The Sisters of Nowhere

t w e n t y - s e v e n : i l l

Birdie was sick.

She hadn't woken up in two days, besides opening her eyes to briefly mumble something about ghosts and trees and her desire for a giant chocolate fountain.

Rose Penny tended to her during the night and Marigold refused to leave her side during the day.

Ophelia wasn't of much use and she knew it, though she'd bring Birdie fresh cool washcloths and brush her hair. However, she distracted herself by getting everything ready for the play.

She told herself that Birdie would like to see it once she got better.

After eclipse rituals, Birdie would usually feel under the weather after expending all of her energy.

This was different. This came with a fever and chills and labored breathing. And it had been two days without any signs of change.

Rose didn't seem extremely worried, but then again, Marigold had told her that they'd just been playing in the rain the day before. And Rose had been trained to never be worried. But Marigold had seen her praying beside Birdie's bed every night, her hands clasped ever so tightly together.

Marigold had left all other projects abandoned.

Somehow she felt as if this were her fault.

If they hadn't summoned the forest, Birdie wouldn't be sick. But then again, what would Silas have done if they hadn't? Or the ghosts, for that matter?

The ghosts still weren't appearing in the clearing--or, rather, Gwydyr--and Marigold was beginning to worry that they were gone for good. She'd heard the talk in town--people questioning where all the ghosts had gone.

Now, as Marigold sat in the chair beside the bed, the Austen novel she'd been reading out loud left forgotten in her lap, she looked at Birdie's pale face.

She seemed to be resting, though her lips had the strangest tint of blue to them.

Their encounter with the forest seemed so long ago, half-forgotten by the events of the past days.

Marigold couldn't forget the calm clarity it had brought her, though. She tried to cling to it even when she wasn't in the forest.

A soft knock came at the door.

"Come in," Marigold said.

Wyatt appeared through the doorway, looking out of place. Or rather, like he felt out of place.

He crossed his arms, then uncrossed them, before finally putting his hands in his pockets.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

Marigold gave a half- smile. "I just said you could."

"Oh. Right." Wyatt moseyed inside, hooking his thumbs in his suspenders. "How is she?"

Marigold looked back at her sister with a deep sigh. "It took too much out of her. She'll be alright, Mama says, but she might be a little feeble for a while."

Wyatt frowned at this. The same thing had happened to his mother. After contracting pneumonia in Holland, she was never the same. Always sick. Always in bed.

But Wyatt considered Birdie to be a fighter, unlike his mother, who gave up on everything too quickly. He couldn't imagine a sickness keeping her confined for too long. "Feeble" did not describe Birdie Penny.