“She’s right, Miz Porter,” Cinnamon spoke up. “You got to let your friends he’p you while they can.” Her eyes lingered on Dana’s face.

Dana locked eyes with Cinnamon. She felt fear frothing up, cold and hard in her chest. She felt…sensed…that the Creole woman was saying more than one thing…one thing to Bette, another to herself. But what? Cinnamon’s gaze held her, eyes misting, and something, some image, some bone deep sorrow swept through them both. She heard Cinnamon’s voice in her head. Let it go for now, girl. Just live every day, true to your heart’s desires. Dana’s eyes glazed for a moment, then cleared. What? What was she thinking? She couldn’t remember. Something…something important…but what? She shook it off and turned her attention to Bette’s knee.

Alice looked from Dana to Cinnamon and back again, wondering what had passed between them in that long look. In years to come, she would look back on this night, this moment, and wonder…did Dana know, in that minute, that the shadow of death was already upon her? And did Cinnamon then make her forget, so she could live her remaining months with some joy and happiness?

“I got somethin’ that can prob’ly he’p us both,” Cinnamon continued, as if nothing had happened between her and Dana. “Helena, can you heat some water?”

“Yeh,” Helena nodded. “I have a gas stove. What do you need me to do?”

Cinnamon pulled a small cloth bag out of her pack, and rummaged inside, coming up with two small plastic bags.

“AL-RIGHT!” Alice whooped.

Cinnamon grinned and shook her head. “ ‘fraid not, Miz Alice, this ain’t reefer. Jus’ some medicine herbs and some tea.” She handed the larger bag to Helena. “Boil up some water, put this in, and let it steep for ‘bout 10 minutes. We can use it to clean out Bette’s knee and my legs, then compresses to take the swellin’ down.”

She handed the second, smaller bag over. “Now just a teaspoon of this in a cup to make some tea for Miz Porter. Add some honey if you got it, or sugar. It’s a mite bitter. It’ll he’p ease the pain a bit.”