November Bargain, Part the Third, Subpart B.

[camwyn]

Fred swayed a little on his feet, not yet letting go of his daughter’s arm. He seemed to be concentrating all his efforts on standing still. It took him a while. Eventually, his grip relaxed, and he let out a slow, careful breath. “There,” he said. “There, I think I’ve got it.”

Louise smiled. “That’s wonderful,” she said. “Think you can walk?”

“Oh, I can walk enough,” said her father with sudden, surprising vehemence. “Where’s that Almon rat? I want a word with-” The sentence dissolved into a fit of racking coughs; Louise just shook her head, grabbing at her father’s shirt before he could totter backwards. “-that. . . stinking-”

“No, Father,” Louise snapped. “You are not going to hunt down Ed Almon for this. First of all, it’s not his fault, and second of all, you’ll have to get in line.”

The coughing took on a different tone. It was a few moments before she realised her father was trying to laugh. “That. . . louse. . .”

“I told you, Father, it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t mean to bring the grippe home with him from the war.”

“Grippe, my eye!” Fred collapsed back onto his bed, but managed to sit himself upright. “This isn’t – some - sniffle-”

“No, I suppose it’s not,” Louise agreed with a sigh. “The papers are calling it the Spanish Flu. I heard today that most of the civilized world’s got it by now.”

Fred’s head shook as he fought down another cough. “. . . wretched, stinking. . .”

She didn’t know if he meant the disease, or the man who’d brought it to the Yukon. Somehow she doubted there was much difference between the two in her father’s mind. “Getting angry like this isn’t going to help, Father. You’re just sapping your strength. If you want to get up and walk around, you’re going to have to calm down.”

Fred shot her an angry look, but closed his eyes and remained seated. Eventually, he asked, “How’s the hotel?”

“Pretty close to full up, actually,” she answered.

“Still?”

“Afraid so. No one’s in any shape to go home. . .”