Page 73 of Stay Buried

Her hand fluttered to her pregnant belly.

She looked out the window, then turned and looked at me. “What do you think, Frances?”

“I think,” I said, forcing the words out, “that staying here is dangerous. For you and the baby.”

Uncle Thomas explained that nearly half the town was sick now. Some in advanced stages, any number of them having disappeared into the woods. Charlotte was sick, her herbal remedies and charms useless. She’d had Thomas barricade the door to her bedchamber from the outside, fearing what she might do as the disease progressed. The practice of leaving offerings for the knackerman—food and money,dead chickens—seemed to be spreading. Frightened residents hung crosses on their doors, dangled bundles of St. John’s wort from the doorframe, and sprinkled lines of salt on the threshold.

Uncle Thomas grimaced as he gave us the report. “They remain convinced that it’s supernatural. That the knackerman is the devil himself and he’s bewitching the townspeople, possessing them and ferrying them off.”

There were still reports of the knackerman, Clarice, and Emile being sighted around town, now joined by others who’d taken ill. It seemed impossible. They should have perished from exposure. By all accounts, they were naked, running mad through the snow. Some claimed to have heard them, moaning and howling in the woods. Some said they heard their own names being called, that they were being beckoned into the woods and there was something enticing, mystifying even, about the voices of the sick carried through the wind that made people want to go and join them.

The sickness was casting darkness and fear over the entire town, even those who weren’t infected. Robbie Prichard stole apples and a keg of cider from the Millers’ cellar, knocking old Mr. Miller down so hard he broke three ribs; Robbie claimed that the devil made him do it, though he showed no signs of illness. Emile LaRue’s barn was burned to the ground—no one knew if it was arson, but suspicions ran rampant. Lester Styles was tackled and beaten by a group of men as he left Loon’s Call, evidently because he was mistaken for the knackerman with his full beard and dark hooded coat. Men carried guns every time they left the house. Women and children stayed inside, doors locked tight.

Whatever this sickness was, it had settled into Boone’s Ferry like the dense fog that often blanketed our valley, blocking out the sun. There was surely no stopping it now.

“I willnotleave unless you two come with me,” Aunt Margaret said. “We can all go away from this place. We can start over. Maybe even go back to Boston. Wouldn’t you like to go back to Boston?”

Uncle Thomas’s expression was pained. I knew how he missedBoston, how part of him had always wished to go back.

Aunt Margaret continued, “Think how good it would be, not just for us, but for Frances.” She turned to me. “You could go to medical school. You’re clever. The most clever girl I’ve ever known! And your uncle knows people. He can get you in.” She looked back at Uncle Thomas. “Please, Tom. Let’s all go.”

Uncle Thomas sighed, rubbed his red-rimmed eyes. “You know I can’t do that,” he said in a low voice, taking her hand. “I’m the doctor. The whole village will soon be sick.”

“But Tom, there’s little you can do. You said so yourself. You—”

“I’ve got to try.”

He turned, looked at me. “I think you should go with your aunt. With Pearl. Go wait this out in Amsterdale.”

There was nothing I wanted more than to run off with Pearl. Than to be with her, whatever it took.

The lump in my throat hardened. Tears pricked my eyes and I wiped them with the back of my hand.

“No,” I said. “If you stay, I stay.”

“Frankie, I admire your—”

“If you stay, I stay,” I repeated, boring my eyes into his. “You’ve taught me everything I know. Everything I am, it’s because of you. And everything you taught me, it was for a reason. For this. For helping the sick and injured. You can’t do this on your own. If you stay, I stay.”

“Very well,” Uncle Thomas said, a sad smile on his face.

“But if what you’re saying is true,” Aunt Margaret said, “and anyone who stays is doomed… becomes mad—”

“We don’t know that they stay that way,” Uncle Thomas said. “Benjamin Stoddard has been unconscious for the last twelve hours. He’s still got a fever, but it’s gone down.”

“So he’s recovering?” Aunt Margaret asked.

“It’s impossible to say. Mrs. Stoddard had been unconscious, butthen awoke and got out of bed.”

“And attacked her husband and is now roaming the woods naked and mad,” added Aunt Margaret.

“And yet, she’s alive,” Uncle Thomas pointed out. “Perhaps the madness will pass. I’m hoping that watching the progression of symptoms in Benjamin will shed some light, help Frankie and me to understand what we’re dealing with.”

“You truly think they might survive?” Aunt Margaret asked.

“I don’t know, Maggie. But we can hope. God knows there were people who survived the flu who had been on death’s doorstep just the night before. The human body can surprise us with the way it fights back. And as with the flu, some might have some sort of innate resistance and never get sick to begin with even if they’re… exposed.

“I can’t leave any of them,” Uncle Thomas continued. “But it’s because of all these unknowns that it is safest for you and the baby if you go to Amsterdale with your brother and his family as I ask. Frankie and I will join you there as soon as we’re able.”