2 March 1691, Wednesday
Tis nearly midnight. Lizzie and I arrived home but an hour ago. Such a day it has been. Lizzie is in a state of nervous worry, and she shudders even in her sleep. She blames herself for Mary’s worsening condition and it pains me because I know tis not Lizzie’s fault. I was there at Silas’ whilst she tended the girl. I have never seen such care as Lizzie gave to Mary. Lizzie kept a cool, wet rag on Mary’s feverish forehead, fed her whatever broth she would swallow, covered her with more quilts, and kept the fire hot. Lizzie spoke soothingly, sitting on the bed beside her sister, telling stories from England.
“Do you recall the one about the two sisters?” Lizzie asked as she swept dark, matted hair from Mary’s eyes. Mary shook her head. “Well,” Lizzie said, “once th
