Small Favors

by Erin A. Craig

“What would I do with those?” Merry asked, her tone as sharp as nails.

  “They’d be pretty on a bonnet,” Bonnie suggested, foisting them closer to us.

  “I can’t eat a bonnet,” my sister snapped. Then she turned and set off to find someone else to trade with.

  Bonnie’s face scrunched with tears. “Mama told me if I didn’t bring food home, she wouldn’t let me in at all.”

  “They’re beautiful ribbons, Bonnie,” I said half-heartedly. “I know someone will want them.”

  Her watery eyes fell heavily on me. “Ellerie, please.”

  “I…I’m so sorry,” I said, hurrying away.

  “Martha McCleary has peas,” Merry murmured as I joined her.

  The Elder’s wife had just entered the Gathering House, shaking snowflakes from her heavy shawl. Amos staggered in after her, pressing a handkerchief over rattling coughs. His dark skin was unusually ashen, and his milky eyes watered. Flecks of red stained the cloth, and I shook my head.

  “Better not, just to be safe.”

  “Why isn’t he at home?” Merry wondered. “He looks like he ought to be in his deathbed.”

  Unkind, but true.

  Matthias joined them, offering an arm to Martha and looking Amos over with a sharp eye. As they spoke in tones too low to hear, Leland drifted closer. In public, the Elders were always drawn to one another, much like geese pulled south in the autumn and back north as spring dawned.

  “Potatoes?” Roger Schultz stepped in front of us, his burlap sack raised high.

  Merry peeked inside and immediately wrinkled her nose.

  “They don’t look the most appetizing,” he admitted. “But you can cut away that black rot. There’s still plenty of edible bits.”

  There was a whine of desperation to his voice.

  The Schultz farm had been decimated by the strange black rot spreading throughout the Falls. Nearly all of their harvest had been tainted. Knowing he had five small children at home—and another on the way—made me ache to simply hand over our jar of beans, but I swallowed back such charitable thoughts.

  Compassion would not keep our bellies full.

  Another volley of coughs rose from Amos, harsh, raspy barks that sounded as though his lungs would burst free and splatter upon the wall, oozing and utterly spent.

  Martha struck at his back, as if dislodging a stubborn bit of phlegm.

  “Let it alone, woman, let it alone,” he hollered. He waved his cane at her with warning.

  “Amos, old friend, you need to rest,” Matthias said. “Why don’t you let me take you home? Leland can escort Martha safely back once she’s finished here.”

  The old man swatted the offer away, his bushy white eyebrows drawn into a solid line of anger.

  Martha shook her head and stalked off.

  “I just don’t know what to do,” she confided too loudly to Cora. “Every day I go to sleep thinking this will be his last night on earth, but every morning the sun rises and he’s still here, even worse than before.”

  “I’m sure he’ll recover soon,” Cora said. “Men like Amos are stubborn. One little cold won’t take him down.”

  “And the doctor is no help at all,” Martha continued as if she hadn’t heard Cora. “Says there’s no medicine.” She snarled. “He’s a doctor. Of course he has medicine. He just wants to keep it all to himself.”

  Across the room, Dr. Ambrose’s jaw tightened.

  “You know that’s not true, Martha,” Cora said, trying to placate her.

  “All I know is that I would do anything to make Amos well again. Anything,” she repeated.

  “Come now,” Matthias said, calling out to the doctor. “There must be some medicine you can offer him. You always have something squirreled away in that black bag of yours.”

  Dr. Ambrose shook his head. “I told you back in the summer that I was running low on stock. What makes you think any of that has changed?”

  “He’s an Elder,” Leland tried. “Surely that ought to mean something.”

  “I don’t care if he’s Christ himself. I have nothing!”

  “Not here, perhaps,” Matthias allowed, noticing how the room’s attention had fallen upon them. “But at your cabin, surely. No one would blame you for having a little stash tucked away for a rainy day.”

