“I know. But, Bess, I keep on wondering … what if there was something else that Mama could have taken? Something that would have made her better, too?” Bess glared at Augusta with a feral intensity, as if she had crossed some invisible line. It was one thing to contemplate Irving’s illness and their great-aunt’s role in his recovery. But to suggest that their mother could have been saved so easily—to imply that her suffering might have been avoided if only they’d had the right powders or prayers—was an affront that Bess could not bear.
