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then rested her head upon her mother’s shoulder. She didn’t want to move, ever.
    There was no way for her to know how long it was. Perhaps an hour or two had passed. Then, a tap came at the doorway.
    “Hello to the house,” an old man said.
    Eleanor turned and saw the physician she had hired the day before. He used his cane to keep the blanket moved to the side as he ducked low to enter. His black over cloak was caked with mud along the bottom, and water was soaking up past his ankles.
    “Terribly sorry, young lady, but the Shiftens had their baby yesterday. It took some time, but they had a nice, healthy baby boy. He and mother are doing just fine, but by the time it was over…” he looked up and saw Eleanor. His eyes flicked to her mother and his pleasant smile faded. “Oh, I see.” He reached up and removed his hat, revealing a head of snow-white hair neatly combed to the side. “I’m terribly sorry.”
    Maybe it was the insult that the physician had arrived after it was too late to do anything for her mother. Perhaps it was the cruel joke played by the gods that another family should have life brought into their family on the same night her mother died. Whatever it was, it put her over the edge. The tears fell and the anger rose. Before she even knew what happened she was up, crossing the room, and kicking the physician directly in the groin.
    “You should have come!” she screamed as she kicked the man again.
    Somehow, she ended up in his arms. The physician hugged her close, holding her tightly and leaning in with his head. She tried to wrestle free, but it was no use.
    “Shh, quiet now, child.” The physician held her tighter as he spoke. “It’s all right, you go on and let it out.”
    “I hate you!” Eleanor shouted through tears. Then she broke down into sobs and melted into the man. He continued to hold her, loosening his grip just slightly and turning the embrace into a more comforting one.
    “That’s all right,” he said softly. “That’s all right.”
    After a while, she pushed away and wiped her eyes. Somewhere deep inside herself she knew she should apologize, but the words never found their way to her mouth. She just glared at the man and crossed her arms.
    The physician fished in his pocket and pulled out a few coins.
    “I don’t have any copper on me, but I have some silver pieces. Take these, it’s the least I can do.”
    “Take them and eat them for all I care, they won’t do me any good,” Eleanor spat.
    The physician sighed. “All right. I’ll just set them on the crate over here.” He moved to the crate and dropped all of the silver coins onto the crate. Then he turned and offered a smile. “If you need someone to talk to, my door is always open.”
    “Just go,” Eleanor shouted. She knew it wasn’t his fault. The physician had told her days before that there wasn’t much he could do anymore. Consumption was not an easy disease to fight. Still, he was the closest object onto which she could project her sadness and anger, so that is what she did.
    She stared at the doorway for at least an hour before she finally was able to calm down enough to think. She looked back to her mother and thought of the last conversation they had had together. Eleanor moved to her mother and kissed her cold forehead, and then she left, taking the six silver coins with her.
    Before she made her way to Horace Bagman’s house, she found Mr. Gib, the local mortician.
    He was a short, fat man who lived just on the outskirts of the slums where the dirt road met the cobblestone and the shanties became proper, small houses. He was outside, nailing a new coffin together as she approached.
    “’Ello, Eleanor. What can I do for you?” he asked with his bright hazel eyes beaming over his round, bearded cheeks.
    “How much does it cost for a burial and a proper coffin?”
    Mr. Gib’s smile changed to an expression of confusion and the man wiped his hands and set his hammer down. “Now, why