The Healer's Wife Part 3 of 7

The man stood in the sunlight hugging his daughter to his chest. He had not attempted to climb the steps, nor had he tried to speak to her again. Why did he not just go away? Fear began to rise in her chest, a small bird beating its wings against her ribs. He was waiting for her husband. He would be home soon.

She was not a cruel woman, but panic drover her to her feet. "You must leave," she said. "You cannot remain here." The father ignored her, did not turn to face her. "Leave now, or I shall call the constable."

He turned then and she saw in his eyes that he would not leave. Of course he wouldn't. His daughter was dying.

"There's need of a constable?"

Both turned to the sound of the new voice. Her husband was approaching from the street, walking in his long, comfortable strides. The man rushed to his side.

"Please, sir. My daughter. You must help her. She's..."

Her husband lifted a hand to silence the man, then drew back the blanket that covered the child's face. For long moments he stood studying her before lowering the blanket. "Bring her inside," he said.

The man hurried to comply, bounding up the steps and passing through the open doorway. Her husband moved to follow, but before he could pass she grabbed his elbow and pulled him aside. He winced at the strength of her grip, and she smoothed the cloth of his shirtsleeve. "You promised," she whispered. "Remember your word."

He reached over and patted her hand, allowing his to rest momentarily upon hers. It was warm and comforting. "It does no harm to examine her. It may be that she is beyond my care."

She turned her hand and gripped his fingers. "Then why look?" she asked.

He smiled at her, and in that smile she saw his decision, the life they shared coming to a close. He withdrew his hand and wiped a tear from her cheek. He kissed her then, lightly, before passing through the doorway, his form swallowed by the shadows of the house.