Fever 1793 by Laurie Halse Anderson

the side of the body. The hand was thin and the fingers slender, with tapered nails and fine bones. It was not the fleshy, scarred hand of Grandfather. Nor the work-worn hand of my mother. My eyes filled with tears.
    Two orderlies walked to the bed of the corpse. They spoke quietly in French. Each man took one end of the dead woman's mattress and lifted, then carried the body away. Just as I slipped back toward sleep, the men brought back the mattress. Empty.
    When I woke, the tall windows were shuttered to keep out the sunlight. Steam fairly rose from the reeking
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    bodies of the sick, and sweat dripped off the faces of the nurses and orderlies. The room reminded me of the Ogilvie mansion, only larger. The flowing draperies, expensive carpets, and hand-carved furniture that surely belonged here had been removed. What remained were enormous rooms with high ceilings, and a chandelier that reflected the light like a thousand mirrors.
    "Oh, my, now that's looking much better, isn't it? You've beat the Grim Reaper, you have, lassie."
    A large woman strode to my bedside. She set a tray on the floor.
    "I'm Mrs. Flagg, and I'm here to care for you," she said. "We weren't sure you would make it through the night, but that's past now. It's time for you to eat something, so we can get you home to your loved ones."
    Mrs. Flagg helped me sit up. "Your granddad has been waiting this whole time for you. Quite a handsome man, isn't he? A captain in the army, he told me. I'll sneak him in here soon as I get the chance. Now drink this." She held a bowl of beef broth to my lips.
    I pushed the bowl away. "How is he? How did we get here?"
    She set the bowl on her lap. "He doesn't have yellow fever, if that's what you're asking. Told me his heart was acting up in the heat and he had a bit of a cough, perhaps. But he's such a strong man. Imagine, a man his age carrying someone like you all that distance."
    I relaxed. If Grandfather was feeling well enough to
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    tell exaggerated stories and charm Mrs. Flagg, then there was little to worry about. I reached for the bowl. The salty broth warmed my insides.
    "Thank you," I said. "That was delicious."
    Mrs. Flagg set the bowl on the floor. She wrung out a rag that had been soaking in soapy water and wiped my face and hands before lifting my dirty hair to wash my neck.
    "My mother always said a good wash was the best medicine. If you keep the broth down, we'll let you eat a bit of rice for dinner. Now you rest a spell. I'll be back soon, then the doctor will have a look at you when he makes his rounds. Oh, my gracious! Look who's coming and me wearing this filthy dress."
    Grandfather. He never looked so handsome or brave as standing in the middle of the sickroom, his eyes searching all the beds until he found me. I felt like I was six years old again and Grandfather was marching in a parade. He bowed to Mrs. Flagg and sat on the edge of my bed.
    "What are you doing in bed, girl? You look healthy enough to jump up and give poor Mrs. Flagg here a hand!" Grandfather said as he kissed my cheek.
    Mrs. Flagg wagged her finger at him. "Don't you be giving her any ideas, Captain. What this young thing needs is rest and nourishing food. And she'll get both of them here or my name isn't Bridget Flagg!"
    "Bridget," exclaimed Grandfather. "A melodious name for a beautiful lady."
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    I rolled my eyes while Mrs. Flagg giggled. "Excuse me," I said, interrupting the two of them. "Where are we? And how long have we been here?"
    Mrs. Flagg was all business. "No one has told you? Poor little chickie! You're at Bush Hill, and a good thing it is you are!"
    Bush Hill!
    "We must leave," I said as I pulled the blanket off my legs. "We must go. This is a dangerous place. Grandfather, take me home." I tried to stand, but my legs gave way.
    "Now, now, Mattie," Grandfather stammered. Mrs. Flagg took me by the shoulders and sat me back down. Before I knew it, I was lying down with a sheet tucked so tightly over me that I