“And your mama? Did she suffer one?” Her gaze dropped to Mrs. Cholmley’s gray head. “Suffer what?” “A plague-token.” Would this woman never stop chattering? Amy’s fists clenched. “We don’t know. At the first sign of fever, she begged us to go to Paris and stay with Aunt Elizabeth.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I was in Paris. I don’t know what happened to her. I know only that she’s gone.” “Hard to believe a year has passed. It feels like yesterday they painted that red cross on my door. House after house marked for the quarantine and staffed with guards, all up and down the street. I
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