Nameless

by Marni MacRae

  She turns back to me and I catch a chuckle from “Maxwell.”

  “Nasty stuff—brings to mind licking a shoe. Not that I have ever done so, mind you, but I imagine it would taste the same.”

  “Now.” Ms. Thornton takes a breath and gracefully lowers herself to the side of my bed, reaching out to take both my hands in hers. “Let’s have a chat, woman to woman. Maxwell, ask Miss Laurel to fetch us some tea.” She gives a shooing motion with her hand and Dr. Eston leaves, closing the door behind him.

  I am amazed and in awe of this woman. She has the confidence of a lioness and the grace of a doe. She is wearing a pale blue skirt that falls below her knees, hugging her trim frame, and a white blouse made of the softest, flowing material that must exist. I yearn to reach out and touch it. Her neck is draped in pearls and her hair is piled high in a twisted bun giving her an austere or authoritative appearance. She must be eighty, or maybe a hundred, but she was clearly a striking beauty in her youth. Even with age, she retains an air of grandeur about her.

  Upon entering, she owned the space and everyone in it. I can’t imagine what Dr. Eston said to her to keep her out of my room. I can’t picture her letting anyone boss her around or make her do anything she didn’t expressly desire to do.

  I smile. I want to be just like her.

  “You must know by now that you are the talk of the town, my girl. Why, anybody who is anybody, and I mean to say—everybody, knows about little Eve. The girl without a past. Ah, such a romantic tale. Rescued in the rain by Nicolas Donovan, the most eligible, and if I do say so myself, most handsome, man in Brighton Valley.”

  She sighs and closes her eyes as if I had told her an endearing story. Then, without missing a beat, the older woman opens them again and gives me a conspiratorial look.

  “Of course, doctor-patient confidentiality keeps Maxwell from whispering a word about your condition. However, with the full force of the BVPD out beating the bushes for your origins, I am afraid word has spread like wildfire.”

  Ms. Thornton, releases my hands and rises from the bed, smoothing down her perfectly smooth skirt.

  “The local paper has been barking at the doors to talk to you. The women’s club has been baking casseroles and pies in hopes to feed your precious self. Why, even the mayor has shown interest—he wants to invite you to dinner. Dinner!” She exclaims this as if feeding me is an atrocious idea.

  “So.” Ms. Thornton draws herself up and gives me a determined gaze. “I am here to rescue you.”

  “Rescue? Why, I don’t… “

  “You will come home with me while the search continues. At least behind my doors no one will dare accost you like a beast or force pies and casseroles down your throat.”

  She nods sharply, and I have a feeling if the pie bakers or reporters were in the room right now they would hang their heads in shame.

  “Ms. Thornton, I don’t…”

  “I have already taken the liberty of clearing your medical bills. Ezra is in Lexington acquiring you some clothing.”

  “Bills? Clothing? But I…”

  Laurel breezes into the room, balancing yet another tray, this one with steaming cups of tea. I can smell the mint and honey, and although I would love to sip at the warm mug, I find myself overwhelmed, confused, and quite skillfully put in a corner.

  Laurel sets down the tray and turns to leave.

  “Now, my dear, let’s finish our tea and get you ready to leave. Miss Laurel, fetch Miss Eve’s belongings.”

  Ms. Thornton doesn’t even glance in Laurel’s direction. She simply sits back down on the edge of the bed and reaches for one of the steaming mugs.

  “Wait, Laurel, just a minute…”

  “Nonsense dear, you can’t leave here in a hospital gown. Go on, Laurel.”

  She gives Laurel the same shooing motion she gave Dr. Eston, and suddenly I am mad. I like Laurel, she has been kind and patient with me. I don’t like seeing her bossed around as if she were a servant. “Maxwell” may think Ms. Thornton’s behavior is cute, but I find it degrading and condescending. My first impression of her was power, something I covet and sorely need. I may as well start now.

