly racked with coughing spasms. “I’ll take him!” She grabbed Sander under his arms and pulled him upright with a jolt. Again and again, she jostled him up and down. “Get some water,” she ordered Roswitha. She trembled all over, uncertain whether to leave Sander’s side. “Come on!” Madlen snapped, and immediately Roswitha ran out. A moment later, she was back.
“When I lift him up again, you need to pour water down his throat.” Madlen strained to pick Sander up and signaled to Roswitha. She put the cup to his lips; some of the water ran down Sander’s throat, the rest ran down the corners of his mouth. “Again!” Madlen ordered and Roswitha obeyed. They both kept trying until the cup was empty, then Roswitha went out and filled it back up again. When she returned, Sander looked a lot better lying down again on the bed. Although he still coughed, he sounded like he was getting air again on his own. Trembling violently, Roswitha looked at Madlen and sobbed. “I thought he died.”
“He wasn’t far from it. What happened?”
“I fell asleep,” Roswitha said tearfully.
“Where is Mechthild?”
“She had to go to work.”
“Why didn’t you send her to me? I would have come.”
Roswitha burst into tears. “I wanted to, but Mechthild said that there wasn’t anything more you could do. And I didn’t want to leave him alone.”
“I’m so sorry, Roswitha. I should have come sooner. But I thought . . .” She stopped in midsentence. She had to remain level-headed.
“How much frankincense is left?”
“It’s all gone.” Roswitha sobbed again. Madlen laid her hand on Sander’s chest. His whole body shook from within. If she wanted to do something for him, she had to do it fast. She pulled her hand back, approached Roswitha, and held her shoulders.
“You have to go and pick up more frankincense. Do you still have enough of the herbs that I gathered?”
“Yes, but I couldn’t prepare a fresh compress because I had to stay by his side. Is he going to die because of me?”
“Just go pick up some frankincense; run as fast as you can. I’ll take care of everything else.”
Roswitha hesitated, glancing at Sander. Madlen guessed what she was thinking. “He’ll live if you come back quickly. Today is not the day that we let anybody die.”
Roswitha nodded, turned on her heels, and fled the house. She didn’t even put on her cloak.
Chapter Fifteen
It was four full days before Madlen left Sander’s house next. In that time, she thought more than once that death would win the day. Sander’s coughing spasms were far worse than Agathe’s had been. Madlen learned a lot about how the illness ran its course. She wasn’t certain whether the cough wasn’t only one symptom of a broader illness people had contracted. By chance, she found that the herb vervain helped the body drain and drew out fluid, an excess of which prevented the patient from breathing. Every time he sat on the bucket, Sander’s body seemed to release more and more of the sickness tormenting his body. As he coughed up phlegm, the rattling in his chest lessened until it was barely audible. After her last examination, Madlen could finally tell Roswitha that he was out of danger. Still, he had to stay in bed for at least two more days, for his body to recover completely.
She returned to Agathe’s house exhausted but happy. Roswitha had gone back and forth to keep her current on Sander’s condition.
“Agathe? I’m home.”
Aunt Agathe walked out of the kitchen into the hall. “Thank the Lord!” She went to Madlen and hugged her warmly for several minutes. She pulled away when she heard a knock on the door.
“Wait here.” Agathe went to open it. “My God, Otilia, what’s happened?” She let the sobbing visitor in, tears streaming down the woman’s face.
“Is she here?” Otilia looked past Agathe.
“What?”
“Is that the healer?”
“Please, whom do you speak of?” Agathe tried to keep her voice even as her heart beat nervously against her chest. How did Otilia know that Madlen might be the healer?