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“His blood … it’s oil!”

3
WINTERGREEN
    B Y THE NEXT MORNING, THE GUESTS HAD ALL HEARD about the man burning up with a strange fever. Nel tended him, trying tonic after tonic, sending Dmitry or Mattias out to find this herb or that root. But no matter what Nel tried, Bradshaw got worse as the day went on.
    Bradshaw, no longer conscious of where he was or the people around him, began periodically screaming. The guests anxiously started leaving, and soon all were gone but the Everetts, who agreed to stay and help distract the children by taking them fishing or anything to keep them away from the lodge, where Bradshaw’s terrible cries unnerved them all.
    As evening fell, Bradshaw finally quieted. Ray helped Nel, as they put cloth after wet cloth on the man’s burning forehead. Bradshaw’s vision failed, and he stared blindly at the ceiling mumbling about the Darkness. By midnight, he was dead.
    *   *   *
    Ma Everett fried up fish for supper the following night. It had been a long day. Mister Bradshaw was buried on a knoll beyond the millpond, and an unsettling quiet descended over the residents of Shuckstack. As Ray sat down at the table, weary and exhausted, he noticed that Nel had not joined them.
    To be certain, someone would have to see this Darkness. That would mean going west. All day—as he had helped Buck dig Bradshaw’s grave, as he had covered the man with earth—he had been thinking about the strange story. With sick reluctance, Ray realized there was nobody else from Shuckstack who could go. He had to find out. He had to go to Kansas and investigate the Darkness.
    The following morning, Ray was helping Mattias and Sally till the garden plot. The topmost crust of earth was still brittle with frost, but below, the dark, moist soil crumbled easily around their hoes. As Mattias and Sally discussed what vegetables to plant, Ray saw Nel walking along the far bank of the millpond.
    “I’ll be back,” Ray said, leaning his hoe against the split rail fence that bordered the garden.
    When Ray rounded the millpond, Nel had already disappeared into the forest. He was easy to track. Ray scanned the brown carpet of leaves until he found the circular breaks made by Nel’s wooden leg. He knew he was following the right path, as ferns, flattened with Nel’s passing, were slowly rising back into place. Soon Ray caught up with Nel kneeling to collect a bright cluster of wintergreen.
    “Making a Gambler’s Hand Rub?” Ray asked.
    Nel shook the loose dirt off the roots and wrapped the herb in a wet cloth before placing it into his sack. “No, Missus Maynard’s still got plenty on her shelves.” Nel took Ray’s hand as he stood. “Have you noticed any cinquefoil around?”
    Ray nodded. “I think there should be some over this way.” He led Nel toward the creek that fed the millpond. Pushing back the leaves and ferns, Ray exposed the early shoot of a plant with five leaves. “Five-finger grass?”
    “That’s the one,” Nel said. “Still too early for the flowers, but take some of the leaves.”
    Ray plucked the small leaves. “Cinquefoil’s for gambling also. You planning a card game with Mister Everett?”
    Nel chuckled. “You’ve picked up a thing or two from me about my tonics. I’m glad I’ve taught you something. No, these aren’t for me. Wintergreen and cinquefoil are good for gamblers’ luck, but they’re protective herbs also. Good for those making long journeys.”
    Ray turned sharply. “Are these for me?”
    Nel’s careworn face tensed as he nodded. “To protect you from the Darkness.”
    Ray didn’t reply. Nel continued walking, looking around at the trees. “The ash tree,” Nel pointed up the slope. “Also good for safe travel. Ensures that those who leave will also return.”
    Ray followed him. “I didn’t think you’d want me to go.”
    “I didn’t. I don’t.” Nel pushed a hand to his knee above the wooden leg as they climbed through the forest. “But wehave no