Lucy nodded and entered the cottage.
“Isabell?” she called out not seeing her in the common rooms.
“Lucy? Oh, Lucy, I am in the bedroom.”
Lucy went to the door and looked at her friend snuggled up under a mound of covers, even though it was still summer.
“Isabell, what can I do for you?” she asked with some concern.
“I feel rotten. I am shivering, but I think I have a fever.”
Lucy went over and felt her forehead. “You certainly do. Let me get a basin of water. We need to get your temperature down.”
“Are the boys alright?”
“They are playing in the front and seem fine.”
She went to the kitchen poured some fresh water from a pitcher into a basin, found a hand towel, and went back to the bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed, doused the towel in the water, wrung it out, and applied the cool, wet towel to Isabell’s forehead. Lucy did not want to let on, but she was worried. Isabell was thin, pale, and appeared to be very weak.
“Has the doctor seen you?” she asked.
Isabell waved her hand in dismissal. “It is just a cold or something. It will pass.”
Lucy guessed that Isabell’s reluctance to see a doctor was due to the cost, not the condition.
“How was your trip?” Isabell asked weakly.
Lucy forced a smile and said, “Marvelous, but exhausting as well.” She did not want to talk about the dresses, the sights, or publisher just now. “I will tell you all the details when you feel better.”
Isabell closed her eyes. “The cloth feels good. Thank you.”
Lucy continued to nurse her for the next hour until her father returned. But before Lucy left, she took Joshua aside and said, “Isabell really needs to see a doctor. Her fever worries me, and with her fragile condition, I am concerned for her.”
“Aye, but the doctor costs dear.”
Lucy reached into her pocket where she still had change from the money Betsy had given her for her personal use. She pulled out all she had and pressed it into Joshua’s hand.
He scratched his sun-worn face. “I will send one of the lads to fetch him tomorrow morning.”
“Not this evening?”
“You think I must?”
“I do.”
He nodded and called the boys inside.
“Would you like me to make some supper for you all?” Lucy asked.
Joshua shook his head once. “You done plenty for one day. I can feed the lads and myself. You best go home, and I will fetch the doctor.”
Lucy went back to Isabell’s room, looked in and said, “I am going now. I will come back to check on you sometime tomorrow if I can. Your father is going to call the doctor.”
“You are such a dear friend.”
* * *
George and his father were in the sheepfold marking sheep they wanted to cull from the flock with a pot of red paint. The smell of the animals was oppressive, and the dust kicked up by the frightened sheep as they scattered around the fold began to irritate George’s eyes and nose. How he longed to be at his easel working on a portrait of Lucy.
