“Can you move away?” I said to Esther, who stayed where she was, frowning. “Please, let me see her leg.”

“Ellie, she’s fine,” Esther said. “Look at her.”

“Are you fine?” I said.

“I don’t know,” Cate said. “Perhaps not as fine as I look.”

“She has a fever again,” I said, pushing Esther aside. I drew the blanket down and worked open the knots holding the bandages in place.

The cloth, inside where it was knotted, was still damp.

“Bone-dry,” I said. “These should have been bone-dry.”

“Why?” Esther snapped. “What does it matter?”

“What happens to a bedsheet left wet?”

She grew still. “It molders.”

When I pulled the bandages away, Cate’s wound gaped open like a little swamp, just as green and foul.

“Oh dear Lord,” Esther said, her hand over her mouth. She stepped back from the bed so suddenly that she nearly tripped over a chair.

And I rushed to the shelf of jars, searching for the one that held the maggots, but when I found it and carried it to the fire I could see only a cluster of cocoons inside. Flies inside those, waiting to emerge.

“No grubs,” I said.

I handed the jar to Esther, who nearly dropped it.

I went back to kneel by Cate’s bed.

“Is it so bad?” she said, craning her neck to look down along her body.

“It is. I don’t know how, so quickly, but it is.”

“The germ was still there,” she said. “The honey was working, but the germ was still there.” She closed her eyes.

“So what do we do?” I asked, trying to keep my face calm.

“Perhaps you need to cut all that part away,” she said, swallowing hard. “If you think you can do that.”

“Cut it away?” I tried to picture that. “But I was on my way for honey when I stopped here. I’ll go for it now, straightaway. Before we try anything else.”

She gave me a sad look. “I’m sorry I wrecked what you and Larkin did. Bathing like that. Falling like that.” She turned to Esther. “You didn’t do this, child. Wet bandages didn’t do this.”

“I’m still sorry,” Esther whispered. She stood away from us, her hands tucked under her chin.

For the first time I noticed that her hair was untidy, her face tired. I imagined her sleeping on the floor, getting up to tend the fire, afraid of whatever was beyond the cabin door.

“She’s right,” I said. “You’re not a fisher cat, Esther. You didn’t do this.”

I turned back to Cate. “So will we try honey again?” I hated the thought of cutting her. I hated the thought of being the one to do that, though I would if I had to.

She sighed. “I wouldn’t mind that, if the bees can spare some.”

“Not a doctor?”