by Tina Mikals
Chapter 28
The Doorway Home
It was dark and the temperature had plummeted at least forty degrees by the time Sheila returned with twigs in her hair, holding her side and walking with a limp.
May had been pacing up and down for an hour by the stream. She thought she would never be gladder to see someone than when Carlisle had burst head first through the wall into the ogre's painting, but she was wrong.
"I couldn't find it," Sheila said, out of breath, sinking down on the grass. "All there is out there is thorns and puckerbushes. Couldn't you have painted something nice? I'll have to try again in the morning. It's getting too dark to see anything. How is he?"
"Impossible. He even made me put his stupid sword on. This is no place for him. It's freezing here. His fever hasn't broken yet and we have nothing to start a fire."
May heard Sheila let out a huge sigh in the dark. "Let me just rest for a few minutes then I'll go back out again."
"Oh, no you won't," said May. "If I have to wait around again, it'll kill me. Besides, I've been doing some thinking. As far as we know, this is still my painting. I'm the one who made the tornado, right? Well, if I can make that, maybe I can make a door, too. We're taking him back home with us."
"You can't do that to him."
"He needs to be in a hospital right now and not one of those bloody, dirty turn-of-the-century ones."
"He just wants to go home like us."
"If we don't get him to a real hospital, he'll die. I'm going to check on him before I go looking for a door. Don't tell him anything. I don't want him to know I'm going out. He was madder than you-know-what when he found out you went off on your own. He refused to go to sleep. If I were you, I'd let him cool off for a while before you see him unless you want to get yelled at again."
Carlisle stirred groggily at the sound of May's footsteps approaching and propped himself up on one elbow. He was breathing raggedly and shivering.
"You can rest now, she's back," she said, pressing his shoulder.
"Good," he said, letting her push him gently back down on the grass.
She put her hand on his forehead. It was as hot and as dry as a campfire stone. She picked up the water bottle on the ground next to him and shook it. "This should be empty by now. I told you to keep drinking."
"It doesn't matter anymore."
"Don't talk like that. You just need to keep drinking water. Haven't I told you you're going to be fine?"
He shook his head. "No, I'm not."
She was thinking—oh yes you will, once I get you to a doctor—but what she said was, "How can you just give up? What about us?"
"Come next to me, May," he said suddenly. When she didn't move, anticipating some awful pronouncement, he said, "Please, May."
She knelt by him on the grass, clutching the water bottle in her hands. "If it's a message for your wife, you can tell her yourself."
He smiled wearily and licked his lips. "You really ought to take up fencing," he said.
She wasn't planning on delivering any message, but it was better to keep him calm, so she said, "Yes, yes, yes, I'll tell her that you love her."
He nodded, closed his eyes. "There's another thing."
For once in her life, May didn't want to know something. Whatever guilt filled confession he had to make to his wife was between the two of them. "Don't," she said, starting to get up.
Opening his eyes, he put his hand on her forearm and held her. "For pity's sake, May," he whispered. There was note in his voice she hadn't heard before. The fever driven heat from his hand seared her cold skin.
"Okay, what is it?" she asked, steeling herself. "What's the message?"
"Tell her I wanted it." He let go of her. "Make sure she knows."
What the heck kind of a message is that? wondered May. It seemed a complete let down after preparing herself for something dreadful and guilt ridden. What kind of 'it' could he possibly mean that was so important to save his last dying breaths on?
Then the answer came to her. "She was pregnant."
"Yes," he said, almost inaudibly.
"You didn't—didn't you want it?"
"Lord knows. So many years. But then she got sick. And then I lost everything and we were bankrupt. The fact we didn't have any kids—I thought it'd been for the best. Then when she told me about … " he licked his dry lips.
"About the baby," she said, helping him along.
He nodded. "We had an argument. I went into my studio. That was when—" He didn't continue.
"It's not your fault. Tuberculosis can last for years then suddenly—"
He shook his head. "She lost the baby," he said. "Something went wrong."
"That happens."
"I wasn't there. No one was there."
"Just how long were you in your studio?" she couldn't keep the accusatory note out of her voice.
"A few days? A week? I don't really know."
"Some bender."
How could Carlisle, who had been so brave about so many things have committed such a monumental act of cowardice? May said, "What were you so worried about anyway? Raising a kid on your own like your old man?"
He was silent a moment. "I hated my father. He was a drunk." After a pause he added, "So am I."
She couldn't argue with that. "You may be a drunk, but you're not your father."
A soft snow began to fall. She looked up at the sky into the fluffy white flakes rushing down on her.
Great. Just what I needed, thought May.
