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crook of his elbow. “I’ll make certain Mr. Clemens follows
the order to the letter. He hates vacationers, but he’s always liked
Mother very much. We’ll get exactly what Charles needs.”
“Thank you,” Thomas said, reaching up to adjust his hat, then
his tie, then his collar. Cora felt a flush of something that felt sus-
piciously like pride. She had the power to fluster him with such a
simple action as her hand on his arm!
They walked like that to the town. The cool, dim interior of
the chemist’s shop was welcome after the heat of the afternoon.
She gave Mr. Clemens the instructions, and they watched as
he pulled out powders and liquids, muttering to himself as he
mixed several packets and a couple of glass vials. In a few minutes
he had everything together and helped Cora pack it all carefully
into her basket.
“How sick is he?” he asked, looking up through his bushy gray
eyebrows at Thomas.
Thomas cleared his throat, avoiding Cora’s concerned gaze.
“Getting better every day.”
“Hmm.” Mr. Clemens scowled doubtfully, then calculated the
cost and counted out Thomas’s change.
Cora fretted over the shift in Thomas’s demeanor. She knew
Charles was sick — very sick — and Mr. Clemens’s tone made her
think that it was not a sickness to be recovered from. They would
do all they could for him, but right now Cora worried more about
the older brother. It was not easy to be sick, surely, but it was also
not easy to be powerless to help those you loved.
“Does he need any of this right now?” she asked. “Because if it
can wait, I have been meaning to visit Miss Smith’s candy shop.
I can never go with Minnie because she spends all our pocket
change, but the candy dishes at the boardinghouse are getting low.
