It's beautiful—I guess—but I've lived here so long now that all the fancy windows and antique oak are nothing more than difficult places for me to have to clean and dust. I've lost most of my appreciation for the house that so awed me as a little girl. I jog up the stairs, taking some of them two at a time.
At the top of the stairs, the upstairs hall stretches before me with five different doors leading to five different guest rooms. Jogging to the end of the hall, behind the second door on the left is another hallway. Just inside this back hall is a narrow door leading to the back staircase. These stairs aren't as wide as the front steps and they are plain and un-decorative. Like my room downstairs, they were probably used by the maid back when the house was built. There are nineteen steps here.
I spend less than ten minutes running up the front stairs, down the hall and down the back stairs. I make the loop over and over until my legs are burning. I'm in fairly good shape due to having to walk everywhere. But stairs are harder than just walking, and I'm disappointed at how quickly I'm too winded to keep going. I slump down on my butt on the bottom step in the back hallway and lean against the wall.
I hope those endorphins kick in soon. I really need some happy.
I think I'll go eat another piece of chocolate.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
What Has Two Thumbs and Four Fingers?
Aunty finally comes in the back door at 8:00 p.m. I scurry from the kitchen where I was filling my time with cleaning and washing dishes. As Aunty enters the kitchen, I stifle a gasp. She is covered in blood. Her hair is disheveled and standing up on one side. Her face is as white as the guest room sheets. She looks haggard as her eyes meet mine, and she watches me appraise her. I've been planning an onslaught of questions for her, but they are forced aside by the tsunami sized wave of concern that floods through me.
Aunty, the queen of good posture, slumps uncharacteristically through the kitchen door, and I hurry to pull out a chair at the table for her. She digs into the plate of leftovers that I had waiting for her. The dinner I cooked and ate by myself—venison in gravy over leftover biscuits from lunch with home-canned green beans—isn't warm anymore, but Aunty devours it. We sit in the kitchen by the light of homemade candles and kerosene lamps. The oily, pungent smell of kerosene used to make me wrinkle my nose, but I've grown used to.
We've always eaten the Sunday evening meal by candle light. Our tradition dates back to the first Sunday I spent here at the Inn. Aunty was trying to make those hard days special and fun for me. She always says it was the first time she saw me smile that week that I came to live with her. The flickering lamps are usually cozy and relaxing on a cold winter evening, but tonight my muscles are tense with worry. Aunty sighs and takes a long sip of her tea before finally speaking.
"Thank you, Ivy. I know you've been worrying all day. I really needed to eat; I haven't had a morsel since breakfast." Even her voice sounds exhausted as though she’s been screaming all day and her throat is strained.
"How is Thomas? Is he going to be alright?" I ask in a whisper to match hers.
Her tired eyes lift in surprise, and she tilts her head with a look of reproof and suspicion. "How did you find out? You didn't leave the house did you?"
"No. Harmony came by to tell me." I fight the defensive, insulted feelings that rise up in response to her accusing eyes. I haven't given her enough reasons to think the best of me lately.
"Ahh. Of course." Her face softens and she sips at her tea. "Well, yes and no. Thomas will live, but unfortunately we weren't able to do much about his injuries. He lost most of his right hand."
"What happened? I heard Matt is back too?" She must hear the hope and longing in my voice because she looks suddenly grave.
"Yes, he is. But Ivy, even if you weren't confined to the house I would insist that you not go looking for that boy. He isn't for you. If he turns to The Lord at some point then we can reconsider. But for now, I don't want you to even consider the thought. He was very angry and violent with the guards, and I'm not sure exactly how this happened to Thomas.
"Matt would NEVER hurt Thomas!" I'm so sure of this that I adamantly defend him. "He brought Thomas back to us, didn't he? And just last week you were the one defending him and asking me to treat him kindly!"
