Something is wrong with young Egelric

“Ma,” Wynna said softly.

Gunnilda opened her eyes and looked over at her daughter. Had she slept so long already?

“Ma, I know I’m not s’posed to bother you ’cause you’re resting, but I guess maybe there is something wrong with Wick.”

“With Wick?” Gunnilda sat up.

“He’s just that quiet, and he’s redder than Beddy even though he’s not running around and Beddy is.”

Gunnilda followed Wynna back into her room, where the boys were playing. Bedwig squealed and went to hide under Wynna’s bed when they came in, but young Egelric only sat on the floor and looked up at them morosely with his wide blue eyes.

“How is my poor baby boy?” she murmured and scooped him up.

His little face was flushed and hot, and his fine blond hair clung to his damp forehead. “I guess I’m tired,” he sighed and laid his head against her neck.

“I guess you are, my poor man. Wynn,” she began, meaning to give her daughter her orders. But she could not think of what to ask her to do. She could not send for Githa. She could not send for anyone, really – nearly every household had a sick child. There was no reason for her to believe that hers would be spared.

And yet she had believed it.

“What, Mama?” Wynna asked after a while. Wynna only called her Mama when she was afraid.

“Wynn, do you know where your Da was going today?”

“I guess he was going to the smith with the mare to get her shod and then go out to the mill to see about them hams the miller wanted. I guess he hasn’t come back yet.”

“Well then, I guess you and me have to take care of this boy ourselves, my girl, and I can just take my rest another time.”

“If you just tell me what to do, I can do it myself, Mama,” Wynna said. “I guess you don’t look so good either.”

“Oh, I guess I’m just tired.”

“That’s what Wick just said.”

“That’s so, but I guess Wick isn’t carrying a baby, is he now?”

“I hope not!” Wynna said.

“Me too!” Gunnilda laughed wearily. “Lord preserve us!”