Read Fever 1793 for Free Online Page B

threw her fan down on the table. "Oh,
    52
    Mama, must you be so thick-headed? Mrs. Cook is asking if you might consider Miss Cook as a wife for one of our brothers. And I imagine their filthy little tavern is part of the deal."
    I stood so quickly that the seams under my arms ripped open with a snarl. The dog barked shrilly.
    "It's not a tavern, it's a coffeehouse!" I said.
    "Grog shop," taunted Jeannine.
    At that insult my mother rose. A grog shop was where criminals and the other dregs of society gathered to drink whiskey and fight.
    "A coffeehouse," Mother explained. "With respectable customers who mind their manners far better than you."
    "Oh, girls, ladies," fluttered Mrs. Ogilvie.
    Colette grasped the edge of the table and pulled herself to her feet, knocking over the cream pitcher.
    "I fear," she said, panting heavily.
    We all turned to stare at her.
    "Sit down, Colette," said Jeannine.
    "I fear," Colette tried again.
    "Pernilla, that girl does not look well," said Mother.
    "I'm burning," whispered Colette. She crumpled to the flowered carpet in a faint.
    While Mrs. Ogilvie shrieked, Mother knelt down and laid the back of her hand against Colette's forehead. "The fever!"
    S3
    29
    CHAPTER EIGHT
    September 2nd, 1793
    smelled the breath of death for the first time since all this hardship began, [and] was scared.
    -Diary of J. Henry C. Helmuth Philadelphia, 1793
    From the time that Colette Ogilvie collapsed, the church bells of Philadelphia tolled without cease. Guns were fired on the street corners, and a cannon blasted in the public square to purify the air. On top of that, we suffered the constant buzz of mosquitoes, blowflies, and hornets. The din was maddening.
    The day after our ill-fated tea party, Mother sent a note to the Ogilvies inquiring about Colettes health, but received no response. They had disappeared. She also sent a note to the Ludingtons. No word from them either, thank heavens.
    Many of the wealthy families were fleeing. We were lucky to get four or five customers a day. Mother worried
    54
    even more than usual, but I was too hot to care. A violent thunderstorm on Sunday cleared the air for a few hours, but when the sun came out Monday, it baked the streets until the rainwater rose in ghostly plumes of steam. I felt like a noodle over-boiled in the stewpot. And the bells continued to toll.
    "I'm going to climb the church tower and cut the tongues out of those bells myself," Eliza grumbled as she beat a dozen eggs. "Hand me the nutmeg, child."
    I passed her the small grater.
    "Don't you have something to do?" she asked. "It's hot enough in here without an extra body breathing on me. What did your mother say before she left?"
    "I'm waiting for Grandfather to finish his business in the necessary. He said I could go with him to the newspaper office."
    Eliza scowled and waved a towel at the flies buzzing above the bowl. "Pick me some fresh asparagus grass. These pests are a plague."
    The bright sun blinded me as I stepped outdoors. The garden looked distressingly poor, even with all the watering I had done and the brief rain. It was a good thing we were able to buy at the market.
    The asparagus grass grew along the back fence. I gathered a handful of fronds, cut them at the base, and tied the bunch tightly with a piece of twine. Back in the kitchen, I stood on a chair and hung them from an iron hook in the center ceiling beam.
    30
    "There," I said, pushing the chair back against the wall. "That should discourage the flies."
    "Thank you. Taste this pudding and tell me if it's right."
    I chewed and pondered.
    "It needs more sugar."
    "You think everything needs more sugar." Eliza wiped the sweat off her face with a handkerchief. "I think that tea with the Ogilvie sisters affected you. Maybe you would be right for their Edward." She stirred the fire and lay on more wood. "Wasn't that long ago folks didn't have any sugar. No coffee or tea, either."
    "Please, Eliza, not another history lesson. I'll scream."
    Eliza