Another Dawn
he here, too?"
           "No."   Mrs. Fleming drew a deep breath. "He's in jail. For now."
           No additional information appeared forthcoming, and Sofie sensed any additional questions would be unwelcome. The boy in the jail. She remembered mention of a rope, though that still didn't seem possible.  
           But at least Jenny would have a home. Sofie tried not to think of the boy. Clearing her throat, she faced Mrs. Fleming. "Jenny asked me to find out about her mama. I think she suspects what's happened, so please don't wait too–"  
           The front door burst open and Ab staggered in, bearing the weight of a much larger man. Without hesitation, Dr. Wilson hurried toward the new arrival, slipped his arm around the taller man and dragged him toward a freshly made cot.
           "My God, what happened?" the doctor asked.
           Then Sofie saw the reason for his urgent tone. This patient showed no sign of smallpox, but his face, head and shoulder were horribly burned. Distorted and disfigured, the new patient barely resembled a man at all.
           "Dunno," Ab said, stepping back. "He crawled into town on all fours, more dead than alive. Ain't pox, though. I couldn't very well turn him away, quarantine or no quarantine."
           "No, of course not."   The doctor immediately pulled away the injured man's tattered jacket and shirt, then looked back at Sofie. "We'll need clean bandages and cool water. Lots of it."   Dr. Wilson paused for a moment to sigh. "Dear God, if he lives, he's going to wish like hell he hadn't."
           Only incoherent groans came from the man's lips–rather, what was left of his lips. Sofie stared in horror at his charred flesh, possibly an earlobe. The stench of his burns stole her breath.
           The lower part of his face and neck were practically gone, and only singed stubble covered his head. When he opened his eyes and looked her way, Sofie saw pain and rage unlike anything she'd ever seen. Covering her mouth, she recoiled and turned away, unable to gaze on the man's hideous injuries a moment longer.
           I'm a doctor . She drew huge gulps of air until her trembling ceased and she no longer felt as if she would heave.
           Mrs. Fleming returned from the back room with a basin of fresh water and placed it on the floor near the doctor. "Rags and bandages," she said, and hurried away.
           Remembering her duties, Sofie followed the older woman, eager for any excuse to escape the pain and dying for even a little while. Mrs. Fleming whirled around to face Sofie the moment the kitchen door closed behind them, her hands on her hips and her expression unreadable.
           "Who are you?" she demanded, though not unkindly.
           "I...I don't remember."   Sofie watched Mrs. Fleming's gaze rake the length of her. "Why? What's wrong?"
           "You say you're a doctor, but–"
           "No, Father Salazar says I'm a doctor. I have no idea who or what I am."   Sofie lifted her hair off the back of her neck and looked up at the ceiling, willing her tears not to come. "I don't remember medical school or even my last name, for that matter. Why? Have I done something wrong?" Had she already made a grievous medical error?
           "Your clothes, your language, your mannerisms–how can you be a doctor? I believe doctors come from good families with proper upbringings."   Disapproval showed clearly in Mrs. Fleming's eyes. " Ladies do not wear britches, Sofie, and they certainly do not wear their hair in a state of complete and utter chaos."
           Confused, Sofie touched her hair, pulling a dark curl forward to examine it. She took a step back and looked down at her filthy jeans and green T-shirt. At Mrs. Fleming's insistence, her soiled white lab coat had been replaced earlier by a clean, ruffled apron. Strange, but even without her memory, Sofie knew ruffles weren't her

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