Wings of a Dream Read Online Free PDF Page A

words.
    “Don’t worry, Aunt Adabelle.” I pulled the cool cloth down her hot cheeks. “I’m here now. You’ll be up and around in no time. I promise.”
    My voice sounded far more confident than I felt.

    I dozed in the chair, startling awake at intervals—sometimes to silence, sometimes to my aunt’s moans. Each time, I’d rub the sleep from my face and reach for another rag to baptize her feverish head in cool water.
    Aunt Adabelle’s skin appeared darker near morning. Or perhaps the light waned, instead. I peered at the kerosene lamp on the bedside table, but its clear bowl showed plenty of fuel, and its flame blazed on a trimmed wick. I touched another wet rag to her face. My fingertips warmed as if I touched bread fresh from the oven. If only Mama had let me watch her healing hands at work over those she loved. But she hadn’t. So I carried on with only the sheriff’s meager instructions as my guide.
    He’d promised the doctor would come. But when? With shaking hands, I gathered my unruly hair, trying to pin the wildest strands into their proper places. Then I attempted to smooth the front of my skirt, the fabric now as wrinkled as an old woman’s hands.
    As the outside darkness muted to gray, dark spots, almost purple, streaked my aunt’s ashen cheeks. Was that normal with a fever? Then a crimson line trickled from her mouth to her chin. It touched the white edge of the top quilt and spread into a blood-red stain.
    My heart nearly stopped. I jumped from my chair and wiped her chin clear before inching away from the bed and the blood. As uninformed as I was, I knew this did not portend good. My back hit the solid wall. I slid toward the floor, gathering my knees to my chest.
    Rattling, gasping breaths filled the room, filled my ears. I longed to run away, to listen instead to the rustle of the wind through the trees or the ripple of water over a cluster of stones. I hadn’t anticipated this. I’d only focused on escaping the farm and finding an adventure.
    Sometime after dawn, Ollie stood at my side, blond hair matted, eyes swimming with tears that didn’t fall. She reached her thin arms around my neck and laid her cheek on my head. Relief tumbled over me as I closed my arms around her.
    We held each other for only a moment before I stood on tingling legs and took Ollie’s hand in mine. We moved back to the chair near the bed. I pulled Ollie onto my lap. She reached for Aunt Adabelle’s hand and held it between her two small ones. I dabbed a damp cloth against the blood now coating my aunt’s chin.
    Aunt Adabelle moaned, long and low, a weak cough shaking her whole body and spilling more bright blood onto her covering, this time streaming from her nose, too. Ollie didn’t flinch as I reached across to clean my aunt’s face. She only brought the waxen hand to her small lips, kissed it, and tucked it back beneath the quilt’s edge.
    Muted thumps sounded overhead. I looked up, as if I could see through the ceiling. I ran my tongue over my dry lips.
    Ollie slid from my lap. “I’ll get them.” She straightened her shoulders. “I put the oats in to soak last night. My mama taught me to make the oatmeal before she . . . before Janie.” Her small body bent slightly downward, like a sapling in a moderate wind, as she left the room without another word.
    What was I doing here? Someone else should be in charge. Mama. The doctor. The sheriff. Not me.
    “Help me, Lord.” My whispered words fluttered the stillness. Words I didn’t want Ollie to hear but needed in my own ears.
    Aunt Adabelle tried to breathe, her head turning toward me. “The . . . children . . . please.” Blood gurgled from her mouth around the words.
    One red spot dripped onto my hand. I stared at the crimson splotch. My aunt’s blood on my hand, the same blood running beneath our skin. Mama had long ago abandoned her sister. I couldn’t do the same.
    Pushing back sweat-slick hair near her temple, I leaned close,