Page 38 of The Thirteenth Child
“I don’t want to,” I admitted, my voice small and weak and full of self-loathing.
Merrick sighed and crossed over to the corner of the room, giving me more space to work, giving himself a better angle to watch it unfold.
“We’re not leaving until it’s done,” Merrick said, folding his long arms over one another. “Until he’s treated or dead. It’s your call.”
A flurry of trembles shivered through my body at the impossibility of the situation.
I didn’t want this man to die.
But I didn’t want to be the one to save him either.
“Tell me what you see, at least,” Merrick said, trying a new tactic. “You needn’t touch him. Just tell me what you see.”
I glanced about uneasily. I saw chaos. I saw despair. I saw the very worst things the mortal body was capable of doing, sprayed across every bit of the stinking room.
“It can help to focus on the small details,” Merrick continued, seeing my stricken face.
The farmer thrashed again, ranting about a great creature of fire burning him whole. I tried to tune him out, tried to spot one small thing I could wrap my mind around.
“His sheets are soaked,” I started, feeling foolish, a child playing at being a knowledgeable adult. “He’s been throwing up and…” I stopped, struggling to find a phrase that didn’t make me want to vomit too. “And…voiding his bowels.”
Merrick nodded approvingly. “What else?”
“Peppermint could ease his stomach pains,” I realized suddenly.I’d read that in one of Merrick’s books. I’d used the same treatment on myself when I’d eaten too much. “I have some in my bag. I could make up a tea.”
“You could,” Merrick said, and I could hear the touch of pride in his tone.
It was a small thing, a very small thing, but it was something I knew I could do. Something that would offer a bit of relief.
I opened the valise and rummaged through it until I found a packet of dried mint leaves.
“I’m going to make you some tea,” I told the farmer. “And then…and then we’ll try to clean up some of this mess.”
It wouldn’t be pleasant work, stripping the bed, scrubbing the filth from his skin, but it might stop the burning sensations he spoke of. The sores covering his body were likely infected. Infections could burn; I was almost sure of it.
I left the bedroom and made my way to the kitchen.
It too was a disaster. Bread and cheese had been left out for days and were now covered with dots of mold and drowsy flies. But I found a kettle and cleaned it thoroughly, using water from the hand pump in the side yard. I kept a watchful eye on the road as I worked, but it was too soon for Kieron’s return.
I felt Merrick watching each of my moves, assessing every one of my decisions. He seemed pleased, and my confidence grew as I went through the familiar motions. I might not know the exact cause of this man’s illness, but I knew I could treat an upset stomach. I knew how to make tea.
“I think the spots on his body might be sores from lying in all that filth,” I told Merrick, coming back into the farmhouse. I set the kettle on the hook over the hearth and began lighting a fire. “I have some creams that will help, once he’s bathed.”
“And his toes?” he prodded gently. “Did you see them?”
I nodded. I’d avoided thinking of them, black and curling and looking so terribly wrong against the sallow pallor of the rest of him.
“I don’t know what’s causing that. They look withered somehow. As if…” I paused, recalling something I’d read in one of the books in the Between. “As if they’re about to fall off. Wait…. I remember this….” My fingers danced with impatience as I struggled to summon the word. “It’s…it’s…gangrene!” My triumph burst from me in a shout of excitement.
“Very good. Do you want to check your work?” Merrick asked.
I looked up at the Dreaded End, apprehension bubbling in my middle. “What will it be like?”
“I could tell you,” Merrick said, his voice thoughtful and ponderous. “Or you could just see for yourself.”
“Will it hurt?” I asked, peeking back into the bedroom. The man was quiet now, panting in an exhausted stupor. His eyes were so glazed over I didn’t think he even knew I’d returned.
“You or him?” Merrick laughed at my expression. “Go on, Hazel.” He nudged me gently back into the room.
