Nov. Bargain, Part the Third, Subpart C.

[camwyn]

Fred sighed. Louise hastily added, “It isn’t any better anywhere else, you know.”

He shook his head wearily. “I came to Dawson to run a hotel,” he muttered. “Not a hospital.”

She gave what she hoped was an encouraging smile. “It can’t last forever, Father, you know it can’t. Why, people are getting better every day. Hardly anyone who’s stayed at the hotel’s died of this.”

He said nothing. Louise knew what her father was thinking: that the two of them were among the lucky ones. He’d seen the funeral processions in the beginning of the epidemic, before he’d fallen too ill to get up and look out his window. They were burning the corpses outside of town. Winter in the Yukon made it impossible to give the disease’s victims a decent Christian burial. Still, people took what comfort they could.

“Almon,” muttered Fred, sagging back against the wall. “If I could. . . if I could just. . . “

“It wouldn’t do you any good, Father.” Louise quietly guided his shoulders away from the wall, giving him room to lie down again. “Doctor Orr says it’s a miracle he’s lived this long. I don’t think he’s going to last much longer.”

“No more. . . than he. . . deserves. . .”

“Father, he’s sick. He didn’t know he was sick when he came home! It’s not like he’s a murderer!”

“Your Sergeant-“

“Would say exactly the same thing,” snapped Louise. She snatched up the blankets and pushed her father back with one hand. “Intention makes all the difference in the world. Sergeant Preston wouldn’t blame Ed Almon one bit, and you shouldn’t either. Now, lie down and rest!”

It wasn’t until she was halfway to the hotel kitchens that she allowed herself to relax, shoulders trembling as she leaned into the paneled wall. Right now, she’d have given anything for the big Mountie’s presence; she was tired, bone-tired, of managing everything alone. Oh, she’d been taught everything her father knew about the business since she was old enough to see over the counter. Handling the hotel’s everyday affairs? That, she could do. But with the flu raging through the city like a wildfire, and her father still sick, and hardly anyone able to help – well – it was hard. Harder than it had to be, she was sure. It was one thing for a woman to do the work of a man, but she was doing the work of five, and so was everyone else in Dawson with enough strength left to stand. What she wouldn’t give to hear the sound of his footsteps, the bark of his dogs! No matter how dark things got, it was always easier to bear with him around. . .

And yet, and yet, she knew in her gut that it was for the best. He’d gone off on an Arctic patrol two days before Ed Almon came coughing back to town. He’d been spared. He was the best man in the entire RCMP, Louise had no doubt of that, but when it came to a foe like the Spanish Lady. . . well. You couldn’t fight a plague the way you fought crime. And, if Louise were to be absolutely honest with herself, she had to admit that when it came to sickness he was. . . well, kind of stupid. He’d told her once about how he’d caught diphtheria, how he hadn’t even realised working in a stricken Indian village put him in danger until he started shivering with fever. God help him if he’d been in Dawson when the Spanish lady hit! Why, he’d probably be in among all the flu victims, trying to make up for the doctors and nurses that Dawson City didn’t have. He’d be breathing the flu-ridden air without so much as a thought-

Without so much as a mask, either, Louise realised with a dawning horror. Oh, heavens, he’s out in the howling wilderness among the Indians, he hasn’t got any way of knowing – there’s no one north of here who’d be able to tell him – he’s going to ride right into town and catch it from the very first person he talks to!

She pushed herself away from the wall, striding down to the kitchens with a renewed sense of purpose. She had a week before he was due back. That would be just enough time to get her father to the point where he could handle things on his own again, at least for a day or two. There were only so many trails into Dawson from the north; she’d just have to figure out the right one, and hope that he didn’t come back early.

At least, she thought with a wry twist of her lips, my father’s dogs will be grateful for the exercise.

Comments

[dormouse-in-tea.livejournal.com]

Oh, I LIKE her!!!

[camwyn]

Good! Good, I'm glad. There should be some more of her after lunch - I'm off to get myself a crap burrito or a burger or something so I can get a proper, nice dinner with ocean_song at one of the local Thai places...

[dormouse-in-tea.livejournal.com]

Incidentally, these comments are being made at the library, where I am checking to see if I need to mail any sold books out. Comcast decided it would be just loverly if they increased the broadband bandwidth for subscribers, only they fucked some things up and right now we can't connect. Come Sunday when I'm supposed to have my first week's writing up, I may have to SNAIL MAIL it to you, as I'm not allowed to bring a floppy in and am not capable of typing THAT fast (20 minute usage limits). >.