Camilla stood at the doorway of Jamie’s room with a breakfast tray, bringing with her the smell of sausage and eggs and Portia’s biscuits. She walked in, noting the fading yellowish cast of her brother’s face and the slight droop of his eyelids. The entire family was concerned that after a week he hadn’t completely rebounded from the fever. He spent most of the day in his bed looking out the window.Still, Jamie was home, and he would recover. They were lucky he was alive. She touched the locket at her throat.Jamie brightened as he looked up from his book. “My appetite must be coming back. That smells wonderful.”“Oh, good!” Camilla beamed at him. He had eaten but little since Horace and Willie had half carried him up the stairs. Gabriel said hunger was a good sign.She set the tray across his lap and pulled a ladder-backed chair close to the bed. The room, from curtains to furniture, was designed on Spartan lines. Navy checks on the bed and at the windows, simple braided rugs on the floors, plain pine dresser and armoire, and uncushioned wooden chairs.
