Free Isabella Rockwell's War by Hannah Parry Page B

bones, like skin on a gourd. Her golden
hair was black with sweat. The other children huddled silently in
their beds, on the far side of the den, the dogs lying with them,
with ears back.
    When the tea
was ready, Ruby brought it to Isabella who stirred it until it was
cool. Lily felt cooler to the touch after the sponging, but
Isabella could feel under her fingers, as if far off in the
distance, the fever pushing through, like a snake seeking a bird’s
egg.
    “We need to
sit her up more. Zachariah, I will hold her and you must spoon this
into her mouth. We must get it all into her.”
    “But she’s
barely conscious, she won’t be able to swallow.”
    “She will,”
interrupted Isabella. “The fever has not yet reached her brain. If
we get it far enough into her mouth, she will swallow.” Zachariah
looked at her, hollow eyed and desperate. “We have no choice.”
    “No.” His eyes
blazed as he looked at her. “But if you harm one hair on her head,
I will kill you.”
    Isabella
nodded. “I know.”
    It took one
hour to spoon all of the mixture into Lily ensuring it all went
down her throat and not down the bedcovers. Ruby continued to bathe
her with the mint-scented water and William kept the pots warming
on the fire. Wrapping her back up into her blankets, they laid her
gently back against the pillowed wall.
    “How long
before we will know if she’s to get better… or not?” asked
Zachariah, darting a low glance over to Isabella, devoid, for the
first time, of anger.
    “Soon I
hope.”
    Lily started
to cough with a tight rasp, not the loose rattle for which Isabella
had hoped. She pulled back the blanket and took a quick look at
Lily’s chest, fear making its presence known again. Lily’s little
chest, and now stomach, was pulling in with the effort of her
breathing. Isabella’s heart sank.
    “What is it?”
asked Zachariah who she’d felt watching her every expression.
    “I need to
make a rub for her chest. I need to loosen what’s inside her. It’s
drowning her. Though I can rid her of fever, it means nothing
unless she can bring up what’s in her chest. The infection will
just return.”
    “What do you
need?” Zachariah was on his feet, but Isabella was silent.
    “Come on, what
do you need? Speak to me!”
    “I need Olive
Oil, Oil of Cloves and, and…”
    “What!”
    “Oil of
Amber.”
    Zachariah’s
face fell.
    “How
much?”
    “Four
tablespoons.”
    Zachariah put
his head in his hands.
    “Well, that’s
that then. We can’t afford it.” Isabella nodded. Oil of Amber was
equal in price to gold. She took a deep breath, unsure and afraid.
Every part of her wished she weren’t in this situation, wished
she’d never met Midge, wished, of all the children who could have
become ill, it hadn’t been Lily. Beneath her feet she felt a cliff
crumble, but she reached deep into her father’s bag and brought out
Mrs Trotter’s emerald earrings. They sparkled in the firelight as
she held them out to Zachariah.
    “We can afford
it… just make sure you give me the change.”
    For the first
time ever Zachariah smiled at her, a genuine smile which reached
his eyes. For a moment the worry was erased.
    “What else
have you got in there I ought to know about?” He nodded toward the
bag.
    “Not a single
thing,” she smiled back at him, tiredly.
    She’d just
given away part of her ticket home not even sure it would help, but
she knew what Abhaya would have done in her position.
    Zachariah was
back within the hour.
    Isabella ran
her hands gently over Lily’s back as Lily lay on her front over
Isabella’s lap and gradually brought up mouthful after mouthful of
thick green phlegm from her infected lungs. Isabella lay her back
down on her bed for a rest. Was it her imagination or was Lily’s
colour just a little better? The sky was drifting from black to
snowy grey and the bells of St Paul’s were tolling for Matins. All
around the den were sleeping children. She pulled the blankets
around Lily