The air in the house felt thick, as if all the tossing and turning and fretting and the very disease itself had filled the small room with a tangible presence. Under her grimy cotton bonnet, Sally's head itched.

In the corner, on the low cot, her father had finally grown quiet. The dank straw mattress beneath him had been compressed almost flat, but now he lay still with eyes closed, the grey clammy skin of his face attracting the attention of two bluebottles.
"Will father die now?"
Her mother did not look up. Sally slipped down from her low wooden chair, the one that was used for the suckling of the babies, and went to the empty crib under the window. She rocked it from side to side with her foot, the way she did when her mother was preparing the turnips and there was a squalling babe within it. The roughly carved wood felt sharp against her bare toes.
"Leave it," said her mother.
Sally took no heed, only once glancing round to see if the creaking of the crib on the bare flags disturbed the man on the cot. It did not. She continued rocking with her foot.
"Will 'ee harken and leave that be!" This time the tone threatened an accompaning slap. The child desisted.
"Go and see if 'ee can find any fallen apples wi'out wasps in 'em, be useful Sally.

This, however, did not appeal to the five year old. She instead sidled up to her mother and clung to her greasy apron.
"Are 'ee doing magick Mama?"
Again the woman did not acknowledge her, but remained busily working the dull yellow wax with her fingertips. "Be it a man Mama? Be it father?"
"Nay, it beyant be father."
"Be it Harry?"
"Will 'ee quit wi' mithering."

Then her tone softened slightly, but it was as if she addressed herself rather than the child. She did not look at Sally as she spoke.
"Sometimes we 'ave to call on the dark one. T's only so much good to go round, and we need it badly. We 'ave lost two chillun, and father will be sure to follow if I do naught. The master 'as six strong chillun and won't miss the one, whereas we will sore miss father if 'e do up and die on us. So, I will dispatch the bad luck to the master."
"Be that the master, then?" Sally looked wide eyed at the image forming in her mother's hands.
"Nay, it be the chile William. See, I 'ave this red mare's hair that I will employ for the chile's hair.
Softly, "An will William die then?" "Aye, but he will go to heaven and be with our Lord in paradise." Sally considered this for a while as she watched her mother tenderly smooth the rounded head of the likeness.
"Will I go to paradise one day?" she finally asked.
"One day my love, aye, one day."

©Copyright Julie Eccles 1997