"Yes, he brought Thomas back, but I wouldn't be at all surprised if he intends to take him again when he's recuperated. Either way, he's made it clear that he won't be staying long. I just hope he'll leave Thomas when the time comes. Without his right hand, Thomas will have to learn to use his left hand which will take time. He'll need to be watched for infection until the deep wounds are completely healed. He'll need constant care. Hopefully Matt will realize the foolishness of taking him now. And yes, I asked you to treat him with decency and kindness, not fall in love with him! I do believe that he was sent here by the Lord and that God is calling for him. But he may or may not respond. That's in God's hands."
"Did he say when he'd be leaving?" I ask with misty tears in my eyes.
"He didn't say much that I could repeat. He was very angry. Apparently, he blames us for Thomas' condition. Though I'm certain he's really upset with himself for letting Thomas get hurt. He had to wait outside the gate while Thomas lost more and more blood. The guards on duty didn't know him and didn't know what to do. There wasn't a protocol for what to do when one of the infected stands yelling and cursing at the gate, demanding to be let in, all the while holding a bloody boy in his arms! They refused to let him in. Apparently Anthony was on duty and overheard what was happening on the radio. He ran to the West Gate and insisted that Matt and Thomas be let it. Anthony brought them to the Dr. and then sent for me and Ellen. Unfortunately, the other nurse, Joy, was home with a bad flu and wasn't able to be any help to us. Thomas was completely unconscious by the time I saw him, and very near death." She pauses to take several sips of tea and I realize she’s holding back tears of her own.
As always, her tears make it even harder to hold back my own. My voice thick and quiet, I ask, "Is he still unconscious? Is Matt still with him? Harmony heard that Matt is being kept at this new guy Andrew's house? How come this Andrew guy is suddenly in charge of the town and I've never even heard of him?"
My questions would've kept coming for as long as Aunty kept sipping, but she puts her tea down and holds her finger up to quiet me. I learned long ago not to interrupt her while she's explaining something, she really hates that. Harmony and I can have long conversations where we interrupt each other and overlap each other and change the subject three times in two minutes without realizing it. It's how we work. But I have to be careful not to do it when Aunty is talking because she takes it personally. Interrupting is "unladylike" and "disrespectful." She'll clam up until you apologize and beg her to continue whatever it was she was saying. I'm desperate for info, so I wait patiently for her to speak again.
"Thomas was still unconscious when I left. He had lost a lot of blood and needed a blood transfusion. The only one there with compatible blood was Ellen. Actually Matt had the same blood type as well, but he refused to give Thomas his blood."
"What!" I exclaim, despite my efforts to not interrupt. "That doesn't sound like the same guy who was desperate for his little brother last week!"
"He was afraid he'd give Thomas back the disease. He begged us to find someone else's blood. We tried to convince him that Thomas wouldn't get the disease again, that Thomas still has the disease in his blood, but he wouldn't listen. He was watching his little brother slip away with grievous injuries, and we weren't really dealing with a rational Matt at that point. So, even though Ellen was the only trained nurse there, her blood was compatible and, of course, she was willing. It meant even less help from her and more required of me—and I'm no nurse. It was very trying for all of us."
She sips.
I wait.
"Hale had to work frantically for many hours at what would've been hard for several doctors. He has Tim very well trained as a nurse aid, and Tim wa
s invaluable to us today. The two of them worked as quickly as possible to get blood back into Thomas while trying to repair all the injuries. The poor dear had been stabbed seven times, and his hand was just hanging off,” Aunty clucks her tongue with disapproval. I know she is wondering how the world has gotten this bad. Wondering who would do such a thing to a sweet boy like Thomas.
She continues, “Thomas got more stitches than I could count and I did a lot of the stitching. Hale wasn't able to repair all the nerve and bone damage in the hand. We are hoping that the thumb will heal, but even that is a long shot. Thomas lost the other four fingers and some of the hand itself. We've given him the last of the strong pain medicine. He'll probably wake fully sometime this evening because of the pain, and we'll only have Tylenol for him. It's going to be a hard recovery. For now, they are keeping him at the clinic, but I'm sure Ellen will want him moved home to her house as soon as he's able. She's sleeping at the clinic with him now. Jose is there, too. Pray for them, Ivy. Pray that God will ease Thomas’ pain."
Another sip of tea.
She knows I want to know more about Matt. She’s choosing her words for me—selectively—and I just wish she'd tell me everything!
