Read Online The Mechanical Theater by Brooke Johnson - Free Book Online Page B

He stuck his hands in his pockets and shuffled back to his cleaning supplies, wishing he could do something to help.

 
    CHAPTER FIVE
    S olomon awoke early the next morning, just after dawn. He sat up on the edge of his cot and stretched his arms overhead with a yawn, his stomach grumbling.
    Constance had already put the kettle on the stove and had a steaming cup of tea sitting next to her on the table, book in hand. “Scones for breakfast, if you want some,” she said, noticing Solomon was awake.
    He shuffled over to the kitchen cabinet and snagged a scone from the plate. It was cold and a little stale, but it was food. He took a bite. “Where’d you get these?” he asked through a mouthful of dry cake.
    “Throwaways from the bakery.” A smile crept onto her lips, and she hid her face behind her book. “The baker’s boy—­he saved me a bag yesterday.”
    “Thomas? I didn’t know you had a thing.”
    “It’s not a thing ,” she said sharply, her eyebrow arching high over the edge of her book. “We talk sometimes, that’s all.”
    Solomon swallowed the last of his scone. “In that case, I wonder what he’d give you for a kiss.”
    Constance lowered her book and gaped at him. “Sol!”
    He grinned and moved out of reach as she tried to swat him with her book.
    “You’re so awful,” she muttered, pushing her frizzy blonde hair away from her pink face.
    Emily started coughing in the spare room, and they both stared at the door, their smiles gone. A few of the sleeping children fidgeted on the floor, beginning to wake.
    “She’s not improving, is she?” he asked.
    Constance shook her head. “No.”
    “I thought Mrs. Handley gave her something better.”
    “She did, but—­” Constance sighed. “Emily is worsening faster than the medicine can help her. Matron thinks it’s turning into pneumonia.”
    Solomon’s chest tightened and a chill stole through his blood. “But there’s medicine for it now, right? It’s not like it was.”
    “Maybe,” she said, shaking her head. “But if there is, we can’t afford it. Dr. Handley’s remedy is all we have.” She slumped in her chair. “I would hate to think how sick she might be if we didn’t have that.”
    “Is there nothing we can do for her?”
    Constance pursed her lips. “Pray?”
    “What use is praying? Prayers don’t work on sickness. We need medicine.”
    “Well what can we do?” asked Constance. “She’s getting worse, and Matron says the medicine she needs costs too much.”
    Solomon frowned. “How much?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
    He exhaled sharply. “I’m going to see Dr. Handley.” He crossed the living room to the coat rack and fetched his jacket and boots. He glanced at the clock over the mantel: a half hour before his shift started. He slid into his shoes. “I’m going to find out what Emily needs, and if I can’t afford it, I’ll work doubles until I can.”
    Constance followed him across the living room floor, wrapping her blanket more tightly around her shoulders. “Sol—­”
    “No. I’ve already lost one family to this.” His voice cracked. He grabbed his jacket from the rack. “I won’t lose Emily too.”
    Constance pressed her lips together and nodded, her eyes bright. “Don’t be late for work.”
    T he day was mild for December. Solomon crossed from Medlock to Andover and climbed the steps to the doctor’s house. He rapped his knuckles on the door and glanced down the hazy street. After a moment the door creaked open.
    The maid stood at the top of the steps. “Can I help—­” She stopped mid-­sentence and narrowed her eyes, lowering her voice to a whisper. “You shouldn’t be here.”
    “I’m sorry to bother you so early,” he said. “But I need to talk to Dr. Handley.”
    The maid quickly glanced over her shoulder and then bustled out, closing the door behind her. She towered over Solomon on the top step. “Listen here, lad—­Dr. Handley is in a mood and if he sees you