“Just what I told you.” She thought a moment. “Maybe the dead can only speak of the dead. I mean, maybe Nancy’s powers are limited.” “You’re looking green, Rose.”

“Just feeling a little queasy. Mom’s supposed to be bringing me chicken soup in a minute.” “That’ll cure you. I’ll go see if it’s ready.” He went to call down the stairs but Mom was just coming up.

Rose left the newspaper on the bed, and Mom made a show of ignoring it as she put the tray down on Rose’s knees.

“I could come down to supper,” Rose said.

“You’ve got a stubborn streak,” Mom said, not unkindly. “I can’t imagine where you got it.” It was her way of lightening it up, making a joke, because everyone knew Dad always called Mom stubborn herself.

Jerram went downstairs to eat. It was only when Rose was contentedly slurping hot chicken broth and crunching toast that she realized she’d never gotten back to Jerram’s secrets. They’d only talked about Rose and Daniel and the murders. She was sure Jerram had fixed it that way, as if he didn’t want to be asked questions.

She got sick of being sick and coddled and protected. The next morning she wobbled downstairs, fully dressed and determined to go to school. Mom tried to dissuade her, but Dad and Jerram were on her side. Dad said part of growing up was to learn your limitations, and you couldn’t find out what they were unless you gave yourself a try. Jerram said he’d keep an eye out and rush her to the school nurse at the first sign of trouble. Mom relented and Rose went off, fortified with herb tea liberally laced with honey and a piece of dry toast in her stomach. As she stepped outside, the air was like a cold slap in the face. She flinched and forced in a breath, remembering Dad’s speech on limitations.

“I hope you didn’t mean that,” she said to Jerram, trying not to shiver. “About watching me all day.”

“Probably not,” he admitted. “But do me a favor and promise you’ll take yourself to the nurse if you feel a relapse coming on. I don’t want to damage my reputation as steadfast older brother.”

“Older by five minutes!”

“I got here first, doesn’t matter by how much.”

The bus lumbered to a stop, its tires crunching the light crust of newly fallen snow. The door opened with a pneumatic hiss. “Age before beauty,” Rose said and waved Jerram up the steps first.

There was no need for worry. Grace took over as nursemaid, guiding Rose by the elbow from class to class, keeping everybody else at bay. After feeling unpleasantly cold on the bus Rose felt horribly hot in school.

“You could go home, you know,” Grace said. “You look awful.”

“Thanks.”