Mr. Carris blew his nose loudly. “The president retires to Virginia for a respite every September. He is not a man to change his habits. Even if he called the Congress back, few would dare return. I tell you, William, men who stood unafraid before British cannon run in fear from this foul pestilence. I fear for Philadelphia. I fear for the people, I fear for myself.” Grandfather did not say a word as we walked home. I silently counted on my fingers: twenty-eight days until the end of September, then on into October until the first frost. Frost always killed fever. Mr. Carris said it drained the poison from the air. The Ludingtons’ were sounding better. Slopping pigs couldn’t be that much harder than serving in the front room, and it would be better than falling ill or dying. I’d be there over harvest. They would make me work in the fields and feed me bread and water. But I wouldn’t get sick.

Grandfather stayed silent until we approached a limping man dressed in dark rags, pushing a cart.

“Wonder where that fellow’s going?” he said. “Looks like he belongs on the waterfront.”

A thin white arm flopped over the side of the cart as it jostled over the cobblestones.

“Hullo there, good man!” called Grandfather. “There is no place for the dead up here. Hullo!”

The man ignored us and pressed on steadily.

“Perhaps he is transporting a poor woman to Rickett’s Circus, like Mr. Carris said,” I suggested.

“She should be moved at night, when good people are safe in their beds. Now what is he doing?”

The man had stopped at the corner of High and Seventh, in front of our coffeehouse.

Grandfather sped up. “Sir, I protest most vehemently!”

I lifted my skirts and ran ahead of Grandfather. An unnamed fear shot through me. My eyes filled with tears.

“No, this is too much,” Grandfather called angrily. “Sir,” he shouted. “Take that away from my home. Off with you now and take your cargo, or I should call the constable.”

The man turned back and looked at Grandfather, then lifted the handles of the wheelbarrow and dumped the woman on the street.

“Mother!” I screamed.

Reprinted with the permission of Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers, an imprint of Simon & Schuster Children's Publishing Division from FEVER 1793 by Laurie Halse Anderson. Text copyright © Laurie Halse Anderson.