I laid in bed--ill--most likely from secretly indulging myself in too many half-ripened brierberries. That might have had something to do with it. Ma said it was a fever; I knew better than to argue with her. Remedies for berries were treated harsher than a fever. Ma had observed my shaking, and had felt my forehead with the back of her hand. She proclaimed I had the fever and chills, and directed me straight to my bed. I didn’t remark anything back to her.
She came back in a little later, with a steaming cup of something she mysteriously brewed. For two days she gave me lemon-leaf tea, a great satisfaction in smell and taste. I worried that she would figure out it had been a possible berry and give me tonics or a blood purifier made from Queen’s Delight; I couldn’t stand either. She complained, “If your Pa’d only plant me a root o’ fever grass, I could get both o’ you well o’ the fever in no time. ’Tain’t decent, not havin’ fever-grass in the yard.” “What you got in the cup, Ma?” I asked suspiciously. “None o’ your business. Open your mouth.” “I got the right to know,” I demanded, “Supposin’ you kilt me and I never knowed the what medicine you give me.” “Hit’s mullein tea, if you got to know. Hit come to me, could be you was comin’ down with measles.” I looked at her, she must have been the craziest person in the world. “’Tain’t measles, Ma.” “How do you know? You ain’t never had ‘em. Open your mouth. If ‘tain’t measles, this here won’t hurt you. If ’tis measles, hit’ll bring out the rash.” I thought bringing out the rash would be tempting, so I opened my mouth. My Ma pulled me by the hair and shoved half a cupful down my throat. I tried spitting and fighting. It didn’t end well, being hung by my hair and all. I told her I wouldn’t take anymore, and she threatened that I would die and the rash would never break out. I opened my mouth again, reluctantly, and drank the rest of the tea. It definitely wasn’t her worst concoction, even if it was bitter. I guess it was sorta funny. Ma going insane, trying to figure out what ailed me. Except, I felt bad for Pa, slaving the day away, doing my chores along with his own. Feeling overwhelmed with guilt, I felt that I should’ve told Ma. But I was happy I didn’t later because the truth would've incurred an even worse cure to swallow.
When the sweat broke from the tea Ma gave me, she said I was fine. I started feeling better and went out to see Pa. I told him I didn’t think nothin’ was ailing me but a belly of under ripe brierberries. He said, “That’s about what I figgered. I never said nothin’ to your Ma, for she’s death on a belly-full of green brierberries.” Good thing I didn’t tell her then, huh?
