1785. Waiting. Knitting.

Bethany and Lawrence stayed at home to avoid catching (or spreading) the rampant virus. They had enough to survive on. Would one of them suddenly take ill? Had they already picked up the virus and as yet it hadn’t showed? Were they in fact virus-free? Was a virus-filled droplet sitting on the store-bought egg carton awaiting a victim?

The fear was in the waiting. Waiting. Waiting for something that may or may not happen.

And then Lawrence felt a slight tickle in the throat. Was this the virus? Would it get worse?

Bethany began to knit her fourth scarf in a week. She couldn’t concentrate for long enough to knit anything more complicated.

The wait continued.