Justin did as he was told. Laurel could see her mother tense.
Jean lifted his shirt, exposing a bright red rash. “Laurel, get your father,” she said, her voice tight. Gently she pulled Justin's shirt down, then tucked the blanket under his chin. “Do you hurt anywhere?” Laurel hadn't moved. Jean looked at her. “Laurel, get your father,” she said sternly.
Laurel hurried outside. She knew something was wrong. “Daddy,” Laurel called. In mid-swing, Will didn't look up. “Daddy, Justin's sick. Mama wants you.”
The blade cut through a chunk of birch, splitting the wood in two. “He's sick?” Will rested the axe against a wood slab. “What's wrong?” he asked, striding toward the tent door.
“I think he has a fever. And he's got a rash.”
Will stepped inside. “Justin's sick?”
Jean intercepted him in the middle of the room. Her hands on his arms, she whispered, “I think he's got scarlet fever! We've got to get him to the doctor!”
“Why do you think that?” Will asked, his voice tight.
“He has a rash, a red sore throat, and a high fever.” Jean returned to Justin's bedside. “Honey, show Daddy your tummy.” Justin pulled up his shirt.
Will nodded. “Looks like scarlet fever, all right.”
“Is that bad?” Brian asked, leaning on the bed.
“No. We'll take him to the doctor, and he'll fix him right up.” He looked at Jean. “Good thing we've got a doctor now.”
“Laurel, I'll need you to stay with Susie and Brian,” Jean said.
Laurel nodded. “Where's Luke?”
“He's off with Alex again,” Brian said petulantly. “He's always with Alex. He never plays with me anymore.” He looked up at his mother. “Can I go to the doctor's with you?”
Jean kneeled in front of her son. “We need you to stay and help with Susie.”
Brian stuck out his lower lip. “Can I find Luke?”
“No,” Will said, bundling Justin in a blanket and lifting him. “You stay here. We won't be gone long.” He walked to the door. “Drew was home a few minutes ago. I'm sure he'll drive us.”
Jean kissed Brian and Susie. “We won't be long,” she promised, then followed Will outside.
Laurel refilled the basin with cool water and walked back to Justin's bedside. Dipping a washcloth into the water, she wrung it out and gently sponged the boy's face. Justin was getting worse. Why? she asked herself. The doctor had said most children rebound from scarlet fever. He had prescribed aspirin and keeping Justin quiet, but that hadn't helped.
Two days before, his elbows, ankles, and wrists had begun to swell, his fever raged, and the rash had changed, now looking more like bruises. Sometimes delirious, Justin thrashed about calling for his mother or others.
The doctor sadly explained that he'd developed rheumatic fever, a severe complication of scarlet fever. He'd been to see Justin nearly every day, but nothing seemed to help. This morning Dr. Donovan left shaking his head. There was nothing he could do.
The rocking chair creaked as Jean rose slowly so not to waken Susie. She lay the little girl in her crib, then crossed to Justin's bedside. “Is he any better?”
Laurel shook her head no, cringing inwardly at the anguish in her mother's eyes.
“I'll sit with him,” Jean said.
Brian placed his hands on his brother's mattress, then rested his chin on his hands. “Mama, how long until Justin's better?”
“We don't know, soon maybe.” Jean sounded weary. She smiled gently at her young son. “God knows. We must trust him.”
Brian nodded, her answer seeming to satisfy him. “I hope it's soon so we can go fishing. Justin likes to fish.” He sighed. “I miss Daddy and Luke. When are they coming home?”
“Just as soon as we're all healthy and the doctor lifts the quarantine.”
“I don't like it when everyone's sick.” Brian ambled to the toy box. He took out a wooden truck and half-heartedly pushed it across the floor.
“Mama, he's not going to die, is he?” Laurel whispered.
Jean didn't answer. She gazed at Justin, her eyes filling with tears. Finally she said softly, “It's God's choice. Justin belongs to him, not us.”
Laurel walked into the kitchen, picked up the kettle, and poured a cup of tea. “Do you want some?”
“No. I think I've had enough to last me a lifetime.” She rewet the cloth and tenderly laid it across Justin's forehead.
All that night Jean didn't leave his side. Laurel sat in the rocking chair, falling in and out of sleep. Her brother's breaths became shallower and more labored. At one point Jean looked at Laurel and said, “He's fading. He's going to leave us.” She covered her face with a handkerchief and cried softly.
Laurel looked on, not knowing what to do. She gazed at her brother. Please, Justin, live. Please.
“Laurel, get your father,” Jean said, her voice trembling. “Quarantine or not, he needs to be here.”
