She's Gone: A Novel by Joye Emmens

her forehead.
    “My stomach.”
    She got up and went to the outhouse again. She emerged a while later and sank into the grass in a small heap, racked with severe cramps. Will scooped her in his arms and moved her away from the outhouse and the ever present smell.
    He stood over her, his eyes wild with concern. “I’m going to find Jasmine. She’ll make you a tea.”
    She didn’t have the energy to respond. Her head ached, her body ached, her stomach heaved in violent cramps. Another wave came. Will took off in a run toward the summer kitchen.
    He returned panting and wrapped her in a blanket. He sat with her on the grass, and held her limp body.
    Jasmine arrived with tea. “Drink this. It’s made with raspberry leaves, mint, golden seal, and Oregon grape root. It’ll fix you right up.”
    Jolie sipped the tea. Will held her and urged her to drink more. Nothing stayed down and her cramps grew in severity. Late afternoon, when she had nothing left but dry heaves, Will and Jasmine moved her from the meadow to an upstairs bedroom in the main house. Will tried to cheer her and played the guitar.
    “Please stop.” The jangle of noise hurt her head. She closed her eyes and drifted in and out of sleep.
    Jasmine came back later. “The herbal tea doesn’t seem to be working,” Will said. “Is she pregnant?”
    “Not with these symptoms. Some newcomers get this, and it usually lasts about three days.” Jasmine laid a cold wash cloth on her forehead.
    She was burning up, and it was cool on her skin. “Thanks, Mom.” Her eyes remained closed against the searing light.
    “It’s me, Jasmine.”
    Her eyes fluttered open. Jasmine? She had been back in her room at home. Her mom had brought the cold wash cloth. “Oh, Jasmine,” she whispered through dry lips. She wanted her mom.
    She lay in the main house for days, dehydrated despite Will and Jasmine’s efforts to get her to drink. She couldn’t hold anything down and was not getting better.
    One afternoon she awoke to whispers. Jasmine and Will smiled down at her. “I think you have a waterborne disease because it’s lasted so long,” Jasmine said. “It’s probably cryptosporidiosis, a protozoan parasite, working its way through your body.”
    “Doesn’t that need treatment?” Will asked.
    “Hydration and the tea I’ve been making should help,” Jasmine said.
    Fatigued and listless, she felt like dying. She closed her eyes and floated off to sleep, beautiful sleep.
    When she awoke, Will was sitting in the chair by the bed writing in his leather notebook. “Are you writing a song?” she whispered.
    “No, just notes for the socialist revolution.” He set his notebook down. “How are you?” He moved to the bed, sat down and propped her up. “I’m so worried about you.” He held a cup of broth to her lips. She took a drink and lay her head back on his arm. He stroked her head and cheek.
    “I’ll be fine.” He leaned in to hear, her voice but a scarce whisper. “Go find your buddies. You don’t have to stay here all of the time.” She knew he thrived on the political debates and ranch camaraderie. Her eyes closed from the effort. He lay her back down.
    “You have to get better, Little Wing.”
    He kissed her on the forehead and then she felt a breeze wash over her face. Her eyes opened and she saw that he was fanning her with his notebook. She smiled faintly and closed her eyes. He was a good man. Sometime later she heard the door close.
    Jasmine and Grace stopped by as often as possible but they had chores. It was harvest time and the ranch women were in high gear canning vegetables in both kitchens. The upstairs bedroom was unbearably hot but she was too weak to move.
    The days and nights merged together. She had lost track of time. One day it seemed to be late afternoon. Murmurs and quiet laughter drifted up through the window. What was Will doing? She turned to look out the rusty screen. All she could see were evergreen trees. Was he talking