Chapter Text
He's very cold. That's all he can remember: cold, snow, the icicles hanging off the edge of the roof and shining in the moonlight. He can't remember if there was anything before the cold. Seems like it's been cold forever and ever.
Mama sits on the edge of his bed and he can't help but make a little noise, even though he's been trying real hard not to. Ever since that man came, the one who smelled funny and poked him all over and looked in his ears and his mouth. Mama cried after he left, and that made Heath cry, too, because Mama hardly ever cries, almost never. Hannah neither. Seeing 'em cry makes Heath feel all funny inside, almost as funny as he's felt since it got so cold.
But now Mama isn't crying, but touching his face, her smile all warm and familiar, and he wants to tell her how pretty she is and ask her if maybe it's not gonna be so cold tomorrow, but he can't. His throat hurts, and it's so hard to breathe.
"Feelin' all right, starlight?" she whispers, and he nods even though he doesn't. He's been sick since it got cold, and that means forever.
"I got you some soup here to eat. Feel like you could eat a bite? For me?"
He can't, it won't go down, his neck's swole as big as anything and won't nothing go down.
Mama's eyes shine like the moon on the ice, bright as day, and she kisses his forehead tenderly.
"Oughter write his pappy," Hannah says from her seat at the table. "Girl, you know you oughter. Ain't got no money what to pay that doctor."
Mama's still stroking his forehead, her smile gentle. "Can't anyone get here right now anyways. Who'd deliver the letter?"
"Tell him his boy here got the bullneck. See what he say."
Mama shakes her head slowly. "Time he gets it, snow'll be gone."
Hannah doesn't say anything else.
Heath closes his eyes.
"Can't do this for free. I just want you to know that."
His mama nods. "Not expectin' that," she tells the man. "Just want you to help my boy here."
Heath shrinks away when the doctor-man sits on the bed. Heath can't smell him no more, but he doesn't like the man's dirty hands, nor his black eyes.
"Open your mouth, boy, lemme take a look."
It hurts to open his mouth, hurts his throat and his neck, and he starts to cry while the doctor-man grasps his jaw and pulls it wider. "Gotta be taken out," he says. His thumb presses behind Heath's teeth. "Nothin' else for it. Gonna need you, and the colored woman, too."
His mama sits behind him on the bed and holds tight, and Hannah grabs his wrists and won't let go while the doctor-man gets something out of his bag. It's shiny metal, and Heath thinks it looks like the thing John Farmer used last spring, the thing that made that colt squeal like he did. Heath draws back and shakes his head, and the doctor holds his face with one big hand, fingers hurting his skin, and sticks the metal thing inside Heath's mouth.
It hurts, hurts so bad, and Heath screeches and then there's blood all over him and Hannah and the doctor-man. Something's attached to the metal thing, something gray and limp, and Heath coughs and sicks up on himself, trying to scream because of the blood and all.
"Might get better now," the doctor-man says, and sticks the metal thing back in the bag. "Can't never say for sure."
"Thank you, sir," Mama says softly while she wipes Heath's mouth. "Sure do appreciate it."
He can't breathe. Every time he tries it's like sucking air through a pinhole. He doesn't feel like moving, or eating, or even smiling when Hannah sings him his favoritest hymn. It hurts so bad to swallow that he can't make himself do it.
Nobody goes to bed that night. He thinks it's a little strange, but he doesn't mind it; Mama sits by his bed, reads him Bible verses and then tells him stories. He's too tired and hot and hurting to care what the stories are, but he likes the sound of her voice, and the cool cloth she uses to wipe his forehead and his mouth.
But finally Mama runs out of stories. She climbs on the bed with him, and it hurts when she moves him, but he doesn't mind it neither, because her arms are tight around him, and that feels good. Hannah sits rocking by the fire, her apron over her face. He can't quite hear what she's saying.
"Now just you sleep now, starlight," Mama whispers to him, her lips next to his ear. "And when you wake up, all the snow's gonna be gone. You know that? Sun's gonna be shining and the birds singing so pretty. Don't that sound good?"
He tries to nod, but his neck won't let him. Mama's crying. It scares him, like before. But he can't turn around and wipe away her tears.
"Dear Jesus," Hannah moans from the fireplace. "Oh Lord, save dat precious boy. He's a good boy, don' take him from his mama jus' yet, praise Jesus."
Mama whispers, "I love you, Heath Thomson. I love you so much, starlight boy."
He thinks, I hear them icicles drippin' on the porch, it's spring now, so nice and warm, and he goes to sleep.