Frank had sounded confident that a night’s rest would soothe whatever ailed Mrs. Penn. I hoped so. Old Mother had given me the recipes for several curatives, but I’d left them back in the village. Besides, practicing even witchy white magic wasn’t a good idea, not if I didn’t want a repeat of the village’s stoning assault.
We played and read quietly that evening. Even the boys seemed subdued, no doubt worrying about their bunny pancakes. (Okay, that’s not fair. The boys were sweet. I’m sure they were as worried as I was about Mrs. Penn.)
After they went to bed and Frank said his good night, I went and checked on Mrs. Penn. She didn’t wake when I opened the door and peeked in. That didn’t seem like the lively Mrs. Penn that I knew. I woke up in the night and peeked in again. She was still sleeping, but I was relieved to see her breast still rising and falling. She was alive, at least.
When I got up in the morning, I dashed in even before I dressed. Mrs. Penn hadn’t moved. She was still asleep, and her cheeks at first glance seemed slightly blue, but I wasn’t sure about that. Was I imagining such a thing because I was fearful of seeing her go the way Old Mother had?
When Frank arrived for breakfast, I fed him bunny pancakes. The boys said I made them perfectly, but I was already biting my lip and hoping that Frank would eat speedily and go fetch the doctor.
On his second cup of coffee and his second stack of pancakes with scrambled eggs and ham slices, I asked as nicely as my frazzled patience could tolerate.
“There is no need,” a voice called out. Mrs. Penn was just walking out from the room where she’d stayed. I thrust myself out of the chair and ran to her, almost as poorly mannered as the boys. But I couldn’t help myself. I squeezed her thin body with more gusto than was appropriate and kissed her cheek with all the delicacy of a slobbery puppy (although I actually didn’t slobber.)
“I’m so glad you’re okay. You are, aren’t you?” I asked, examining her face for signs that she looked blue again. I stretched up a hand to feel her forehead.
I started to apologize for my impetuous behavior, but she just smiled at me, and said it was the best morning greeting she’d had in years.
A knock sounded at the door, not in the least tentative. It was loud and forceful, demanding even. I instantly knew that it wasn’t one of our frequent grocery deliveries.
“There’s Dr. Stevens now,” Frank told me.
Mrs. Penn patted me on the cheek, then threw a resentful look at Frank. “Well, let the old buzzard in,” she snapped.
Dr. Stevens turned out to be a very nice elderly gentleman, who I think had an eye for Mrs. Penn. His full head of magnolia white hair was as long and showy as the blooms of that tree, although he didn’t smell as aromatic, or rather the manly scent that clung to him was more pipe smoke and reminiscent of cherry wood.
The doctor examined Mrs. Penn as much as she allowed him to and then declared her “probably okay.” For that he received a stern look from Mrs. Penn and a rather undignified tongue click that she issued as she made her way toward the table. Instead of her usual grace, gliding into the chair like a belle, she dropped down as heavily as I did when I was completely warn out.
Frank handed her a fresh cup of coffee and insisted that the doctor sit down at the table, too. He also got a mug of brew and slid his chair even closer to Mrs. Penn.
Frank did introductions. The boys smiled. I was a bit more cautious, wondering what “probably okay” meant. I intended to ask him some serious questions about that, but before I could, the boys let out what they’d bottled up for several minutes.
“We got bunnies!” Carlo said.
The doctor, mystified by the subject, tilted his head and looked at the three of us for an explanation.
“Yeah, Shama cooks!” Frances said, grinning from ear to ear because he was just starting to feel familiar enough with me to tease.