  “No. Ms. Thornton, I…”

  “Darling,” Ms. Thornton purrs, interrupting again before I can finish a thought. “We…”

  “I said. No. Now, you may feel you have the right to come into my room and tell me what I am going to do, but I need to correct you. You, in fact, have no right, not over me, or Laurel, or even Dr. Eston. If you had manners, you would ask. Further, you would give me a chance to speak for myself and respect what I had to say before plowing me over. And, finally, I think I might like pies and casseroles. Lots of them.”

  I cross my arms over my chest and nod sharply, glaring at her in challenge to defy my relationship with food.

  Ms. Thornton laughs and stands up. Going to Laurel she bends and kisses her on the cheek. “Thank you, my dear. Bring in her belongings when she asks for them.”

  Laurel nods, a huge grin spread across her face.

  Slowly, this powerful old woman turns back to me and strolls quietly over to the chair on the other side of my bed. The silence is deafening as she arranges herself on the cushion and crosses her hands in her lap. With a pleased expression and sparkle in her eye, Ms. Thornton nods her head to me.

  “Quite right.” Her tone is gentle now, less of a bustle and storm. Now a breeze, soothing and calm. “You will need every bit of that moxie, Eve. I was telling the truth about everyone clamoring to meet you.” She pauses and relaxes back in her seat. “What are your plans, dear? What would you like to do?”

  Suddenly I realize what she’s done. She pushed me to see if I would push back. She trapped me to find if I had the strength to fight her. I hadn’t known I did—have the strength to fight anyone. I wonder if it is me, seeping through the barrier, or if it is something new brought on by my circumstances. I do know one thing. I needed it. It woke me up and steeled my spine. Suddenly I love Ms. Thornton, and I smile warmly. Uncrossing my arms and reaching for my tea, I settle in to discuss my options.

  It is clear my options are limited. After an hour-long woman-to-woman chat with the impressive Ms. Thornton, I came to the conclusion she had been waiting for me to reach. She was my only option. Letting me make that decision on my own, though, helped to soften the blow of obligation. I am indebted to so many now. I need to make a list.

  But for now, Ms. Thornton has offered her carriage house for me to live in. In exchange, I will assist her in her gardens. An avid gardener, she has taken blue ribbons for her orchids and roses for over a decade. Now Ms. Thornton wants to start a vegetable plot and hopes I will help. I am eager to.

  Anything to begin repaying my debts and get out of this bed. The clock on the wall has replaced Pepsi on my list of things I detest.

  “I will send Ezra to pick you up in half an hour. That should be plenty of time for Laurel to unplug you and dress you for the journey.”

  Dress me? She couldn’t seriously think Laurel is going to dress me, could she? I shake the thought away as Ms. Thornton rises and leans over to grasp my shoulders. She bends and places a kiss on my cheek, then straightens and blows out of the room as quickly as she blew in.

  “Wow.” I find I need a minute to digest the changes.

  I am fine. No injuries. Healthy brain. My memories may return any day. It’s possible I will be going home soon. But in the meantime, I will be gardening alongside an astounding and captivating woman. Things move so quickly.

  A tap on the door announces Laurel who bears a bundle of clothing I recognize as what I had been wearing when I arrived at the hospital.

  “I sent it through the laundry yesterday, so it’s clean. I was going to ask…” Laurel pauses after she lays the bundle in my lap.

  “Yes?” I look up at her, curious why she seems hesitant.

  “Well, it looks as though the clothing is handmade. Like, sewn at home.” She reaches out and holds up the skirt I had worn the day bef
ore. A dull blue, faded and threadbare, with a simple line and no flourishes.

  I take the hem and turn it up, eyeing the stitching. “Yes, it does look hand-stitched. Is that bad?”

  “Oh, no, not bad. Just different, um…I wondered if it might be a clue. Not a lot of people make their own clothes. The blouse is sewn by hand, too. The thing is, even those people who use patterns and make their own fashions and such, they use sewing machines. I have never met anyone who sews by hand, not an entire garment at least. Maybe a button or a repair.” She shrugs and lays the clothing back in my lap. “I just thought you may want to mention it to Nick or Officer Hansette.”

  I finger the thin, worn material and wonder over Laurel’s observation. Did I make this? Did a family member? It’s as simply constructed as the hospital gown I wear. Utilitarian comes to mind.

