Drums of Autumn - Diana Gabaldon [255]
That was a sinister possibility that hadn’t occurred to me, and I felt as though a cold hand had been laid on the back of my neck.
“You don’t think they would, surely?”
Ian shrugged, broke open a hot muffin, and drizzled honey over the steaming insides.
“Nacognaweto’s folk trust us, but Myers did say there were plenty who would not. They’ve reason to be suspicious, aye?”
Considering that the bulk of the Tuscarora had been exterminated in a vicious war with the North Carolina settlers no more than fifty years before, I rather thought they had a point. It didn’t help with the present problem, though.
Jamie swallowed the last of his muffin and sat back with a sigh.
“Well, then. I think best we wrap the poor man in a shroud of sorts, and put him in the wee cave in the hill above the house. I’ve set the posts for a stable across the opening already; those will keep the beasts off. Then Ian or I should go to Anna Ooka and explain matters to Nacognaweto. Perhaps he will send someone back who can look at the body and assure the man’s people that he met with no violence from us—and then we can bury him.”
Before I could reply to this suggestion, I heard footsteps, running across the dooryard. I had left the door ajar, to let in light and air. As I turned toward it, Willie’s face appeared in the opening, pale and distraught.
“Mrs. Fraser! Please, will you come? Papa’s ill.”
“Has he got it from the Indian?” Jamie frowned at Lord John, whom we had stripped to his shirt and put to bed. His face was by turns flushed and pale—the symptoms I had put down earlier to emotional distress.
“No, he can’t have. The incubation period is one to two weeks. Where were you—” I turned to Willie, then shrugged, dismissing the question. They had been traveling; there was no conceivable way of telling where or when Grey had encountered the virus. Travelers normally slept several to a bed in inns, and the blankets were seldom changed; it would be easy to lie down in one and get up in the morning with the germs of anything from measles to hepatitis.
“You did say there was an epidemic of measles in Cross Creek?” I put a hand on Grey’s forehead. Adept as I was at reading fevers by touch, I would have put his near a hundred and three; quite high enough.
“Yes,” he said hoarsely, and coughed. “Have I got the measles? You must keep Willie away.”
“Ian—take Willie outside, will you, please?” I wrung out a cloth wetted with elderflower water, and wiped Grey’s face and neck. There was no rash yet on his face, but when I made him open his mouth, the small whitish Koplik’s spots on the lining were clear enough.
“Yes, you have got the measles,” I said. “How long have you been feeling ill?”
“I felt somewhat light-headed when I retired last night,” he said, and coughed again. “I woke with a bad headache, sometime in the night, but I thought it only the result of Jamie’s so-called whisky.” He smiled faintly at Jamie. “Then this morning …” He sneezed, and I hastily groped for a fresh handkerchief.
“Yes, quite. Well, try to rest a bit. I’ve put some willow bark to steep; that will help the headache.” I stood up and raised a brow at Jamie, who followed me outside.
“We can’t let Willie be near him,” I said, low-voiced so as not to be overheard; Willie and Ian were by the penfold, forking hay into the horses’ manger. “Or Ian. He’s very infectious.”
Jamie frowned.
“Aye. What ye said, though, about incubation—”
“Yes. Ian might have been exposed through the dead man, Willie might have been exposed to the same source as Lord John. Either one of them might have it now, but show no sign yet.” I turned to look at the two boys, both of them outwardly as healthy as the horses they were feeding.
“I think,” I said, hesitating as I formed a vague plan, “that perhaps you had better camp outside with the boys tonight—you could sleep in the herb shed, or camp in the grove. Wait a day or so; if Willie’s infected—if he got it from the same source as Lord John—he’ll likely be showing signs by then. If not, then he’s likely all right. If he is all right,