Maude, sitting by Sarah’s bedside, glanced up and placed a finger to her lips. "The doctor just left," she said in a low voice. "Sarah is asleep."

"What happened?" She gazed at Sarah, bathed in perspiration, her rosy glow transformed to a pale ivory.

Motioning to Laura to accompany her out of the room, Maude explained, "Sarah complained of a severe headache during lunch, fainted on the assembly line, and was rushed home. The doctor has ordered complete rest and no excitement." Mrs. Mitchell took a shaky breath. "Her temperature is a hundred and four." She turned away, her face contorted with pain, but she didn’t cry.

"Mother, please. You get some rest. I’ll sit up with Sarah tonight."

"I don’t want you in the same room with her unless you wear a mask."

"Mother! I intend to sit with her." Laura’s voice was firm, and she resolved to at least help that much.

"Oh, Laura. I don’t know what I’d do if you got sick, too."

"I’m healthy and strong," Laura said confidently. "Sarah is my sister, and I must help her."

Maude lifted Laura’s hand, patting it. "I know how you feel, but trust me in this. I’m taking the next few days off from work, but I want you in school. Your senior year is too important. You must finish school."

Laura nodded, too weary to argue.

Mrs. Mitchell continued. "All of Sarah’s dishes, sheets, utensils, everything she uses will be kept separate from ours. The next few days will be critical."

"I understand." Laura turned to leave. There was no reasoning with her mother when she set her mouth in that stubborn line. She sighed. The newspapers advised that you shouldn’t go on the trolley, you shouldn’t visit people, you shouldn’t have visitors, you should always wear a mask. If you feel ill, take a strong drink. Others advised that you dare not touch alcohol. One treatment was hot baths; another was cold, wet sheets. No one knew what to do for this dread disease! Laura stumbled to bed, wondering if they could weather this. Her concern was to be able to get medicine and food. Would they become outcasts in the neighborhood and have people shun them because Sarah had the flu? Thank God for Joe and Aldo. Otto, too, she was certain, would help if called on. Her brain was whirling, thinking of Sarah and her mother, but soon she fell into a deep sleep.

The next few days were a nightmare. Bertina had worsened and slipped into a coma, and Sarah, although awake, was still weak and nauseous.

On Wednesday Laura stayed home as all schools in Washington had closed indefinitely because of the Spanish influenza. Now she could do her share in nursing Sarah. Her mother, exhausted and pale, for once didn’t argue with Laura’s suggestion to get some rest. Maude, without a murmur, went to bed.

As Laura sat observing Sarah, she thought of the sign in their apartment window: the white sign with a big black I for Influenza. She held a cool cloth to Sarah’s forehead, and suddenly her sister’s eyelids fluttered open. "Laura," she mumbled, "I’m hungry." Her eyes closed again, but Laura was elated. Sarah’s color was returning, and she wanted something to eat. For the past few days she wouldn’t touch her food, no matter what Laura gave her. Did she dare hope Sarah was getting well?

The doorbell rang. Who would dare call? It was probably Joe, for he had been ever faithful and completely fearless of the flu.

Pushing back her loose tendrils of hair, she ran downstairs.

There stood Joe, slouched against the door frame. "Mama died an hour ago," he said, gazing at her with black, sorrowful eyes. "She never regained consciousness."

"Bertina? Oh, Joe, I’m—I’m…" Her eyes shimmered with tears, and for a few seconds they looked at one another, eyes wet.

"Come in," she said, opening the door wider.

"No, no. I need to be with Papa. There’s a lot to do, for the funeral is tomorrow." His grief-filled voice wrung her heart.

"I understand." Funerals were immediate these days. She’d seen the stacks of coffins outside the mortuary ready for delivery.

The next morning, getting dressed in a black gown for the funeral, Laura heard a thud from Sarah’s room.

Rushing into the bedroom, she saw that her mother had collapsed beside the night-stand.

"Mother! Mother!" she called frantically but couldn’t rouse her.

Panic-stricken, she raced to the phone, cranking the handle for the operator and shouting Joe’s number.

In less than two minutes Joe was there helping carry Mrs. Mitchell to her own bed.

"Joe," she said, working feverishly to make her mother comfortable. "First Sarah, now Mother." She looked fearfully into Joe’s eyes, then spun around. "I’ll bring a basin of water to bathe Mother’s face."

