Patricia Falvey
each other. Lizzie had grown into a lovely child. She had blue eyes, and pale gold hair, and a smile so bright she dazzled friends and strangers alike. Old women put the sign of the cross on her forehead so that the fairies would not steal her away. Frankie and I went to school, although I could tell he was growing restless. There wasn’t much more they could teach him, and he hadn’t the patience to read a book. I, on the other hand, loved school and read every book I could lay my hands on. In the spring of the next year, Ma’s belly swelled, and I guessed another baby was on the way, even though no one had said a word as yet. Da arranged for a friend with a camera to take a picture of the whole family standing outside the house, and Ma set the photo on the big mantel in the kitchen.
    I suppose we all get lulled into dreams born of our wishes. At the time, I fervently wished for us all to be happy and live together forever in the Yellow House. But I had been wrong. The bad spirits were not yet finished with us. And while we looked anxiously for signs of trouble outside, trouble itself began from within.
    It was coming up on Halloween of 1908. Lizzie had not been herself for days. Her bright smile and chatter dimmed, and she turned fussy and tearful. Even Frankie couldn’t coax a laugh out of her. One October afternoon, Frankie and I came home from school to find Dr. Haggerty from the village just climbing down from his pony and trap. His shoulders hunched over with the cold, and he clutched a small leather bag in one hand. I grabbed Frankie’s arm, but he shook me off. We followed the doctor through the front door. Ma sat by the fire holding Lizzie while Da held a rag to the child’s forehead. Something was very wrong. Ma’s face was strained as she rocked Lizzie and sang to her—the old lullaby called “The Spinning Wheel.” The song had a gentle, soothing melody that always calmed us as we drifted off to sleep.
    Da didn’t even offer the doctor the usual cup of tea to ward off the cold. The doctor took off his coat and hat and knelt beside Lizzie to examine her, feeling her head and throat with his fingers, taking out his stethoscope and listening with an intent but unreadable expression. He asked Ma a few questions about how long Lizzie had been sick and what her symptoms were. Sighing, he opened his bag and took out a brown bottle and handed it to Ma.
    “Give her a tablespoon of this twice a day. There’s not much else I can do,” he said hoarsely. “I’ve been out all over the countryside the last few days. So many children sick. I can come back to look at her in a few days. But I would advise she go to hospital now.”
    Ma flinched. “But we’ve no money for a private hospital,” she said. “We’ve hardly enough to pay you.”
    Dr. Haggerty reached for his coat and hat. “There’s always the Fever Hospital, Mrs. O’Neill,” he said. “They do not charge.”
    “But that’s part of the workhouse,” cried Ma, “where they treat the paupers. God knows what they do to people in there.”
    The doctor shrugged and tipped his hat. “I’ll come back as soon as I can,” he said, “but there’s so many…”
    He let the words trail off as he went out the door. I followed him and watched him drive down to the gate, the cart wheels grating on the gravel. The sun had already set, and the short October day had vanished. I turned and went back into the house.

    THE NEXT MORNING , Lizzie’s fever was no better, and Ma handed her to Da. She went upstairs and came down wearing her coat and best hat and gloves. She nodded at Frankie and me. “Get your coats. We’re going out.”
    I looked from her to Da, but Da said nothing. “Hurry now,” said Ma.
    We were out the gate and on the road to Newry before I dared to ask Ma where we were going.
    “On a visit,” was all she said.
    I wondered if we were going to the bank again to borrow money from Mr. Craig. But the day was Saturday, and I wasn’t sure

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