  The doctor’s sigh was sharp with impatience. “This is getting out of hand.” He turned toward the door, but Leland stepped in front of him, blocking his escape.

  “Just give him the medicine.”

  “I have food. I have money,” Martha said. She crossed in toward the doctor, pawing at his wool coat. “Please.”

  “Let me by,” Dr. Ambrose said, skirting away to avoid her touch.

  Matthias came forward, arms crossed over his chest. The blacksmith made an imposing wall.

  The doctor’s mouth fell open. “You’re not letting me leave?”

  “She’s been entirely reasonable. We all have. Just give up the medicine.”

  “I would, if there was any left. What about that don’t you understand?”

  “Where are you keeping it?”

  Dr. Ambrose’s arms went up, trying to keep the Elder back as Matthias stepped toward him. “Nowhere. There’s none. I swear!”

  There was a terrible wrenching sound outside, like the sky ripping open to herald the start of Armageddon, and we all turned to watch in horror as one of the giant pines bordering the Falls fell over. The remaining trunk was a mess of jagged spikes reaching out like grasping fingers.

  The doctor used the moment’s distraction to hurry away. Once out, he raced down the road as fast as his arthritic limbs would carry him. Wind howled through the open door, and the walls of the Gathering House shuddered.

  “Storm’s getting real bad,” Calvin Buhrman said, peering out the window. “Saw three trees down on our way in. Think it’s best if we head home.” Beside him, Violet nodded.

  “Maybe we ought to stay here,” Leland countered, his gaze fixed on the stump. “It sounds as if it’s getting worse.” As if on cue, the wind altered pitch, screaming like a banshee over the icy roads. “We have firewood—some,” he said, checking the pile near the stove. “And supplies….We certainly won’t go hungry with all these beans.”

  There should have been a gentle laugh.

  There was not.

  Amos coughed. Bonnie sniffled.

  I glanced around the room, truly looking at everyone there and seeing all the little details I’d missed before. The fevered glassiness of their eyes. The pallor of their skin. Hand trembles and noses red from wiping. Exhaustion and aches.

  Everyone seemed on the verge of sickness.

  I turned to Merry. “I…I think we need to leave.”

  “We can’t make it home in that,” she said, gesturing to the gales of snow pelleting the windows.

  “We can’t stay here. Look at everyone. They’re sick. They’re sick and afraid.”

  Had the tree not fallen over, I shuddered to imagine what might have happened to Dr. Ambrose. Desperation was changing the Falls, making people lash out for themselves. Not for the whole of the community.

  Unconsciously I grabbed our jar of beans and tucked it beneath my cloak to keep it from view.

  Amos sank to a bench, fighting for breath. He hacked once, twice, too exhausted to bother with his handkerchief.

  I could almost feel the drops of spittle land on me. Repulsed, I wiped at the phantom spray, but my skin still itched. I pictured the sickness burrowing within me, like a colony of ants spreading out through the ground. I scratched, leaving red welts across the tops of my hands, but that only further fanned the flames of irritation. My shoulder blades chafed; the backs of my knees twitched. Things crawled in my hair, but they were impossible to find, no matter how I raked my fingers through it.

  S
till the Elder gasped and wheezed.

  Matthias’s countenance turned grim, his thoughts written upon his face. “Calvin is right. We all need to get home before the storm gets any worse. In fact…I think we all ought to stay home for a while. Until the danger has passed.”

  “What are you saying?” Cora asked.

  I squirmed, trying to relieve the prickle of unease creeping down my spine. Merry grabbed my hand, stilling me.

  “With resources so low, I think it prudent to keep to ourselves. Hunker down and make do. Spring will come and this will all be over. But we need to stay safe until then.”

  Murmurs filled the hall.

  “Until the thaw, this will be the last time we’re all together,” Matthias said decisively. Leland’s mouth dropped open, and Amos raised a hand in weak protest, but they did not deter him. “Good Blessings to you—to all the Falls—till then.”

  TAP, TAP, TAP.

