Chapter 8: The Letter That Must Arrive

Alan Brooks took one look at Elena and pulled out his thermometer.

The village doctor had spent years traveling between remote farms before Pinehaven opened a small clinic. He had little equipment, but he knew infection when he saw it.

"One hundred and three degrees." He cleaned the wound beneath Elena's hair, his mouth tightening. "Another day without treatment and this could become dangerous."

He gave her an injection, counted out fever tablets, and told her to take two after each meal. Villagers usually settled their accounts after harvest, but Elena placed one of Agnes's bills on his desk.

Alan charged fifty cents and returned the rest.

Outside, Elena tucked the change into an inner pocket. A dollar and fifty cents was not much, but it was the first money she had controlled in years.

Her acceptance letter should arrive within days. Tuition would be covered if she entered the military program, yet she still needed travel fare, clothing, and supplies. Agnes would provide nothing. Grace's factory wages supported her own household, and Rose had three children and an unhappy marriage.

Elena remembered losing both sisters in her first life: one to an accident while searching for her, the other to illness and exhaustion. The memories hurt more sharply than her infected wound.

This time, education was not only an escape. It was the road to enough knowledge, standing, and money to protect them.

When Elena returned, the Ward family was eating beneath the persimmon tree. No one offered her a seat.

She greeted Agnes and turned toward her room.

"Stop." Agnes struck the table with her chopsticks. "Did you steal flour and eggs?"

The gate stood open. Neighbors were eating in nearby yards, close enough to hear if voices rose.

"I woke after a day without food," Elena said. "There were no leftovers, so I made noodles. Vanessa and Caleb receive eggs when they are ill. I assumed the same rule applied to me."

"Do not compare yourself to them," Agnes shouted. "You'll eat this family poor."

Elena glanced at Calvin. "Nineteen dollars arrives for my expenses every month. If a bowl of noodles will bankrupt the household, perhaps we should calculate where the rest goes."

Calvin's face hardened. That morning he had assured the village Elena was treated like his own child. If Agnes now admitted otherwise, every word he had spoken would become evidence against him.

Elena rested one hand on the gatepost.

She had the medicine, some money, and an audience.

Let Agnes choose the next mistake.