Page 136 of When the Sky Breaks

“I’m so sorry!” Sorcha yelped, trying to push me away.

“Don’t apologize,” I said, fighting to keep my voice even as fear shot down my spine. Because the bile? Was laced with blood. We were now, properly, in over our heads.

“I ruined the sheets,” Sorcha mumbled, pressing her face into my chest. I felt her fighting to slow her breaths, calm herself down, and avoid throwing up again.

“They’ll bleach,” I said softly. “Now come here. Let’s get you on the floor. I don’t trust you not to fall out of bed while I’m gone.”

She nodded, let me help her, and settled on the ground next to my side of the bed, chamber pot in her lap, clean blanket over her shoulders.

“Stay right here,” I instructed. “I will be back with peppermint oil and creosote in just a minute. Scream if you need me. Okay?”

Sorcha nodded again, tears still streaking down her cheeks.

“We’re going to take care of this,” I promised.

“Ansel, we have a problem!” I pounded on the stairway door, hoping to wake him. Ansel didn’t sleep much but he slept hard. And he was uncharacteristically disheveled when he clambered down from the loft, rubbing his eyes and pulling on trousers.

“What’s wrong?” Ansel asked.

“Sorcha,” I said.

“Assumed that much.” Ansel was already pushing past me and into the kitchen. “What’s happened?”

“Ansel, she’s vomiting blood,” I said.

“And you left her alone?” Ansel demanded, stopping short.

“I had to come get you,” I insisted.

“Go back to her,” Ansel instructed. “Now. I’ll send Cavan down to the village. If we get a telegram out Kadish can be here in a few days.”

“Ansel my wife is vomiting blood. We don’t have days!” I insisted.

“Then I will also have Cavan fetch the midwife and we’ll see what we can bloody well do,” Ansel snapped.

“Where’s my da?” I asked.

“He left for the distillery an hour ago. I’ll send one of the guards to get him,” Ansel said. “I’ll bring medicine. Now go back to her right now, boy!”

Sorcha was worse when I got back to her—shaking, pale, skin clammy and covered in sweat. I didn’t look at the chamber pot in her lap, I didn’t want to know how many times she’d emptied her stomach into it while I was off calling help.

“Ansel’s coming with medicine,” I said, sitting down beside her and letting her curl into my arms. “Cavan’s fetching a midwife from town. And we’re sending word for Kadish. You’ll be okay.”

“Neal, something’s wrong,” Sorcha said, her voice cracked.

“Just breathe slow and try not to throw up again,” I instructed.

“And there’s no way Kadish will even get word for at least another day,” Sorcha sobbed into my chest.

“You’re too warm,” I said softly, the decades of training finally breaking through my haze of fear. “Let’s go outside, alright? Somewhere with fresh air? Cool you down.”

Sorcha didn’t reply but let me help her up and out to the garden.

Creosote didn’t help the fever, neither did yarrow. None of the nausea remedies we tried even took the edge off. Sorcha sat on the garden bench, sweating through her shift beneath the plush down blanket Da had provided, curled up against my chest.

Da had arrived from the distillery at a full sprint and hadn’t left Sorcha’s side since. He was fussing, wiping sweat off her forehead and murmuring about herbal tinctures and getting her some cold sheep milk with ginger root to settle her stomach.

Ansel was pacing.