The Dragon in the Cliff by Sheila Cole Page A

shoulders.
    â€œA blanket won’t warm my fingers,” I complained. “They are stiff from the cold and I am being clumsy.”
    â€œYou cannot let a little cold discourage you, child. Just don’t think about it,” Mama advised. “See, I am still working the lace, and my hands are no warmer than yours. Summer will be here soon enough, and then we will all be warm. It is summer when the money is to be made here. We will whitewash the upstairs and take in lodgers. And the curiosities always do better in the summer when people come to take the waters.” Why didn’t I tell Mama that I had been caught by the tide and lost my tools and finds? I was not so much afraid of being punished as I was ashamed. Mama, Joseph, and the little ones were counting on me to keep us going. My carelessness had put everyone in jeopardy. I prayed that I would somehow be able to work round the loss so that no one ever need know. I did not want to fail them.

OUR LOSSES
    It was April when Ann, who had just celebrated her eighth birthday, became sick with a sore throat and a raging fever. We tried to get water down her parched throat, but she could not swallow. We bathed her burning body in cool water. Still the fever raged, convulsing her body and jerking her arms and legs. Frightened by Ann’s turn for the worse, we called in Dr. Carpenter. There was little he could do. She fell unconscious and lay insensible for a day before she was delivered from her suffering into the hands of God.
    While Ann lay unconscious, John, who was almost six, was taken by the same illness. He fought it for several days. On the fourth day he sat up suddenly and called for Ann, who had been his constant companion and playmate. “Why doesn’t she come?” he asked.
    I turned away, unable to tell him.
    He saw that I was crying. “Why is Mary crying?” he asked Mama, who had come to take her turn at his bedside.
    â€œBecause Ann has gone to heaven,” Mama said.
    John lay back down, turned his face to the wall, and closed his eyes. Mama thought he was sleeping. Thinking that the crisis was over, we were relieved. The next morning his fever rose again and by evening he, too, was dead.
    â€œYou’ve taken my husband, my daughter, and now my son. Take me. Do not leave me behind! I have nothing left to hope for. Take me so that I may be with them!” Mama cried out when she saw that John was dead.
    â€œMama, Mama, I’m here,” I said, putting my arms around her. She threw me off and I fell to the floor, where I sat watching as she howled in grief. “Why? Why? My babies! My babies are gone! Gone!” I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid to leave her to go for help.
    Mrs. Cruikshanks, who was passing by, heard her cries, and guessing that something terrible had happened, came in. “Get up, child. Go, fetch Joseph and the doctor,” she ordered, setting me in motion.
    It was our neighbors’ kindness that carried us through the next days. They had laid out Ann when she died, and now they laid out John. They were patient with Mama, who would not be comforted in her grief. They had kind words for Joseph and me. They ordered the coffins and arranged for the burial.
    In the spring, with the trees and fields clothed in new green, we gave Ann and John to our Father in heaven, who in his divine wisdom had gathered them unto himself.
    We had barely enough money to pay for Ann and John’s burial and none to pay Dr. Carpenter. “There is nothing for it but to apply to the parish for aid,” Mr. Cruikshanks told Joseph.
    Joseph refused to hear such talk, “It will break Mama’s spirit to come down so in the world. She’s grief stricken as it is,” he replied. The only way Joseph could think to save us from going on the parish rolls was to leave his apprenticeship and to find work that paid immediately.
    â€œWhat kind of work will you find without a trade?” Mama