"Open your eyes, child—look at me!" Hernando's voice broke on the last word as his hand gripped her fingers hard. Evelynn focused on the smell of stale starch and boiled cabbage. She blinked once, then again. "She's moving," Gracie screamed. "Praise be—move more, Janie!" "Her fingers," Hernando said. "She squeezed. She squeezed my hand." "Evelynn?" She found her throat. Her voice came out thin, like a string about to snap. "Dad...Mom." Gracie's wail cut the room in half. She slapped Evelynn's cheek with the heel of her hand so hard the house seemed to jump. "Don't you ever—" Gracie's sentence broke into a sob. She covered her mouth, then slapped her own other cheek until the sound stopped her shaking. "She spoke!" A neighbor's voice from the doorway. "By Saint Ruth, she spoke!" "Let me see her face," Sabine Conrad said from the doorway. Her tone shut down three conversations at once. "Don't crowd." "Sabine." Hernando straightened. "She's awake." Sabine pushed inside like the rest of the room was weather. She looked at Evelynn, then at the thin bedclothes, then at Gracie's hands. "She looked gone this morning," a woman whispered. "Was cold. Eyes fixed." "Cold," Sabine repeated, like tasting the word. "Cold is not always death. Where's the doctor binding?" "Two miles and a bus that runs twice a week." Casey Arroyo's voice came from the corner. "We didn't have time." Evelynn opened