"Skit? What are you doing here?" I whispered, knowing full well that boys were stricktly forbidden to set even a foot inside the girls' bunkroom.

"I'm going ta visit Dad. Do ya want ta come with me?" he asked softly.

I nodded, sitting up, with my blanket still wrapped tightly around me. "I'll go get dressed. Get out of here before you're caught!"

His bare feet made no sound as he tiptoed out of the bunkroom and back into the boys' room. I shivered, sniffling, and picked up my folded dress, changing out of my nightclothes and into it. I brushed and braided my hair, and made my way out of the room and down the hall to the washroom to wash my face and brush my teeth.

When I was through, I snuck back out and met Skittery at the top of the stairs. "Ya ready?" he asked. I nodded. "Then we're off."

The two of us silently descended the stairs and went outside. It was freezing, thanks to the rain that had fallen the day before. I coughed and linked arms with Skittery in an attempt to keep warm.

"Ya think you'll be all right? Or should I take ya back?" he asked with concern.

Shaking my head, I answered, "No, I'm fine."

"Sure?"

I nodded, walking as near to him as was proper without drawing questioning stares from passersby. "How long does it take to get to the sanitorium?"

"Three hours walkin'," Skittery answered. "Tha's why I got ya up so early."

I groaned. It was so cold. Nevertheless, I continued walking with Skittery; I cared more about being with him than about whether or not I would come down with a cold or a chill because of it.

"Ya said ya'd tell me about dinner with Coaldust," Skittery hinted.

"Oh, that," I sighed.

"Ya said ya din't have a good time."

"No. See...he's nice and he's good-looking, but...I don't know, I just don't feel right, like I'm leading him on. And when I accepted the dinner invitation last night...it felt like I was betraying someone. I don't know, maybe I'm wrong, maybe..." I shook my head. "I shouldn't be discussing this with you! I've not even known you for a month!"

"You're right. It was daft of me ta ask," Skittery said, embarassed.

"No, it's just that...I don't know. Should we speak of such things? I always feel as though I'm losing someone's respect no matter what I do."

"You're not losin' mine," Skittery said. "Anyway, it ain't like anyone else is listenin'. It's jus' me. An' ya know I won't do ya any harm. But if ya don' feel like talkin' about it any more, don't. I won't make ya."

I smiled up at him. "Well...what do you think of what I told you so far? Since I said it already, I might as well hear what you've got to say about it."

"Well...it sounds ta me like ya know what ya want, an' ya don' want ta be with Coaldust. You're a very kind- hearted lass, though, ta be concerned fer his feelin's. You're right, though, don' lead him on. Th' next time he asks ya to dinner or such like, be honest and turn down the invitation. Do ya see what I'm sayin'?"

I nodded. "Thank you for not thinking me a fool."

He laughed. I finally gave way and laughed with him. This led to a short coughing fit.

Skittery placed a hand on my back. "Hannah, we should go back."

"No, no, I'm all right," I answered, brushing my hair out of my face. "I'll be fine, I promise."

He stared into my eyes for a moment. "All right. Come on, we're almost there."

After several more minutes, we reached a large, secluded building. Everything was white. The window frames, the doors, the shutters - everything. There was a feeling of sadness that came with just a simple glance at the place; most people who went in weren't destined to come back out again. I took a deep breath as Skittery took my hand, leading me inside. The smell of sickness and death pervaded, and I shivered; not from being chilled, but from the feeling the whole building gave me.

A nun dressed in complete white met us just inside the doorway. "Good morning, S�amas."

"Good mornin', Sister Margaret. This is my good friend, Hannah Setton."

Sister Margaret smiled warmly at me. I returned the smile. The nun seemed a warm presence in the gloom of this atmosphere.

"How's Dad?" Skittery asked.

The Sister's face grew cloudy, her expression becoming difficult to read. "Worse," she replied. "He can barely get a breath, what with all that coughing."

"Not long, then?" he asked distantly. She shook her head sadly.

