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little children.” She reached her hand towards me, pleading. “Sue, they died.”
    As the earth shook, I turned, put my face against the solid doorframe, and clung for a minute.
    “Sue—” Papa’s hand was on my shoulder.
    “I don’t want you!” I told him savagely, as if he had just given me a mortal wound. “I want Sharon!” Then I kissed his cheek. “Papa, you start praying.” I headed towards the bedroom, then turned. “When did he bite the ones who . . .” But I couldn’t say the word.
    “Two weeks ago. But on the face. It is much quicker there.”
    “Thelma!” I put my arm around her, finding comfort that Jean’s bite was on her leg.
    “We started Jean’s shots this afternoon,” she tried to smile. “And we brought two treatments for Sharon. Dr. McInery has ordered more; we’ll bring it tomorrow.”
    “Sharon will be all right.” Papa blew his nose. “God will take care of her.”
    But I scarcely heard. I was standing beside Sharon, looking at her. She was too beautiful and too good. Her lashes were black and very long against her pink cheeks. Her soft, gold hair waved against her forehead. She opened her eyes. “Mother, you all right?” she asked. Her eyes were too big and too blue, clear, shining . . .
    “Yes,” I swallowed. “Yes, darling.”
    Vaguely, I knew that Thelma and those with her had gone. I kissed Sharon, blew out the light, then fell on my knees beside the bed. “God!” I tried to pray, but no words came. “Oh, God!”
    Most of the night I spent on my knees. “I don’t know where David is,” I explained once. Later, words spilled from me. “God, I’ll promise anything. Don’t let her die! Please, God!”
    Up very early the next morning, I built a fire in the stove and started breakfast. Papa chopped cotton from six until seven. The doctor’s office opened at eight. Papa would drive us each day for fourteen days. His confidence in humanity was so great it never occurred to him that the doctor might charge for giving the shots. Papa was a former employee of the company, out of work through no fault of his own.
    I carried both bottles of vaccine and explained what had happened. “I’ll be all right,” Sharon smiled. “Mother kissed my hand.”
    The doctor must have seen the stark fear in my eyes. “The incubation period is rarely less than three weeks,” he said as he swabbed cotton on Sharon’s belly.
    “But two children died after two weeks.”
    “If the bite was deep, near the brain, even vaccine might not help,” he said. “But on the hand,” he picked up Sharon’s soft hand. “Don’t be afraid,” he smiled.
    “I haven’t any money,” I said. “But I’ll pay as soon . . .”
    “There is no charge for rabies treatment,” he smiled; then he frowned. “You kissed her hand? Better take the shots yourself. If you had a scratch on your lips, or a bad tooth . . .”
    I certainly had a bad tooth. It didn’t occur to me that if any of the rabies germs had entered, they would be near my brain. Anyhow, I’d used up my quota of fear.
    Each day for fourteen days, Papa left his work in the fields to drive us to Majestic. Miss Mildred, God bless her, kept Davene gladly, and had lunch ready for us when we returned. I worried about the expense and the time from Papa’s work. After each trip, I was too exhausted, mentally and physically, to help in the fields.
    “Has to be done,” Papa waved time and expense away. “I love Sharon, too.” His eyes moistened.
    Sharon’s belly was polka-dotted with needles, but she didn’t cry once, just kept her eyes trustingly on my face.
    There were no polka-dots on my belly. My modesty would be unbelievable today. But then, some women died because of false modesty that kept them from having medical examinations. In Afghanistan, where women wore veils, when a man who was not a relative saw a woman’s face, he either married her or he died. Things weren’t that bad in our area. As “flappers,” my