  Tap, tap.

  Rubbing away the film of sleep from my bleary eyes, I stared at the rafters above, wondering what had woken me. The faces I picked out of the wooden whorls in the beams were leering and cruel. Their clarity was blurred by the fog of my breath in the air. I sank into the bedsheets wishing I could slip back into slumber, hunkered beneath the mountain of quilts heated by my sisters.

  It was the only time I ever felt warm enough.

  Tap, tap.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  What was that?

  I rolled over and peered out the window at the enormous elm growing nearby. Papa had trimmed back the branches last year, worried that summer storms might toss the limbs too near to the house. Perhaps they were in need of another pruning. It was March.

  But the naked, gnarled twigs were still. Not even a hint of a breeze moved throughout the branches.

  With a sigh, I forced myself from the cozy nest. My feet jerked as they touched the chilled floorboards, even encased in a pair of Papa’s thick socks. After pulling a wool sweater over my nightgown, I made my way downstairs, rubbing my arms. Mama had knit me the sweater just last year, but it hung too large on my frame now, as baggy as a tent.

  Stepping into the sitting room, I let out a hiss.

  It was even colder here.

  I set to work, ignoring the way my hands trembled as I scooped the ashes from the hearth. The shakes were from either the cold or my constant hunger—but I’d stopped being able to tell the difference weeks ago. I lit a bit of kindling and slowly added sticks to the fireplace, letting the flame grow and feed.

  Tap, tap.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Muscle memory prodded me toward the side door, instinctively on my way to milk Bessie. I’d slipped on Papa’s work coat and boots before remembering that the poor beast had died the day before, ribs sticking from her sides as sharply as scythes.

  My hand remained paused on the doorknob, as I wondered what I ought to do instead.

  The room spun for a moment as I considered my options. My head was too light, a dry leaf caught in a brisk wind and powerless to do anything but dance.

  Breakfast. I needed breakfast.

  After shuffling to the larder, I checked the barren shelves, hoping that—against all logic and better judgment—a miracle had taken place overnight and they’d be more stocked than when I’d inventoried them the day before.

  It had not.

  They were not.

  I lingered in the doorway, swaying as my center of gravity wobbled. Finally I grabbed a tin of dried mint leaves—Sadie had discovered a patch just before the snows had set in, and we’d plundered it bare—and returned to the fire.

  I set the kettle on its hook and waited for the water to boil.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Tap, tap.

  “Sam?” I called out, confusion clouding my senses. My throat felt raw, creaking with uncertainty.

  No response.

  No, there wouldn’t be. Sam had been gone for months.

  Months? That’s can’t be right.

  “You know that, Ellerie,” I muttered, trying to ground myself in the present.

  It was the tree, it had to be. Once I’d had my tea, I’d walk around the outside of the house and find where the branches scraped. Perhaps I could coax Ezra and Thomas to help me get the ladder from the barn and chop down the offending limbs.

  I nodded as the kettle began to whistle.

  Yes. Good. That would be what we could do today.

  Tap.

  Tap.

  Tap, tap.

  “What is that?” Merry asked, coming into the room.

  I hadn’t heard her footsteps on the stairs, but in truth, I wasn’t hearing much of anything over the persistent tap-tap-tapping. Focusing on more than one task at a time felt impossible these days.

  “Tree branch, I think. Water is on.” I took a sip, letting the weak brew warm my insides. It would almost be enough to trick my stomach into thinking it was truly full.

  “It woke me up,” she said, busying herself with a cup.

  I hummed in agreement, oddly pleased she’d heard it too. As the winter had progressed and our supplies had dwindled, I’d often wondered if my hunger had caused me to see or hear things that weren’t truly there. I’d wake from dreams so vividly real that actual life felt dimmer by comparison.

