By Candlelight Alice falls ill next. My Alice. Father sends us out to work in the fields. “Can’t I stay?” I say, frightened. “Can’t I stay and help look after Alice?” “No!” says Father, too quickly. Then, “Isabel, please. Just go. Let me work out what we’re going to do.” We’re quiet as we walk down the track towards Three Oaks. I look around at the other people walking to work with us. So many people missing! It shocks me, whenever I look around. But surely all these people can’t be dead? Some of them are hiding – or running away – or staying at home to look after the sick? Please God, that’s why there are so few people coming to work today, surely? In the fields, people look at us and whisper, but no one comes near or asks where Father and Alice are. When we come home, the sheet and the blankets from our bed are in the barn. There are pots and cups in a pile, and the leg of smoked ham from the house, and two round cheeses. A bag of flour. A bucket.
