Free Another Dawn by Deb Stover

progress. If all the child's spots were dry, they would consider her on the road to recovery.
           Sofie prayed it was so.
           "You're pretty. Who are you?" the child asked, her soft brown eyes wide and trusting.
           "I'm Sofie, and I think you're pretty, too."   She knelt beside the cot and brushed a strand of limp blond hair away from the girl's eyes. The spots looked threatening, though Sofie quickly reminded herself that she was immune.
           "Dr. Wilson tells me your name is Jenny and that you're ten," Sofie continued, examining each of the girl's arms. "How do you feel?"
           "Just tired, but better than before."   A shudder rippled through Jenny's small frame. "I was very sick and my mama was taking care of me. Where is she?"
           Sofie bit the inside of her cheek, praying the girl's mother wasn't one of the epidemic's victims. "I'm not sure, but I'll ask after you have your bath. Can you sit up by yourself?"
           Nodding, Jenny pushed herself up on her elbows. "I'm dreadful tired of lying in bed."
           "I can imagine."   Sofie bathed the girl's face and shoulders, then removed her soiled gown and slipped a fresh one over her head. It was huge, obviously intended for an adult. "Dr. Wilson says you're almost well."  
           Jenny sighed as she laid back against the pillow, a telltale tremor in her lower lip. "Can you please ask someone about my mama?" She gathered a handful of the nightgown's soft fabric and brought it to her cheek. "This is Mama's gown, so she must be here."
           Sofie swallowed hard, afraid. She didn't want to learn this child's mother was dead or dying. "Yes, you rest for a while and I'll go ask right now," she promised, filled with an unrelenting sense of dread.
           She rose to go in search of Dr. Wilson, surprised when she turned around to find him standing a few feet behind her. From his solemn expression, she knew without asking that this child's mother was dead. Obviously, someone–probably Mrs. Fleming–had taken the mother's belongings and laundered them for Jenny's use.
           She shook her head, hoping Dr. Wilson would tell her Jenny's mother was fine and would be along any minute to calm her child's fears, but Sofie knew better. Still, she'd promised to ask, so she bent down to retrieve the basin of dirty water and walked slowly toward the doctor.
           "She's old enough to be told where her mother is," Sofie said without preamble.  
           She couldn't help but wonder about her own mother. Was she still alive? Was she wondering what had happened to her daughter right now? Would she worry? Was I close to my mother?
           Past tense?
           Stop. Think of Jenny.
           Mrs. Fleming paused beside the pair and took the basin from Sofie's hands. Then the older woman turned to face the doctor, lifting her chin a notch to meet the physician's gaze.
           "My Dora and I will raise this child, and we'll do it right. We understand little girls."   Mrs. Fleming sniffled and blinked several times, glancing toward the cot where the girl had, thankfully, fallen asleep. "We'll tell Jenny about her mother as soon as Dora returns from...from Fanny's funeral."   The older woman's face crumpled and a tear slid quickly down her wrinkled cheek.
           Dr. Wilson reached out and touched Mrs. Fleming's shoulder. "You're an angel of mercy, Anna," he said, his voice thick with exhaustion. "I don't know what we'd do without you and Miss Dora. But what about the boy?"
           Oh, not another victim . Sofie watched Mrs. Fleming's expression change from pity to anger.  
           "No matter what we think, the law has already proclaimed that one's fate," the woman whispered, shaking her head.
           "So it has."   Dr. Wilson's words sounded clipped. Disapproving?
           "She has a brother?" Sofie didn't understand any of this. "Is