The Victory Garden(91)
When the storm had abated and the sun sparkled on fresh snow, she made her way back down the hill. The cottage looked like a scene from a fairy tale. The roof was softened by a blanket of white and the herb bushes were now gentle humps and bumps. As she came up to the front door, she saw that someone had been there. Footsteps led to her front door, then went away again. Two sets of footsteps, or rather the same footprints had come twice. She suspected it was Alice, coming to see if she was all right after the blizzard. But as she traced the steps away from the cottage, they did not lead down the lane and across the green to the Red Lion, but rather up the lane. Intrigued by this, she followed them, and found that they ended at the furthest of the thatched cottages where the farm labourers lived. The cottage of the Hodgsons, the young family whose father had returned from the war. The father who cried out at night.
Someone at that cottage had come to see her twice. She went around to the front door and knocked. The wife, Fanny Hodgson, opened it, relief flooding her face as she saw Emily.
“Oh, thank God. You’re here. I was afraid you’d gone away.”
“What’s the matter, Fanny?” Emily asked. The young woman looked distraught, as if she hadn’t slept in days. “Is it your husband?”
“No, it’s Timmy, my boy,” she said. “He’s come down with the influenza, and there are snow drifts blocking the road. No doctor could get through, even if we could get to the telephone box for one. But the phone lines are down, too.”
“Influenza? Are you sure?”
She nodded. “It has to be. I’ve read descriptions in the newspaper, and that’s exactly how it’s affecting our Tim. High fever, tossing and turning, and he can’t breathe. You have to help him, Mrs Kerr.”
“Me?” Emily took a step backwards. “I’m not a doctor, Mrs Hodgson.”
“But you’re her. The herb woman. Your sleeping potion worked a treat. You have to make something for Timmy before he dies.” She clutched at Emily’s arm, like a drowning person. From inside the cottage, Emily heard moaning.
Emily’s brain was racing. Had she seen any recipe that might be of any use for a disease that killed healthy men in days? And yet the woman was desperate. “I’ll try,” she said. “But you know how serious this disease is, don’t you? I’m not a miracle worker, but I’ll do my best.”
“Anything. Anything at all at this stage. I feel so helpless watching him suffering and knowing I can’t do any more than put a cold compress on his forehead and bathe away his sweat.”
“All right. I’ll get working on it then,” Emily said.
She saw relief on the woman’s face. “God bless you, my dear.”
Emily found it hard to breathe as she stepped into her cottage. It was icy cold, the fire having gone out some time ago, and the cat met her with an accusing mew, staring up at her with unblinking yellow eyes. She put down a saucer of bread and milk, then got the fire and stove going. She noted with satisfaction how easy these tasks had now become. Then she sat with her quilt wrapped around her, studying Tabitha Ann Wise’s original recipe book and her own notes.
Knitbone was recommended to promote sweating, but the part to be used was the flower, which she didn’t have. Combine with yarrow, elderflower, peppermint, angelica and mulberry leaf to combat a fever. She had yarrow, angelica root and peppermint, but not the other ingredients. Catnip was also recommended, and she was pretty sure she had some of that, judging from Shadow’s attraction to a certain small plant.
Then she read that cowslip root, thyme and elecampane were lung restoratives. Cowslip was a spring flower, so no chance of that, and she had no idea what elecampane might be. But willow bark was reputed to reduce a fever, and she knew where there was a willow tree by the stream. It was hard going, ploughing through the snow, but she returned triumphant with willow bark. The recipe recommended finely chopping or grinding the bark. She took down the kitchen mincer and did her best.
“I have no idea how much I should be using,” she worried, “or whether too much is dangerous, but I suppose at this stage anything is worth trying.”
The final concoction she made included the ground willow bark, dried catnip, peppermint, angelica root, thyme, sage and yarrow, to which she added ground ginger and purple echinacea root, since Susan had mentioned that it possessed marvellous anti-inflammatory properties. She poured boiling water over the mixture and allowed it to steep. When it had cooled, she poured off the liquid into a jug and carried it up to Timmy Hodgson.
“I’m not sure whether it can help,” she said as she handed it to Timmy’s mother. “But it can’t hurt. All of these herbs are beneficial.”
“I won’t ask you to come in and see him for yourself,” the woman said, “knowing how the disease is so catching. I’m keeping the other kids in the kitchen, and my man is not feeling too well, so he’s staying in bed, but we can just hope, can’t we?”
Emily went back home, trying to swallow down the sick feeling. She had never been called upon to save someone’s life before. If the child died, would she be blamed?
Realizing that Lady Charlton would be worried about her, she trudged back to the house. The old lady looked relieved to see her. “Thank God you’ve returned. I sent Simpson to see if you had fallen into a snow drift. He said he saw smoke coming from your cottage chimney, so I was hoping you were not stupid enough to want to stay in the cottage.”