  No need for fuss. Words I have heard before. A chill runs down my spine, and I set the clothing aside. I will explore those responses later. Like the shoes Sam brought in last night, these clothes feel like a piece of me I no longer want.

  If Dr. Eston is right, then perhaps I am blocking out something painful on purpose. Perhaps my identity is something I willingly discarded. I have an urge to throw the clothes in the garbage beside my bed but know I need them to leave this room. Leaving wins, and I look up as Laurel begins disengaging me from the monitors.

  “You were so dehydrated when you came in, we had to put the IV in for saline, but you haven’t asked to use the restroom. Do you need to go? You can take a shower before you dress if you like.”

  “Restroom?”

  “Yes, bathroom.” Laurel nods her head to the door on the opposite wall.

  “Oh. I haven’t felt the urge, but yes. A shower would be nice.” I don’t tell her I’m afraid to go into the bathroom. I know there will be a mirror. Although I want to know what I look like, what Nick sees when he looks at me, I am terrified it will crack the dam, and I will begin screaming again. Like I did in the road. I came back from that brief meltdown, but I remember the sorrow and fear. The sense of loss that accompanied it. I am not strong enough for that yet. I can face down Ms. Thornton, but not my own demons. Not yet.

  As Laurel turns off the last monitor and steps back, I suddenly realize the doctor was right. I am hiding. I can feel the wall keeping me at bay. I know that on the other side there is nothing good for me.

  Maybe I shouldn’t be pushing so hard to go back to a place I ran from. The thought shocks me in its perception. I ran. I left. I forgot. There is a reason for that. If I push and break down the wall too soon, will I go crazy for real? Will I long to end my life like those veterans Dr. Eston talked about? Perhaps leaving a sleeping dog lie is the best plan of action.

  Laurel leaves me to shower, and thankfully, dress myself, and I take a moment to steel my spine before I am faced with my own reflection.

  The bathroom door opens out, and I pull it with hesitation. Just getting out of the bed and walking across the room makes me feel stronger, like I am solid and not so fragile. I feel comfortable in my skin. I hope I still am in the next few minutes.

  The light blinks on as the door opens, and I take a step onto the tile. My bare feet no longer sting from the cuts. Laurel had cleaned and treated them the day before.

  It is a small room with bars along the walls to assist those patients who are too weak to walk on their own. A shower with no lip on the floor is in the far corner, a toilet beside it, and closest to me is a sink. Above it hangs the mirror.

  Oh, for heaven’s sake. Take a breath and jump. You can’t go forever without seeing your own reflection. I know I am working myself up and attempt to tamp down the dread and trepidation. I take a deep breath. I straighten my shoulders and step the two strides it takes to reach the sink and turn.

  There I am.

  I have dark hair, but it looks wrong to me. Unfamiliar. I reach up to touch the locks. It’s cut short, about shoulder-length, but choppy. I realize I did that. Like knowing the shoes, I know my hair had been long. Quite long. And I cut it off. I hacked it from me and ran. I lower my hand and let the dark hair fall back to my shoulder. I wish I hadn’t cut it.

  I raise my gaze to find myself staring back into my own eyes. I have gold eyes. Yellow or caramel. Slightly hazel, with light green at the edges of the irises. I suppose the shade could have a few names, but they strike me with their clear scrutiny. They don’t seem crazy. They look…sad and tired. They are nice, though. I like the color. It makes the plainness of my face seem less simple.

  I am plain. I think I knew that in my heart already. I have a small straight nose. Clear, pale skin that shows time spent in the sun with a scattering of light freckles across the bridge of my nose. My lips are average, though a healthy pink shade, and when I smile I find straight white teeth and no laugh lines. I wonder if I smiled much before yesterday.

  I am not the tall, blonde, sweet beauty that Laurel is, or the striking, classic beauty that Ms. Thornton was…still is. I am me. Somewhere in the middle of pretty and average.

  I look young. I don’t know if I could guess my age and decide to stick with my panicked guess in the cornfield. I step back and drop my hospital gown, boldly staring at my nudity in the mirror. Yes, quite plain. I am slender and appear to be fit, but I am small. I know I can’t be much taller than five feet, perhaps a few inches at most. My small breasts and hips that only slightly flare almost suggest I haven’t fully blossomed. I feel like a child in the world, so I suppose my appearance may as well match.