"Matt was taken, by force, to Andrew's house. He was very angry. Yelling and knocking things over at the clinic. Blaming us for taking too long to let them in. We had to get him out of there so Hale could concentrate. It took several guards to pull him away. He has a lot of rage and hate in his heart, Ivy. I know you saw the good in him," she preemptively holds up a finger to silence my next round of arguments, "and so did I."
My heart sinks at her word "did". Not "I do see the good in him”, but “I did see." Matt changed her opinion of him today.
"He is not Living, Ivy," she continues as my eyes fill with tears. "He is his own man. Full of sin. I don't know what the plan for him is. I only just learned where they had taken him as I was leaving. Andrew is Dr. Markowitz's oldest son. He was with a small group of the Living somewhere near Atlanta. They were attacked and killed two weeks ago, everyone but him. Andrew came here because his father and brother are here. The Elder's were impressed by his testimony and his skill in security and knowledge of Pravda's dealings. They asked him to help make us more secure here. That's all I know. Dr. Hale Markowitz has raised some intelligent, impressive sons."
She looks me pointedly in the eye with this statement. I look away. I'm not particularly fond of either son.
"Well dear, I'm exhausted. Thank you for that lovely dinner. I must say I am very glad to have you back."
She smiles and her warm blue eyes are the only thing that looks right on her haggard, pale face. Hugging me to her, she kisses the top of my head. I lean away from the dried blood on her shirt. She looks down and seems to notice the gory state of her appearance for the first time.
"We are so blessed to have each other Ivy. Family is precious. I kept thinking of you today and counting my blessings that we are together. That we have Life!"
I smile back, but my thoughts are running wild—longing for a glimpse of Matt's crooked smile.
She starts to clear her dish from the table, but I jump up and take it from her, "You go, I know you're tired. I've got this."
"Thank you, honey. I am very tired. I think I'll go to bed early."
Aunty limps out of the kitchen and I watch her go.
I'm alone again. Loneliness and worry fight to tear me out of God's peace-filled hands; tempting me to listen to their whispered lies. I finish the dishes quickly and take my tea to my room. I have a lot to pray about.
Chapter Thirty
The Bones Are Full Of Flavor
It's Monday afternoon and my in-house work station is almost completely set up right outside of my bedroom door. This comes with good news and bad news. Which do you want first?
I'm a bad news first kind of girl, so I'll lead with that.
The bad news is they've sent Tim to set up my computer.
BLAH.
He probably volunteered. I've had to spend the entire afternoon with him hanging out right outside of my bedroom. I had to feed him lunch, too. But really, the bad news isn't that bad since it brought the good news.
The good news is that Tim has spent the morning with Matt. Tim knows all about what's going on and it is information that I am desperate for. So, I'm being a little sweeter than normal with Tim, because I am dying to know everything he knows about Matt. And Thomas.
Judge me if you want, but I'm supposed to be sweeter and nicer. Just because I am more interested in his boring conversation than normal doesn't make me a bad person.
"I brought you some ice water," I say, returning from a quick break in the kitchen with my smile fixed in place.
"Thank you, Ivy," he says with obvious surprise and unmasked glee. He pulls himself up from the tangle of cords on the floor, his too-big brown glasses sliding down his nose.
"Sure," I say, fighting to maintain my smile as his hand lingers a moment on mine when he reaches for the cold glass. "It'll be great to get back to work. I'm going stir crazy here already. It was nice of you to come over and do this for me. I am a trouble-maker you know," I add sarcastically.
"They just want you to be safe, Ivy. We all do," he adds with so much concern in his voice it makes me nauseous.
Keep that smile on, Ivy.
"Well, you've been hanging out with zombies lately, too." I try to encourage him to bring up Matt again on his own. "Maybe they'll lock you up next."
"You aren't locked up, Ivy. We're just worried for your safety. I'm not being threatened by Pravda."
Rub it in.
I scowl at the mention of my mysterious enemies and Tim continues, "And I'm not hanging out with anyone. My brother has to be out most of the day with the other guards, so someone has to check on him in his cell and feed him."
