Nancy Whiskey

Trueblood obeyed distractedly. “Nevertheless, Daniel asked it of me and I have never failed him.”

“Really? Never?”

Trueblood thought for a moment, then turned an irritated gaze upon her. “Nancy, do not try to distract me.”

“Where do you suppose he -is now?” Nancy asked aloud. As often as she posed the question to Mrs. Cook, the kitchen maids or even the wall, Trueblood never failed to answer if he was within hearing.

“He has been gone a month. Most likely he is on his way back by now.”

“You say he made it there and back in as little as a month?” Nancy asked, as though Daniel’s arrival put a time limit on how long she had to cure the yellow-fever epidemic.

“And never more than six weeks.”

She sat down on the kitchen stool and stared wistfully out the window. “Is it a very dangerous trip?”

“Not anymore.”

“I know I should not worry about him. How many times has he made the trip?”

“Not more than fifty. Whereas your father has never done it before. Here he has gone off with Dupree, and you have never asked after his safety.” Nancy turned and smiled at him. “What an unnatural daughter I am.”

“If we are speaking of unnatural, Riley wrests you from your home, dumps you on a foreign shore and leaves you to fend for yourself, and with precious little money, is my guess.”

“Oh, I have some of my own. Uncle gave me all the gold and silver coin he had by him. He reckoned it would be enough to buy my passage home if I should need to.”

“In other words he had your father’s measure. I hope you keep it in a safe place.”

“It is sewn into the hem of my best petticoat.”

“Good idea.”

“I got it from a soldier’s wife—the idea, not the petticoat. I have read over all your books again,” she said, pulling a volume across the table to her, “and there is nothing here to help with this yellow fever.”

“It would appear they either survive it or not.”

“Yes, and that there is precious little we can do.”

“So I have concluded.”

“If I should get the fever, Trueblood, I don’t wish to be bled. That is not the answer.”

“I will not let the leeches get you, Nancy girl. I still wish you would let me take you to Champfreys, in Maryland. My mother and sister would love to have you, and it would guarantee that Daniel would go home.”

“How could I leave Mrs. Cook in such a fix, with both her girls down with the fever?”

“Prudence is well nigh over it.”

“But not much use yet. If she overdoes it now, she may have a relapse, and Tibby is still in danger. Why in the summer, Trueblood?”

“What?”

“The fever. Why only in the summer?”

“Bad air from the swamps.”

“Why do we not all get it, then?”

“That may come.”

Nancy pushed the book shut in defeat, but the cover flopped open to the flyleaf. It was a gift from Sir Farnsbey at Oxford.

She wondered why Trueblood had been the one sent to school and not Daniel, until she recollected what had been going on then. The rift between Daniel and his father went as far back as ‘77, when the sixteen-year-old Daniel, according to Trueblood, had left home after a blazing argument with his father to join the rebel army. No doubt Trueblood had been shipped off to England to turn him into a staunch Loyalist and to remove him from Daniel’s influence. It had not worked, of course. For Trueblood had managed to get back into the country and rejoin Daniel by 1780. Now his greatest loyalty was to his brother, and that lent Daniel a great deal of credit in Nancy’s eyes. If only he valued himself as Trueblood did.

When Daniel wandered into the kitchen the next day, Nancy, Trueblood and Mrs. Cook were all so intently watching a kettle simmering upon a pile of coals on the hearth that they did not immediately perceive he was not the boy hired to cut wood until he did not deposit any in the box under the window.

“Daniel!” Nancy leaped up and ran to him. She had just enough command of herself to merely embrace him and pull him toward a chair at the table, rather than kiss him as she would have liked to do. “You look so tired. I have some soup hot over the fire. Sit down. Tell us about your journey.”

“Double, double toil and trouble,” Daniel chanted as he sat down tiredly. “Fire burn and cauldron bubble.”

Nancy laughed as she carried a steaming pot to the table and got down a bowl. “I suppose we do look like a trio of witches stirring a most unpromising brew.”

“I sincerely hope that is not what you are planning on feeding me, for the reek of it reached me halfway down the street.”

“Not unless you feel yourself to be coming down with the fever, for it is a rather potent purgative.”

“I was hoping this house had been spared. Trueblood, you should have taken Miss Riley away from here.” Daniel touched the chicken broth to his lips, then sipped it gratefully, looking about for bread just as Nancy pushed a loaf toward him.

“I did suggest it, little brother.”

“How could you think I would desert Mrs. Cook?”

“Not you, too, mistress?” Daniel paused to look his landlady over thoughtfully.

“Yes, but I am better now. It was Nancy and Trueblood who pulled me through it. Prudence as well.”

“Now if we can just save Tibby,” Nancy said, going to stare at the infusion in the kettle.

“Since it appears that those who survive are those through whom it passes the quickest, your idea of purging it may make the most sense,” Trueblood said. “But why intersperse the doses of rhubarb with the Peruvian bark?”

“Only because it works for the ague. And I cannot believe the two diseases are unrelated. The symptoms vary, but the causes are the same.”

“The fetid swamps,” Mrs. Cook said, drawing the great wooden spoon out and sniffing it.

“Do you mind?” Daniel asked.

“Sorry, Daniel. Are we disgusting you?” Nancy went and got a chunk of cooked beef from the larder and sliced it for him. He laid a thick piece on his bread and ate the two with one hand while he dipped up soup with the other. It made Nancy wonder how long he had gone without eating, and if he had done so to hurry back to her. She sat down to stare at him and only realized she must be smiling vacantly when he spoke with his mouth full.

“Yes. Moreover, I think you are enjoying mucking about with your herbs.”