  I look back up to my eyes and make a decision. I will move forward. I am who I am today. If my memory returns, then I will figure it out on that day. Today I am Eve.

  Catching my eye in the mirror as I turn to the shower, I glance back and see something new in my gold, hazel gaze.

  Strength.

  Chapter 11

  Nick is sitting on my bed when I come out from my shower. Surprised, and pleased, I walk across the room in my old, faded, hand sewn clothes and hug him. Immediately his arms wrap around me, and I feel safe, protected. Better.

  I have made up my mind and am sticking to my decision I made in the mirror. Move forward. Always forward. No more stressing about who I was. I clearly don’t want to be her. So, I will oblige and learn to be Eve.

  “Hi.” I release Nick and step back, feeling a little shy at my boldness.

  “Hi to you.” Nick lets me step away but he holds on to one of my hands as he smiles down at me. Somehow, even sitting, Nick towers over me. But, then, everyone does. “I heard you had a visit from her ladyship.”

  “Ms. Thornton was right—nothing stays a secret in this town!”

  “Was it supposed to be a secret?”

  “Well, no, I suppose not.” I smile back at him, glad he showed up before I had to leave. “She’s sending her driver to pick me up. He should be here any minute.”

  “Yes, he was already here. I sent him away.”

  “Why? Dr. Eston has released me. I am supposed to go and stay with Ms. Thornton…”

  “Eve.” Nick holds up his other hand to quiet me. “Don’t worry. I told Ezra I would drive you. I wanted to spend some time with you before you are firmly under Lady Thornton’s wing. I may have to battle a dragon when I want to visit next.”

  “Oh, she’s not that bad!”

  Nick raises an eyebrow.

  “Well, all right, she is a little bit of a scary queen. But she is kind to me, and I am grateful for her offer to stay with her.”

  “Laurel says you put her in her place. I would have paid good money to see that.”

  “Oh, heavens, there seem to be flies on every wall and wagging tongues everywhere.”

  “Get used to it, Little Bit. Living in a small town means no secrets.”

  Little Bit. He gave me a pet name. Already on edge about the fact that I am small, I almost want to ask him not to call me that. I like Eve so much more. But the warmth that spreads to my heart at the familiarity and his comment about living in a small town makes me
set it aside. I am a Little Bit. And Brighton Valley is my home now.

  “Are you ready to get out of here?”

  “So very ready, but I want to say goodbye to Laurel.”

  “Perfect timing.” Laurel strides through the open door. She is no longer wearing the pink uniform I had grown familiar with. Dressed in jeans and a tight shirt beneath a black jacket, she has let her hair down and it cascades over her shoulders in golden waves. “I brought your discharge papers. It’s mostly just information you can review when you have time, but you will need to sign a few. Ms. Thornton handled the bulk of the paperwork this morning.”

  Laurel lays a few sheets of paper on the high bedside table and hands me a pen. “Just give me a scribble on the line and you’re free to roam the earth.” Her smile accompanies a wink, and I take the pen from her outstretched hand, turning to the papers to sign my name.

  The tip of the pen hovers over the black line, and I hesitate, looking over to Nick. “What do I write?”

  “Don’t worry, sweetie.” Laurel interjects before Nick has a chance to answer. “It’s just a formality. You were entered into the system as…um, Jane Doe.” She shrugs and lifts her hands as if to say, it wasn’t me. “Just draw a picture of a flower, or sign it ‘Miss Bumble Bee.’ No one will ever look at the signature.”

  “But I want to have a name to sign.” I return my gaze to Nick. He gave me Eve and I want to keep it, but I have no surname. Eve seems too simple. Incomplete.

  “How do you feel about yourself?” Nick tilts his head to the side and looks at me with a thoughtful expression. “If you want you can give yourself any name you like. “Like Beauty, or Little Bit.” He grins widely and raises an eyebrow.

  I laugh and turn back to stare at the black line. “I am hardly a beauty, and I prefer not to draw notice to my diminutive size.”