He was sitting in front of the house, staring up at the sky through the slender branches waving in the wind, when his day became a lot more interesting. Several people came down the path from the road, moving in haste. It only took him a second to recognize them. It was Tracy and Joseph Tanner, who lived in the village.
The young couple was a relatively new addition to Barrowden, having moved there only four years ago. Erisa had delivered their first child, a boy named Joey, only two years past. Joseph was carrying their young son in his arms as they hurried toward Will’s house.
“Where’s your mother?” called Tracy as soon as she saw Will, a tone of desperate urgency in her voice.
Will jumped to his feet. “She’s at the Taylors’, delivering a baby. What’s wrong?”
“It’s Joey,” answered the young mother. “He’s got a boil on his leg.”
“We wasted our time,” said Joseph, giving his wife an angry glance. “It’s a half day’s walk to the Taylor house.”
Will had relaxed slightly when he heard the word ‘boil.’ At first, their faces had made him fear it was something more serious.
“Do you have anything that might help?” asked Tracy, ignoring her husband’s complaint.
“You’ll need a fresh poultice to draw it out,” Will informed her. “But I know how to make one. Bring him in the house and I’ll do what I can.”
The father glared at him. “He’s just a boy. We should go home. He’ll only make it worse.”
“It can’t get much worse, Joseph,” declared Tracy. “Everyone trusts Erisa. Her son must at least know a little about these things.”
Will didn’t like the sound of that, but he opened the door and ushered them in, directing them to place their son on the small bed he called his own. When Tracy drew back the blanket to show him the small boy’s leg, he almost hissed in alarm.
That’s no boil, he realized. It’s a septic wound. There was a large, puss-filled abscess on the child’s thigh, surrounded by red and inflamed tissue. Tentatively he pressed on it, noting the thick, yellow fluid that oozed out at the slight pressure. Red streaks ran up and down the boy’s leg.
“When did it start?” he asked, trying to hide the tremor in his voice.
“Two days ago,” answered the boy’s mother. “He came in after playing and had a small scratch. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but it’s gotten steadily worse.”
Will was hardly an expert, but he knew enough to know the boy’s chances were poor. Putting one hand against Joey’s forehead, he noted the heat there. He already has a fever. This is bad. Short of removing the boy’s leg, Will didn’t know of anything that would help once a wound had turned septic. Poultices were nearly useless once the sickness had moved into the blood.
He was also afraid of how Joseph Tanner would react if he told them the truth.
Joseph grew impatient waiting on him. “Can you do anything or not?”
Squaring his shoulders, Will decided to be honest up front. If the boy’s father lost his temper, it wasn’t really his fault, and if he gave the man false hope, it would be much worse later. “I won’t lie. I think it’s bad. I can make a poultice for the wound and try to bring down his fever with some tea, but the wound has sickened. My mother has more knowledge than I do, but I think it might be too late, even for her.” He kept his eyes firmly on Joseph’s as he spoke, then bowed his head respectfully when he had finished.
Before Joseph could reply, his wife put her hand on his arm. “Don’t be angry with the boy. It isn’t his fault. Maybe we can take Joey to the Taylors’…”
Her husband let out a long, pent-up breath. “No. That would take too long, and most of her medicines are here.” Then he put his hand on Will’s shoulder. “Thank you for being truthful. Do what you can and I won’t blame you. The fault lies on me. I should have brought him yesterday.” Looking back at Tracy, he added, “I’ll go to the Taylors; and see if Erisa can come back sooner. You stay here with Will and see if he can help Joey in the meantime.”
The man left soon after that, leaving Will alone with Tracy and her sick son, but he felt as if he were alone, and the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders.
Going to the back of the house, Will soon returned with a small packet of willow bark, which he handed to Tracy. “Can you make a tea while I work on the poultice? This should help with the fever. I’ll do something about his leg.”
But what? he thought to himself, fighting to suppress a feeling of panic. He went back to the storeroom and looked at the dried herbs hanging in bundles there. Compared to what they had been like when freshly cut, they felt dead and nearly useless to him. In his strange way, he could sense that they retained some of their properties, but not the ones needed to cleanse a wound such as the one he had just seen.
He returned to the boy and studied the wound, trying to capture the feeling he got sometimes when harvesting and inspecting fresh herbs. The exercise left him frustrated, like trying to draw a picture of something without being allowed to look directly at it, but he felt as though he had learned something, even if he couldn’t describe it. Then he went outside. He needed something fresh.
A quick perusal of the garden told him what he already knew. None of the plants were ready. He was about to give up and go back inside when his eyes fell on the lilac bush growing by the corner of the house. His mother kept it mainly for ornamental purposes, but he knew the leaves could be used for rashes. Moving closer, he examined it closely. What he found seemed promising. He ripped off several large handfuls of leaves, and as he did, he saw a large, green garden spider hanging in its web just under the eaves of the house.
The web seemed to sparkle, pulling at him, and an idea occurred to him then.
When he returned to the house, Tracy already had the kettle close to boiling, so he borrowed some of the water to scald and clean the lilac leaves before putting them in a mortar to crush. Then he used a little more to clean a sharp knife his mother used to harvest particularly delicate plants. Tracy watched him worriedly while brewing the willow tea.
“What’s the knife for?” she asked.
Will had been trying not to think about that, but he answered anyway, “We have to clean the wound out first. Otherwise it won’t matter what else we do.”
Her jaw firmed. “You’re not cutting my son.”
Will’s own fear and uncertainty turned to anger as he replied, “Fine. We’ll wait for Mom. If she leaves as soon as your husband gets there, they’ll be back by midnight. She’ll tell you the same thing, but it will be too late by then.”
Tracy Tanner chewed her lip nervously. “Are you sure?”
No, thought Will. I’m not sure of anything. He nodded confidently instead. “I don’t know if we can save him, but I know if we don’t clean it out he will die for sure.” I can’t believe I just said that!
Something about his attitude convinced her, and ten minutes later they were sitting by the bedside where Joey lay. They had already coaxed him into drinking some of the bitter willow tea, though not as much as Will thought he needed.
Will took up the knife. “Try to keep him still. I’ll make a small cut. After that, you pour some of the water over it.”