A Lawman's Christmas_ A McKettricks of Texas Novel - Linda Lael Miller [22]
Dara Rose gave herself an inward shake and sat up a little straighter in her chair. “I’m sorry,” she said, because she was always truthful with the children. “I’m afraid I was woolgathering.”
Edrina’s perfect little face glowed, heart-shaped, in the light of love and a kerosene lantern. “She’s really sick,” she informed her mother, in a tone of good-natured patience, as though she were the parent and Dara Rose the child. “Mrs. O’Reilly told me she has romantic fever.”
Dara Rose did not correct Edrina. She was too stricken by the tragedy of it, the patent unfairness. Rheumatic fever. Was there no end to the sorrows and hardships visited on that poor family?
“That’s dreadful,” she said.
“And Addie gets lonely, staying inside all the time,” Edrina went on. “So I said Harriet and I would come to visit on Saturday morning. We can, can’t we, Mama? Because I promised.”
Dara Rose’s heart swelled with affection for her daughter, and then sank a little. It was like her spirited Edrina to make such an offer, and follow through on it, too, whether or not she had her mother’s permission. When Edrina made a promise, she kept it, which meant she was really asking if Harriet could go with her.
As far as Dara Rose knew, rheumatic fever wasn’t contagious, but heaven only knew what other diseases her children might contract during a visit to the O’Reilly house—diphtheria, the dreaded influenza, perhaps even typhoid or cholera.
“You mustn’t promise such things, in the future, without speaking to me first,” Dara Rose told Edrina, hedging. “I feel as sorry for the O’Reillys as you do, Edrina, but there are other considerations.”
“And it stinks over there,” Harriet interjected solemnly, her nose twitching a little at the memory.
Dara Rose had lost her appetite, which was fine, because she’d had enough to eat, anyway. “Harriet,” she said. “That will be enough of that sort of talk. It is not suitable for the supper table.”
Harriet sighed. “It’s never suitable,” she lamented.
“Hush,” Dara Rose told her, her attention focused, for the moment, on her elder daughter. “You may visit the O’Reillys on Saturday morning,” she stated, rising to begin clearing the table. “But only because you gave your word and I would not ask you to break it.”
“If I hadn’t promised, you wouldn’t let me go?” Edrina pressed. She’d never been one to quit while the quitting was good, a trait she came by honestly, Dara Rose had to admit. She had the same shortcoming herself.
“That’s right,” she replied, at some length. “I have to think about your safety, Edrina, and that of your sister.”
“My safety? The O’Reillys wouldn’t hurt us.”
“Not deliberately,” Dara Rose allowed, “but it isn’t the most sanitary place in the world, and you might catch something.”
Although she didn’t mention it, she was thinking of the diphtheria outbreak two years before, during which four children had perished, all of them from one family.
“Is that suitable talk for the supper table?” Harriet asked sincerely.
“Never mind,” Dara Rose said. “It’s time you both got ready for bed. Shall I walk with you to the outhouse, or are you brave enough to go on your own?”
Edrina scraped back her chair, rose to fetch her coat and Harriet’s from the pegs near the back door. Her expression said she was brave enough to do anything, and protect her little sister in the bargain.
“Maybe that’s why Addie’s so lonesome,” Edrina said, opening the door to the chilly night, with its flurries of snow. “Because everybody is afraid of catching something if they visit.”
Chagrin swept over Dara Rose—out of the mouths of babes—but she assumed a stern countenance. “Don’t stand there with the door open,” she said.
Later, when the children were in bed, and she’d read them a story from their one dog-eared book of fairy tales and heard their prayers—Harriet put in another request for the doll from the mercantile—kissed them good-night and tucked them in, Dara Rose returned to the kitchen.