"In his cell? You have him locked in a cell!" I say this with way too much emotion, and I see Tim furrow his brow and look sideways at me over the computer monitor. I try to recover by dialing it down a notch. "I mean, why not just kick him out? Let him go back to wherever he came from?"
"I don't know what they are going to do with him. He's definitely dangerous. Anyways, I'm just trying to help out. I don't spend much time there. Your aunt gets more out of him than I do."
I'm sucker punched.
She had been out all morning, but I assumed she was helping with Thomas. She never mentioned Matt when she came home for lunch.
Tim studies me and assumes the stormy emotions he sees on my face are fear or worry. He actually puts his arm around me and says, "Don't worry Ivy. You're safe here. He'll be gone soon and everything will be ok again. My brother is working hard to figure out who tried to hurt you. It's his number one priority. I've told him how great you are."
I think I'm going to be sick.
I mumble, "Thank you," and go in my room and shut the door.
*****
A little while later, Tim knocks on my bedroom door, “Ivy? I’m done. Do you want me to show you?”
“Uh, I’m busy. I’ll come check it out later,” I lie because I don’t want him to see my red eyes—heaven forbid it might lead to him trying to touch me again.
“Oh. Ok,” Tim sounds disappointed. "Bye,” he says pitifully into the door, and I can picture him leaning against it in dejection.
I wait 5 minutes to be sure he's gone, and then I go out and lock the front door.
I hear pots and pans banging around. Aunty must be cooking dinner. An inner mental debate ensues. Should I just come right out and ask her, "Did you see Matt today?" I doubt she'd lie to me. Or should I wait and see if she brings it up? She knows how interested I am, how much I want to know what's going on with him. If I don't ask and she doesn't say anything about him, then what? I don't want to be pouty or angry. We just repaired our relationship. I decide to be direct. It's the healthiest course of action.
She's cooking vegetable soup with venison scraps. I walk over to the stov
e and inhale deeply. The aroma of fresh dried herbs mixed with the earthy smell of the potatoes and carrots and the savory scent of venison makes a magical concoction that threatens to pull my stomach out through my nose. The bones sticking up out of the pot look gruesome, but they'll make the broth rich and delicious. I'm not tired of venison yet. We've been eating it almost every night to use it up while it's fresh.
When we have meat we use every last bit of it. We'll even use the leftover fat, for making tallow candles. Tallow candles work as well as the kind we've salvaged from stores over the years with one distinct difference. Tallow candles make you hungry. They smell like meat cooking. I'd rather smell rosy candles or vanilla candles or unscented candles than candles that smell like pot roast.
Aunty is humming to herself as she bustles around the kitchen. She scoots me out of her way to add another ingredient to the simmering pot.
"You saw Matt today?" I ask while her back is to me as she stirs the soup.
I see her shoulders slump. She was hoping I wouldn't find out.
She sighs and answers me, "Yes. Tim told you?"
"You wouldn't have?"
"Ivy, I really wish you could focus your thoughts somewhere more productive."
She means she wishes I'd focus them on Tim.
I feel misunderstood and frustrated, and I can't help the little rant that bursts out unchecked. "Just last week you were lecturing me about my over-productiveness. YOU wanted me to be a normal teenage girl who likes boys. I like one and I'm still wrong."
"Let's not fight Ivy. I'm too tired."
"Why is he in a cell?"
She sighs again. I'm informed and not going away.
"He's made several threats against the community. We have to take them seriously. We are on thin ice, Ivy. We might have to move the whole community; which I don't even know how we'd accomplish without a miracle."
"Will you tell me what he said?"
"He threatened to kill the guards who wouldn't let him in. He says he'll bring Pravda here if we don't let him out and give him Thomas. So, we aren't sure which threat to be more worried about. If we don't let him out and he should escape, we'll have to consider that he may be telling the truth and might bring Pravda here. Since our recent brush with them, we already know they are interested in us. If we do let him out, how do we ensure the safety of the two guards? And I'd imagine that he's not too thrilled with Captain Markowitz either."
INFECtIOUS Page 18