Arts
Sandra woke from a deep sleep and realized that she was drenched in sweat. Her PJs, her sheets, her pillow, all soaked. Even her hair seemed to be wet. Yuck. She sat up and flung the soggy covers off of herself. She felt light-headed, and weak as a kitten, but not quite so miserable as she had been, thank the Goddess. There was daylight in the room. The clock said three—but three o’clock of what day? And where was Mark? “Hello, Sandra,” said Lois McCutcheon from a chair in the corner. “Don’t stand up yet, child; let me have a look at you.” Lois set down her knitting and came over to the bed. “Ah, I can see that your fever has broken. Blessing on the squirrels, and may their fur never fall out!” “Sorry?” said Sandra. What did squirrels have to do with anything? “You’ve missed rather a lot, my dear. I’ll explain everything; but let’s take your temperature.” Lois popped the thermometer into Sandra’s mouth. “Ninety-nine five,” she announced. “So much better—but not quite back to normal. Try standing.” Lois held her arm, and Sandra rose unsteadily to her feet. “I’m okay,” she said—or tried to say: it came out as something between a whisper and a sizzle. “I need the bathroom—and a shower.” “We-e-ll,” said Lois, considering. “Very well, then. I’ll help you on the stairs.” When Sandra came out of the shower, she felt much better. She also felt completely exhausted. The face that looked back at her from the mirror was shockingly pale and unwell, with red-rimmed eyes and chapped lips. Lois had brought her fresh pajamas, and she got herself into them and wrapped a towel around her wet head. But that was about all she could manage. She hesitated, her legs trembling, at the bottom of the stairs. She began, “I’m sorry, Lois, I don’t think I can”— but just then Eunice came up behind her. “Allow me, please,” said Eunice, and Sandra felt herself scooped up into the strong woman’s arms. “You look much better, sister,” said Eunice, “but not quite all better. Let’s get you back to bed.” Eunice climbed smoothly up the stairs with Sandra in her arms, set her down on fresh sheets, and propped her up on a couple of fresh pillows. “Thank you,” whispered Sandra. Timi came into the room as well, carrying a tray. “Sandra! Oh, I’m so glad to see you awake!” She came over to the bed and took Sandra’s hand. “Are you feeling better, then?” “Well—I feel much better,” said Sandra, her voice still sandpaper-rough, “but not particularly good. Your mother just had to carry me up the stairs.” “Well, it’s only been, what, about six hours since your first dose,” said Timi. “First dose of what?” asked Sandra. “What’s going on? And where’s Mark?” “First dose of this,” said Lois, taking a mug from the tray and handing it to Sandra, “and here’s your second dose. And I’ll catch you up on all that has happened, while you take this medicine, and drink some more water, and rest.” Sandra tentatively sipped the concoction in the mug. She was expecting some kind of vile-tasting medicine, but it turned out to be noodle soup, warm but not hot. It was more like food than like medicine, and quite good. She swallowed some more. How nice to be able to swallow without so much pain! “Now: do you remember our Healing Circle?” asked Lois. “Vaguely,” said Sandra. “When was that?” “Yesterday, Thursday, around sunset. Your fever was a hundred and three when we started it. The Circle didn’t seem to help you, and we were very worried. But your friends the squirrels came out, and Pythagoras spent quite a while conversing with them after the circle. Everyone had gone home, or to the tavern, before the storm got too bad—everyone except Pythagoras, and Eunice and Timi, and me. When he was able to speak to us again, Pythagoras told us what the squirrels had told him: the sulfur shelf from Mark’s tree was the right medicine, they said. “Unfortunately, by the time we heard that, the storm had closed in around us,