Joe glanced at Maude. "Her color is not too bad… it may be exhaustion."

"I hope so," she breathed. She knew it was almost impossible to get a doctor. The flu centers helped, however. You could go and purchase medicine and call for free advice. Over two thousand cases had been reported in the city, and the hospitals were jammed to overflowing.

Returning, she pressed the damp cloth on her mother’s flaming cheeks and forehead and gazed wordlessly at Joe.

His black eyes swam with compassion. "I think it’s the flu, Laura. I checked her tongue, and the tip is bright red."

A definite symptom, she thought in despair, then pressed her lips together. This horrible disease wasn’t going to lick them!

"You shouldn’t be here alone with two flu patients," Joe said.

"And who will help me? No, I’m able to do this, and besides, we Mitchells are strong like lions." She tried to smile, but look what had happened to Bertina! Sadly she looked at Joe. "You must leave. The mass is at ten o’clock." She looked down at her black dress. "I’m sorry I won’t be able to go to the church. I meant to."

He grasped her arms. "Don’t worry about the funeral," he said gently. "Mama will know your heart is with her… that’s all that matters."

Quietly she moved into his arms and they held one another. Then Joe stepped back, turned, and was gone.

A moan caused her to wheel around.

"My head," Mrs. Mitchell gasped. "It’s splitting apart! I ache so. My throat… my joints."

"Here, drink this." Laura handed her a glass of water mixed with medicine, which they fortunately had.

Dutifully Maude drank the cloudy liquid.

"You’ll feel better now," Laura said, reaching for her wrist and feeling the unstable pulse. She was alarmed but tried to smile reassuringly. "Lie back, try to sleep, and when you awake, you’ll be as good as new."

"Sarah?" her mother whispered, her fingers plucking restlessly at the quilt.

"Sarah was awake a few minutes ago and asking for food. Don’t worry about Sarah, Mother. I’m the best nurse you can find." And the only one, she thought ruefully.

As her mother dozed fitfully, breathing rapidly, Laura thought of the epidemic. It had started overseas and traveled to New York, Boston, San Francisco. Already over three hundred and fifty thousand had died in the United States alone, the cities being the hardest hit. Why had she thought Washington would be spared? Some people said it was the Kaiser’s secret weapon, but if so, it had turned on the German people, too, killing around one hundred and fifty thousand. In India close to five million people had perished. Even the names of this pestilence were peculiar. In Hungary it was called "The Black Whip"; in Switzerland, "The Coquette," giving her favors to everyone; and "The Bolshevik Disease" in Poland. No matter what it was called, to her it was the most horrible illness imaginable! How she yearned for things to be normal again. From a bustling household, their rooms had become dark with drawn shades, and silent, except for soft retchings and dry coughs. Laura put her weary head in her hands and wept.

A moan, more like a whimper, made her straighten up. "Mother?" she said quietly. "Are you awake?"

"Yes." She gazed at Laura with bright, feverish eyes.

Laura reached for an orange wedge, and dribbling the juice on her mother’s parched, cracked lips, she thought she saw a sign of improvement.

That night Laura was more relaxed than she had been for days. Every day she talked by phone to Shawn, and everyday Joe brought her fresh fruit or vegetables, but she didn’t dare have either of the men in the house. Once in a while, however, Joe insisted and, wearing his face mask, would slip in long enough to say hello to Mrs. Mitchell and Sarah.

It shouldn’t be too long, Laura thought, until life would return to normal. Sarah, although still weak, managed to eat solid food, to dress herself, and even to sit for short periods of time with Maude.

These short respites gave Laura time to take a short walk or to sit by the river.

On Sunday, as she sat on the banks of the Potomac, she felt as if every bone in her body would melt — she was that tired. How she needed her father now! What strength he would have given her! The suffragists had been pushed out of her mind this past week, but tomorrow she intended to take part in the demonstration before the Senate wing. She had sewn her black arm band and her white dress was pressed, ready to wear. Laura took a deep breath. Tomorrow she would take on the most recalcitrant senator, just like Joan of Arc! She smiled as she pulled her cape around her shoulders and sank down on the grass with her back against an oak. It was so peaceful here as she watched the lazy waters ripple and lap against the shore. The sun made the blue river dance with silver and diamonds.