"Have ya begun arranging..." Skittery began to ask. He didn't finish the question, but Sister Margaret knew how to answer.

"Yes. Everything is in order."

Skittery nodded. Trying to put on a pleasant expression, he turned to me. "Are ya sure ya want ta meet 'im? It may be too hard on ya."

I nodded, squeezing his hand. "We're ready ta see 'im, then, Sister," Skittery said.

Nodding, she led us down the hall and into a very small room. A man lay in the single bed, coughing hard, pale and sickly. "Sis-" he tried to call through coughs.

"Oh, my gracious, Mr. O'Reilly, let me-" Sister Margaret started to say as she hurried to the bedside, picking up a bucket and held it under his chin. He coughed out a large amount of fleghm. My stomach churned, and I turned my head. I felt Skittery's hand on my shoulder.

Looking up at him, I saw that his expression was grave as he looked down at me. He forced a smile and led me closer to his father's bedside when Sister Margaret put the bucket down and left the room.

"Top o' th' mornin', Dad," Skittery said, as cheerfully as possible.

His father looked up at him, his eyes bloodshot and his face red from coughing. There were beads of sweat all over his forehead. "S�amas," he choked out, trying to smile, but heading back into a coughing fit.

Skittery closed his eyes tightly until his father's cough subsided. I finally got a good look at his father. He was deathly pale; every bone in his body showed through his sweat-soaked hospital gown. I noticed that Skittery had his father's eyes, hair, and many of the same facial features.

"This is my friend Hannah Setton, Dad," Skittery said, wrapping his arm around me.

His father forced a painful smile. "She's a right bonny lass, that she is," he whispered. Skittery grinned, looking down at me and whispering, "He got out a whole sentence just fer you, Hannah."

My eyes filled with tears. If only I had known this man before he was taken with sickness! He seems like a wonderful person.

"How've they been treatin' ya, Dad?" Skittery asked, trying to keep a saddening silence from falling over the small white room.

"Good," he answered, holding a rag to his mouth and coughing some more. When he drew the rag away, it was bright with blood. I winced, and Skittery's grip around me tightened comfortingly.

Skittery lightened the mood. "When they first put 'im in here, he got into trouble fer flirtin' with th' nuns."

I grinned. "Is that so?"

Mr. O'Reilly nodded. "'Tis, 'tis," he whispered, a smile playing on his lips. "Are...ya...sailin'?" his father managed to ask.

Skittery shook his head. "No, Dad, I'm through with that. I have enough money fer ya to stay 'ere forever. Y'know I met Hannah on the last voyage?"

His father tried to smile again, but was overtaken by the same wracking cough. He made a motion with his hand, and Skittery picked up the bucket and held it under his father's chin. I closed my eyes until I heard the cough subside and the tap of the bucket being set down on the cold floor.

Skittery bent down to embrace his father. "We mus' be goin'. Love ya, Dad," he whispered.

My eyes brimmed once again with tears as I bid farewell to his father. "Goodbye, Mr. O'Reilly."

"You'll...back?" he choked out. Skittery nodded. "Yes, Dad, I'll be back in a few days."

Shaking his head, his father pointed at me, as if to say, "I was asking her." I nodded, a tear rolling down my cheek. "I'll come back, Mr. O'Reilly."

He smiled weakly as Skittery and I left the room, our arms around one another. The tears flowed freely now. "I'm sorry, Hannah. I shouldn't have asked ya ta come here. It's only grief to ya," Skittery said softly, sadness clouding his voice.

"No, Skit. I wanted to come today, and I'll come here again. It's just..." I couldn't finish my sentence as I sobbed, my face buried in his shoulder. He stroked my hair, trying to console me. Trying to dry my eyes, I said, "I'm terribly sorry. I should be consoling you, Skit. Not the other way around."

He shook his head, pulling me close as we stood together in the white hallway of the sanitorium. "No, Hannah, it'd be no use. I don't cry."