Lily fought back the echoes of her conscience.
This is all your doing. You did this to him.
From the chair beside Samuel’s bed, she peeled away the folded washrag. Heat radiating from his forehead had nearly dried the fabric. His cheeks were red as rose petals, his eyelids puffy and sealed. She dipped and wrung the cloth, for the hundredth time over the past day, in the porcelain basin on the night table.
Your son is going to die. All because of you.
She wanted to scream, to shake Samuel’s bare shoulders until he stirred. She longed to go back and erase the curse she had caused. But all she could do was place the cooled rag across his damp hairline.
On Saturday, she had returned from New Jersey in the late afternoon and immediately phoned Ellis about Sylvia. She had barely finished when her mother beckoned her downstairs to assist with the weekend rush. Samuel chose to stay in their room. Normally, he would have followed her to the deli, a pup at her heels. He relished any opportunity to help. But he was clearly still cross over the postponement of their picnic.
“It’s good for him,” Lily’s mother had assured her and handed over a hunk of Gouda to be wrapped for a customer. “Children need to learn. Plans change. That’s life.”
“You listen to your mother,” Lily’s father said in passing, behind the counter. “It’s easier that way. Believe me.” He added a wink.
Even if Lily disagreed, it had become harder to dispute parenting choices when weekdays required entrusting her son to their guidance. Plus, Samuel’s behavior that night—stubbornly silent, poking at his supper—only reinforced her mother’s point. Lily chose to step up before her parents could intervene, a reflection of maternal strength as much as her mood. Dwelling on Calvin had heightened her nerves.
“Samuel, your grandmother and I worked hard to make this meal. Now, eat your supper.”
“I’m not hungry,” he mumbled. He was slouched in his seat, his gaze fixed on his fork.
Lily’s father reliably jumped in. “Aw, c’mon, Sammy. A clean plate or no dessert. Without you, I’ll have to gobble up the whole chocolate cake myself.”
“I’m not hungry.” His obstinate tone pushed Lily to the edge.
“Samuel Ray. I’ll remind you, there are a lot of people out there who’d be grateful for that food.”
And that was the truth. Every Friday night since Lily’s childhood, folks with pockets as empty as their bellies had gathered at the back door of the deli, where her father doled out leftover cheese, scraps of meat, and rolls gone stale. All of which he had undoubtedly hoarded with purpose.
“If you’re not going to sit up and behave yourself, you can go straight to bed.”
When Samuel slinked off without a fuss, Lily ignored her sense that something was off. Later, after the dishes were cleaned and dried, she went to him for a talk. She planned to reiterate the lesson but with a warmer approach. How could she blame him for lamenting the loss of their special date?
By then, he had cocooned himself in his bedding, and his breaths were heavy from sleep. “The boy must be growing,” her father reasoned the next morning. It was the most obvious explanation for Samuel’s rare grudge and lengthy doze.
Her father insisted they not wake him, even to trade goodbyes. Joining the owner of the local general store, Lily’s father periodically traveled to county and state fairs, this one an overnight trip, to purchase meat and other goods at bulk price.
Lily had agreed with her father and let Samuel sleep well past breakfast.
But as the hours dragged on, inching closer to her own departure, she pulled back the bedcovers and found Samuel’s hair soaked with sweat. A touch to his face nearly scorched her hand. This wasn’t a simple passing cold. Yes, she was always quick to worry, but she knew this was different.
And her mother appeared to know it too, despite her calm reporting of a nurse’s instructions over the phone. Today, same as yesterday, they were to watch and wait. The closest hospital was overcrowded and thirty miles away, and his ailment could pass with rest and an aspirin.
Maybe the nurse was right. She had to be. Even though Samuel had never before been this hot and for this length of time.
If only Dr. Mannis, the town doctor, could assure Lily it wasn’t a case of the flu or rubella or typhoid. Or any other merciless illness that killed children every day. His wife promised he would call the minute he returned from fishing. It took every ounce of Lily’s strength not to rail over the man’s negligence—this was Monday, for Pete’s sake!
Declaring him an enemy wasn’t going to help. But what would?
She scoured her mind as she held her son’s hand. It burned like heated coal, yet she held it to her cheek. Please, God, please don’t take him, she prayed, excruciatingly aware she had given up that right…
A knock broke through the thought. Her mother stood at the bedroom door, eyes red-rimmed in the afternoon light. She had shuttered the deli early. Neither of them had slept the night.
“Dear, your friends are here to help.” There was no trace of an opinion in her voice, only desperate hope.
This, from Lily’s mother, marked the scariest moment yet.
