Penny looked at him.
“Then nothing changes.”
He nodded slowly.
She did not realize then how much that sentence frightened him.
Nothing changes.
Meaning seven graves remained his future.
Penny began requesting records the next morning.
Her father helped reluctantly.
“You're poking a very old wound.”
“Old wounds can still be infected.”
Samuel sighed.
“You sound like your mother.”
“Thank you.”
“It was not entirely praise.”
The county medical records were scattered.
Some in Samuel’s office.
Some from his predecessor, Dr. Joseph Quill.
Some at the church.
Some almost unreadable.
Penny gathered everything.
Agnes Frost.
Married April 1865.
Dead August.
Fever.
Symptoms:
Headache.
Vomiting.
Weakness.
Blue discoloration along gums.
Margaret Frost.
Married March 1868.
Dead July.
Cardiac failure.
Before death:
Abdominal pain.
Confusion.
Muscle weakness.
Dark gum line.
Louise Frost.
Killed after lightning struck a tree nearby.
But three weeks earlier:
Severe headaches.
Tremors.
Difficulty sleeping.
Helen Frost.
Fatal fall.
Two weeks of confusion.
Loss of coordination.
Rose Frost.
Winter illness.
Weakness.
Abdominal cramping.
Discolored gums.
Mary Frost.
Died after childbirth.
But prenatal notes included recurring headache, weakness, and numb fingers.
Abigail Frost.
Avalanche.
No medical examination before death.
But a letter to her sister described headaches so severe she sometimes saw “bright flashes.”
Penny laid seven records across the table.
Samuel stood behind her.
“What are you thinking?”
“Lead.”
He frowned.
“From where?”
“Water.”
“Cookware.”
“Medicine.”
“Maybe arsenic from mining runoff.”
Samuel pulled a chair closer.
“What does Frost drink?”
“Water.”
“I imagine.”
“Where from?”
Penny looked at him.
“We need the cabin.”
Samuel immediately shook his head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“You aren't going alone.”
“I didn't say alone.”
“Good.”
“Because I’m taking him.”
Samuel stared.
“He can barely walk.”
“Not today.”
“When?”
“When he can.”
Her father looked toward the records.
“You believe this.”
“Yes.”
Samuel touched Agnes’s file.
“Joseph Quill wrote these notes.”
“Good doctor.”
“Usually.”
Penny looked toward him.
“He missed it.”
“Maybe.”
Samuel sighed.
“We all miss things.”
That sentence stayed with Penny.
Declan left the surgery after three weeks.
Leg still splinted.
Penny expected him to return directly home.
Instead, he rented a room above the livery because snow made the mountain trail dangerous.