  Just last week, I’d dreamed Mama and Papa had returned. I’d spotted their wagon approaching, out the little diamond window in the loft, and raced down to greet them. In the dream, Mama had been healed whole, no trace of burns or scars marring her skin. Papa was smiling and happy and so, so eager for us to meet our new baby brother, tightly wrapped in Sadie’s blanket. But when he pulled back the quilt, a horrible creature lay within the cozy folds.

  The baby’s head was bulbous and misshapen, grown too big for his tiny body. He looked too soft, as if his bones had never formed and his skin struggled to hold back the weight of his insides. Strange bumps protruded along his face, like teeth sprouting from the round curve of his baby cheeks. But worst of all, our brother had stared out at the world with burning silver eyes.

  “I’m hungry,” Sadie called out, her voice echoing down the stairwell.

  “Come have some tea.”

  She stomped into the room. “I’m sick of tea.” Sadie had pulled one of the quilts off the bed and wrapped herself into a cotton cocoon. I could barely see her eyes winking from the dark folds. It was enough like my nightmare to send a flurry of shivers down my spine.

  “You can have my share of the oatmeal this morning, love,” Merry offered generously.

  “That’s just as watery as the tea,” Sadie grumbled, plopping herself in front of the flames. “I’m sick of winter.”

  “Keep the quilt from the hearth,” I said. “The last thing we need is another fire.”

  Sadie repositioned the blanket and begrudgingly accepted a cup of tea. “Can we go into town today?”

  I briefly pictured us waddling across the icy fields. The path had long been buried under steep drifts of snow. Every time we left the house, I worried we’d lose our bearings and wind up freezing to death, caught in an endless sea of blinding white. “What for?”

  “We haven’t seen anyone in ages. I miss my friends.”

  It did seem forever ago that the Elders decided to close the church and Gathering House, thinking it would be easier to tuck ourselves securely into the safety of our homes.

  Easier in theory, at least.

  After two months of isolation, we were all feeling the stirrings of cabin fever.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Tap, tap.

  Tap.

  Sadie rubbed at her face. “Ugh, that noise again! What is it?”

  “Ellerie thinks there’s a branch hitting the house,” Merry said, polishing off the last of her tea. She stared longingly at the tin of mint before firmly sett
ing the cup aside. “It’ll be good to replenish the firewood, I suppose.”

  I nodded grimly.

  We’d been far too liberal with our woodpile at the beginning of winter, and now the log shed stood nearly as empty as the larder. Eventually we’d have to wander into the pines in search of felled trees, but biting storms had kept us squirreled away in the farmhouse.

  It seemed like this winter would never end.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  The soft strikes were echoed by louder booms as footsteps sounded across the porch outside.

  Merry shot up in alarm. “Who’s there?”

  My eyes automatically swept to the mantel, but Papa had taken the rifle with him. At the time it had made sense, but after so many months of being unable to hunt for game or protect ourselves, my nerves frayed anxiously, jumping at every unknown.

  The door swung open, and a figure stepped inside, immediately choking the room with the stench of offal and the bite of iron. Three shrieks split the air. Ezra raised his hands to calm us, but they were stained dark red, covered in blood.

  “What happened to you?” I managed to gasp.

  “Dealing with Bessie,” he said, removing his coat. He glanced down the front of his shirt with a frown, spotting a splatter of blood.

  Sadie paled.

  “That’s right. Thank you,” I said, suddenly recalling his offer of assistance yesterday. I shook my head to bring focus to my thoughts. I was forgetting too many things lately. “Beef for supper tonight, at least, I suppose.” My stomach rumbled, and I guiltily pushed aside memories of our milk cow’s docile stare.

  Merry busied herself making our uncle a cup of tea.

  Tap, tap.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  “There’s a limb hitting the house,” I said, feeling as though I was repeating myself.

  “Is there?” he asked, taking too big a sip and wincing as the hot water burned him.

  “Don’t you hear that?”

  Tap, tap.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Ezra cocked his head, listening intently to the steady rhythm permeating the house. His eyes crinkled and he began to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” Sadie asked. Her eyebrows were set in one sharp line across her face.