From the hall, Ellis entered the room. He greeted Lily and said, “You remember Mrs. Dillard…”
Lily expected a story to follow. Not for Geraldine to join them next.
A spate of confusion shot through Lily. “What…are you doing here?”
“Just came to lend a hand.” Geraldine stepped toward Samuel in an observant manner as Ellis expounded.
“Since your doctor’s been out, I called Dearborn. The director said she’d come help. I stopped to get her on the way, but two of her patients had…” He didn’t finish, the reason evident. “She just couldn’t leave. Geraldine, though, offered to come instead.”
“He’s burning up all right.” Geraldine was holding her inner wrist to Samuel’s temple. “How high’s it been?” Beneath her open coat, a full white apron suggested work as a caregiver. But how much experience did she really have?
Lily hesitated to reply. “A hundred and three. For two full days.”
“Any rash?”
Lily shook her head.
“Been vomiting? The runs?”
“No.”
“That’s good. Still need to keep water in him.”
“But he won’t swallow,” Lily insisted. Not to quarrel, but because their attempts had been maddeningly futile.
Geraldine turned to Lily’s mother. “Got an ice block?”
“Several. Down in the deli.”
“We’ll need a bunch of tiny chips. We can tuck ’em in his cheek.”
Ellis volunteered, “I’ll fill up a bowl.” He hurried off toward the stairs.
“Now, let’s work on cooling him down. Have we tried a bath yet?”
Lily’s mother again answered dutifully, an oddity from a woman accustomed to captaining her household. “We asked the nurse about an ice bath. She said to hold off unless he had a seizure.”
“Lukewarm is better, and no reason to wait.”
“Lukewarm?” Lily said, trying to shut out a vision of her son convulsing. A possibility that had been scaring her to no end.
“That’s right.”
“But…won’t that heat him up even more?”
Geraldine raised her palms. “Sounded crazy to me too. But over and over, Doc Summers has shown me it works best. If the water’s too cold, it causes the shakes and that fever could bounce back even worse.”
“Still, though,” Lily said, “the nurse on the phone—”
“Miss Palmer, if you want your little boy to get better, you need to trust me. I promise I can help.”
Lily broke from Geraldine’s gaze to behold her son. He was suddenly so small and frail, defenseless as a newborn. She glanced at her mother, in search of guidance, wishing her father were here.
Even so, no matter their views, Samuel had only one mother. In the end, it was up to Lily to make the choice.
“I’ll run the water,” she said.
- • •
The next hour passed like years, and mere seconds.
Samuel’s temperature gradually lowered to match the bath water and the redness of his skin receded, lightening to the color of peaches. Relief streamed through the home as Ellis carried the boy, dried and swathed in a towel, back to his room. For Lily, that feeling became a tide when Ellis beamed while laying her son down, saying, “Hey, you rascal. Welcome back.”
Samuel’s eyes had opened.
Lily rushed to kneel at his bedside. He appeared to seek clarity as she stroked his cheek.
“Mommy,” he said groggily.
“Hi, sugar bug. We sure have missed you.”
Puzzlement crossed his sweet face. “Where’d…I go?”
Lily could barely contain the elation bursting inside of her. Based on the wide smiles around the room, she wasn’t the only one.
She kissed his forehead, his button nose. She held his hand, now savoring the normalcy of its feel.
At last, giving her mother a chance to ogle, Lily rose to move aside. Halfway up, her mind went dizzy and her vision grayed. A grip on her arm, her waist—from Ellis—kept her from falling.
“I’ve got you,” he assured her as the haze thinned.
“She hasn’t had a thing to eat or drink in days,” her mother said.
“I’ll be fine.” Lily’s balance was returning.
“Mr. Reed, would you take her to the kitchen, please? There’s plenty of food to be had.” Heading off an objection from Lily, she said, “Window’s open in there. You could use the fresh air, Lillian.” The captain had officially reassumed her role. “We’ll keep close tabs on Samuel.”
It went without saying that his temperature could rise again, the very reason they hadn’t drained the tub. But Lily’s mother was also helping now by slipping ice chips into his mouth.
Everything would be all right.
Because of Geraldine.
“Thank you,” Lily said to her, the two words ridiculously inept. Geraldine smiled all the same and settled on the chair beside the bed. Humming a lullaby to Samuel—“Daisy Bell,” from the sound of it—she wrung out the cloth in a bowl of fresh water.
The notes soothed Lily just enough to back away, and she followed Ellis to the kitchen, where he went to the counter and sifted through the bread box. He spoke kindly without turning. “Pastrami and Swiss on rye, I’m guessing.”