Looking back down at him, she saw that several snowflakes had already turned to water on his closed eyelids and a panic seized her.
When she checked his pulse, he didn't even stir, but she felt a faint flutter under her fingers and let out her breath. He had just passed out.
Rejoining Sheila, May squatted down on the bank of the stream and said, "He's finally asleep." She uncorked the bottle in her hands, dumped out the contents and held it underwater. As she waited for it to fill, she watched the bubbles come up from the neck and the snowflakes dissolve in the swirling eddies of the stream.
"I'm going now," she said, jamming the cork in the bottle and handing it to Sheila. "Give him a half hour to sleep and then start pushing water on him. Don't take no for an answer either."
Sheila said nothing back. May could feel her anger coming at her in the dark. "Did you hear me?"
"Don't take no for an answer."
May had avoided the unsterilized water all day, but now she cupped both of her hands together, scooped up some of it and held it to her lips. She stared at the morsel of moonlight reflected in her hands—it was pink.
Only it occurred to her that the moon wasn't pink.
Her sight shifted to the gurgling water slipping past; it was pink too, reflecting something on the opposite bank, and she looked across the stream.
Illuminating the snow falling all around it, she saw an arched door made of a milky, translucent pink stone.
She lost her balance and fell onto her backside—the door shimmered and flickered, and for a moment, she thought it would disappear. She got to her feet. "Quick. We need to get him."
"It's beautiful," said Sheila.
"We need to hurry," May yelled, running. "I don't know how long it'll last."
When she got to Carlisle, she patted his face roughly with her wet hands. "Wake up. You've got to get up."
He scowled and stirred in his sleep.
She grabbed one of his burning hands then called to Sheila, "Quick, get his other hand. On the count of three, pull. One, two, three!"
Carlisle barely budged off the ground.
"Okay, again! One, two, three!" May yelled, "Come on, get up you big dumb oaf!"
"Please get up, Uncle Frank," pleaded Sheila.
Carlisle moaned. "What is it?"
"You've got to get up," said May. "I don't know how long it'll last. I found the door. Up, up, up!"
Drowsy and confused, they got him to his feet then led him in his semi-conscious stat
e to the stream. May dipped her hand in the water and splashed his face.
"Ugh," he said, trying to turn his face away, opening his eyes. Catching sight of the door, he walked through the water, nearly pulling May and Sheila in after him. They let his hands go and jumped over to the opposite bank.
May ran on ahead and stepped in front of the door. "It's my door. Don't anybody touch it," she yelled.
Sheila cried, "May! Think about what you're doing."
"I have thought about it. I know exactly what I'm doing," she said, turning around and opening the door.
A tangible wall of rose scented air crashed into her. It was night beyond the arched frame of the doorway—a shimmering night with a large pale moon illuminating roses cascading in unruly profusion: rambling roses, climbing roses, beach roses. The flowers glowed in dark blue reds, silver tinged whites and haunting shades of purplish orange.
May stepped aside and held the door open for him.
Carlisle backed up a step.
"Oh, don't do that!" she cried.
"It's Cora's rose garden," he said, swaying on his feet. For an instant, May thought he was going to retreat backward, but it was just a gathering of energy before he lunged forward through the archway.
May sucked in a breath then let it out in a whistle. "I thought we might have to push him through," she whispered to Sheila as they went through the door after him.
"You and me, both. You probably should have warned him. You could have at least warned me."
"I was hoping it would be a surprise."
A faint smell of wood smoke mingled with the rose scented perfume in the air. Beyond the garden, the windows of a small white cottage glowed with firelight.
Carlisle was a twitching shadow in the moonlight. "I must be a sight," he said.
"Don't be silly," said Sheila. "You look great. Doesn't he May?"
"Sure, sure. Now stop worrying. If she was that shallow, she wouldn't have married you in the first place." May felt a smack on her arm from Sheila and said, "It's a joke. She hasn't seen you in over three years. Do you really think she's going to care how you look? Now stop it. You're making me a nervous wreck. Will you just go?"
Sheila hit her arm again, but this time it was a nudge. "Oh, and you look very handsome. You'll knock her dead—ah—I mean, you'll knock her socks off. Why don't you go already?"
"Yes, go," said Sheila. "We'll wait here. You ought to say hello by yourself first."
"It's dark. I can't leave you out here!"
"Why?" asked May, looking at the blue-gray rose bushes around her warily.
"Is that a bench by the cottage? Can we wait there?" asked Sheila.
He didn't answer at once. "Would you?" he finally asked.
"Of course."
The night air wasn't getting any warmer, and May only had on a t-shirt. "Time's wasting. Let's hustle," she said. "I'm freezing my butt off out here."