“Very well, but you should know there is danger here for them, if Brunt recovers. He loathes Sinclairs. Watch him.”
“Who is Brunt?” Ash snapped a stick over his knee and threw it into the pile they were building.
“One of those men who was born hating the world and all who stand in it. But even more so women. He has hated the Sinclair family since they stood up to him and the way he treats his wife and the people around him. He believes them witches and will say as such loudly.”
“I beg your pardon?” He stopped to stare at her.
“They are special people, Ashford Charlton—”
“Just Ash will do.”
“People who do things that others would see as threatening. Watch him,” she said ominously before stomping away.
“Well, hell,” he muttered, wondering what house this Brunt lived in. He’d be paying him regular visits.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
Dorrie was raised in a family of seven. She’d shared a bed with her sister and knew what it was to be scared and tired. But this, the bone-numbing fatigue, was something else entirely. Four days after the first case of scarlet fever had been detected, she was so tried even her toes ached.
The stench of death filled the town of Crunston Cliff, and for someone who could smell horse excrement at a hundred paces, it was hard to ignore.
Her hands were blistered, her shoulders ached, and she’d cried so much she was sure there were no tears left inside her, and yet her pain was nothing compared to the suffering of those in the church.
Last night Esther had been brought there by her father. One look at her dear friend and Dorrie had known that she would struggle to survive. Her body was wracked with fever, and the rash covered her. The overwhelming sense of desperation that she could do little to help her was devastating. She had wanted to run up the hill and beg Lilly to come but knew that was impossible. Many would die, and her sister-in-law could not heal them all.
“Brunt is better but refuses to come here,” Essie said, entering the church.
“As long as he stays in his house, I cannot be sorry about that,” Dorrie replied. “My only worry is that Beth has to care for him.”
“Which she has been doing for years.” Essie’s eyes were narrowed above the kerchief tied around her face. “How is Esther?”
“Not good. I fear for her,” Dorrie whispered.
“I know you do, but we are doing what we can for her,” Essie said wrapping an arm around Dorrie. “Stay strong, little sister, she needs that from you.”
Dorrie nodded. “I will take the things out to the fire and then go to the end of the road and see who has arrived from the castle.”
But first she would visit her old friend once more. Making her way through the cots filled with sick people she reached her.
“Hello, Esther.” Dorrie bent over her. Taking her hand, she squeezed it gently, and Esther’s eyes opened. The smile was small, and her breathing ragged.
“Mrs. Radcliff just told Jimmy Tait that his chances of marrying are diminishing with each day he does not at least attempt to show a modicum of sense.”
Esther wheezed.
“She then told him that no woman would want a man who kisses like a codfish, and to get in some practice. Apparently she kissed him again at last year’s carnival in the kissing booth, and he had not improved from the previous year.”
Esther wheezed again.
“And now I must drop some things to the fire, and then go to see who has arrived from the castle and what they’ve brought. Hopefully another sweet orange for you.”
Bending over Esther, she gave her a gentle hug and kissed a hot cheek.
“Rest now, my friend.”
Sniffing back tears, Dorrie straightened to find Mrs. Radcliff entering the church.
“I will sit with Esther until you return, younger Sinclair.”