Yes. It was her favorite. But she couldn’t find her voice.
All the relief that had shoved out her fears had suddenly drained away, leaving her empty, barren of strength. She slid downward against the paneled wall until seated on the linoleum. The sounds of cupboard doors opening and closing, of drawers sliding out and in, came to a halt. Ellis’s voice was distant, not registering, until he lowered to sit beside her.
“Your son’s gonna be okay, Lily. He is.” When he gently clasped her hand, tears surged through the shell of her, filling every cavity, pooling behind her eyes. And riding those tears was the shame of her past.
A shame she couldn’t hold in for another day, another minute.
“I once told you how scared I was…when I was pregnant with Samuel. I didn’t tell you everything.”
Expression unchanging, not judging, Ellis nodded for her to go on.
“At first I prayed it wasn’t true, that my body was just off-kilter. Then I prayed that I could keep hiding it from my parents. And when that was nearly impossible…” The ending stalled in her throat, yet she forced it out. “I wanted God to take my mistake away. That’s what it was to me. A mistake. At the drugstore, I overheard the pharmacist giving a woman medicine after a miscarriage, and I thought, It happens all the time. From accidents and falls, or for no reason at all.” Lily’s voice gained a shake, as did her hand. Ellis held on tighter.
“Late one night, my parents were asleep. It was here in this house. I was in my nightgown at the top of the stairs, looking down.” Even then, it had pained her to think of how long and hard her parents had waited for a child of their own, the endless hoping, the heartbreaks. “All it would take was one big step. Just one, and it could all be over. But when I stood there, gathering the courage, I felt Samuel kick. Maybe it was just a fluttering. But I finally understood that this baby was real. A real child was growing inside of me.”
She shook her head at the memory, at her stupidity for not comprehending such a thing from the start. For not seeing that there would still be consequences. “Now every time Samuel comes down with even the smallest of colds, I’m beside myself. I’m terrified God’s going to answer those prayers and punish me for what I did.”
“Almost did,” Ellis corrected, and Lily lifted her gaze. “But you didn’t.”
“Yes, I know…but if Samuel hadn’t moved right then, I could have lost him for good.”
“But you didn’t,” he repeated. “You didn’t take that step.”
“Ellis, you’re not hearing me.” She drew her hand away, partially out of frustration, though mostly out of feeling unworthy of such effortless compassion.
A lengthy quiet stretched between them before Ellis spoke again. “You know I’m no Catholic, Lily. Truth is, I don’t remember the last time I stepped foot in a church. I just think…you’ve spent all these years worrying and waiting for the worst. But if you ask me, He answered that prayer of yours already…when you were on those stairs and felt your son kick.”
Lily’s urge to counter him ceased, his unexpected words sinking in.
Since Samuel’s birth, her fears had grown and spread like weeds, choking out the roots of motherhood joys. To be worried was to be a parent. But to accept Ellis’s view was to choose life over guilt. It would mean recognizing a sign that perhaps she should have seen all along.
Lily didn’t realize her tears had broken free until Ellis used his thumb to wipe them away. The weight of her burden seemed to lessen with the shedding of each drop.
He started to sit back, perhaps readying to stand. Without planning, she kept his palm from leaving her cheek. And he stayed. He looked at her, as if right into her. A lifetime had passed since they had been this close, their mouths just inches apart.
A moment later, his lips were on hers. She couldn’t say who had leaned in first. The heat and blending of their breaths consumed her senses.
Then his hand trailed the length of her neck. He slid his other hand through her hair, and a tingling covered her arms, her sides. The kiss deepened. Her heart pounded. She moved her fingers over his shirt, settling on his chest. His muscles tensed from her touch. He was strong yet tender as he drew her closer. There were more breaths, more yearning.
Until a voice.
“Lillian.”
She froze. The world around them, which had fallen away, instantly reappeared. The recognition of her mother’s presence hit like a slap.
Lily and Ellis separated and scrambled to their feet. They became teenagers caught in the coatroom at a school dance.
“Your son is asking for soup.”
Ellis averted his eyes, appearing as flushed as Lily felt.
“Soup?” she stammered. “My, that’s a good sign.”
“It is,” her mother said. A pointed pause. “Soon enough, I’d say Geraldine can be on her way.”
And by “Geraldine,” she meant Ellis. Her tone made this clear—not reproachfully, but as a needed reminder after an emotional trial. There was Samuel to think of. And Ruby and Calvin.
And Clayton.
“You’re right,” Lily decided. “It wouldn’t make sense to keep her.”
