Yesteryear: A GMA Book Club Pick: A Novel by Caro Claire Burke - 46

Maeve sits limply in my lap as Mary spoons the cherry syrup into her mouth, making sure not to spill a drop on the little girl’s clothing. She’s so warm in my arms that I’ve started to sweat from her body heat. She really is quite sick. It takes her a while to swallow that mouthful, and then she rests her head back, clearly exhausted from the effort. Clutched tight in her sweaty grip is a single iridescent feather. The only memory she has of her favorite chicken, Missus Princess Sweater, whose guts were recently strewn across the coop like confetti. I’ve promised that we will hold a proper funeral when she’s feeling better.

May the ladies, every one of them, rest in peace.

Mary sits across from me, watching intently, the fire’s reflection flickering in her gaze. “Look at her chest,” she says quietly. “Look how labored her breathing is.”

Old Caleb and Abel come inside at that moment, Old Caleb looking around at the kitchen with a frown. “Is dinner not ready?”

“Maeve is sick,” Mary says. She’s on the verge of tears. “She can barely breathe.”

“Come here, Maevie,” Old Caleb says. “Let me feel your forehead.”

Can’t you come to her? I nearly snap. But I bite my tongue, and so Maeve slips off my lap and walks slowly over to Old Caleb, who picks her up and sets her on his lap at the table. She rests her head against his chest, staring blankly at me in a way that makes it clear she isn’t seeing me at all. There’s a sickening feeling in my chest.

Is it possible to die on this ranch?

I can’t imagine it: anyone in this family dying. Would the family have a funeral? Would Old Caleb nail a pile of wood slats together to make a tiny coffin, himself? Then my gaze drops to my own hand, resting softly on my stomach. The image jolts me. If birth is possible in this world, then surely so is death.

What if death is the only way out?

Old Caleb presses the back of his hand to her forehead, the way I did minutes earlier. “She’s got a fever,” he says, as if this is revelatory information. “She’ll sweat it out.” He rustles her hair fondly, then sets her back down on the floor. She sits there by his feet, pink-faced and blank-eyed, like a little rag doll. “She’ll feel better in a few days.”

“It’s already been a few days,” Mary and I say simultaneously. She looks at me in surprise.

Here’s the thing: If anyone in this family should be able to leave this ranch, it should be me. I cannot abide by any other outcome. Mary cannot leave before I do, and neither can Maeve.

I need to go, and soon. But I can’t stop thinking about Maeve, with her labored breathing, and Mary, with her terrified eyes. I can’t leave them alone right now. It’s not right.

When Old Caleb steps outside to get more firewood, I look to Mary. I glance over at the boys, who are now sitting at the table, trying to comfort Maeve with made-up stories about the monsters they battled today, giants and Indians and evil spirits, pow pow! I lower my voice so they can’t hear me. “If I were to say I wanted to find a doctor for Maeve. Would you know where I could find one?”

It’s a question, but it’s also a test.

Trust me.

She hesitates. Glances at the door. Whispers, “Yes.”