Chapter 18
Little Willeim Mason lay limp on the bed. Grandmama dabbed a wet cloth at the sweat that beaded his head. He had been sick since the storm and his fever was still growing. Falling in and out of consciousness, poor Willy had no idea who was with him or what time of day it was.
“We must find a doctor,” Terry sniffed, feeling her little brother’s suffering deeply. All color had left him, making him pallid as a ghost. A nagging fear repeatedly crept up her spine, whispering thoughts that he wasn’t far from becoming the corpse he resembled.
Grandfather grunted and dragged on his pipe. He wouldn’t repeat again what he’d said only moments before and more than once. They didn’t have the means to pay a doctor and the medication that would heal Willy would surely be costly.
“He’ll die
