by Leen Elle
Charlie was lying on the ground and trying, without success, to stand up. The force of the great wave had thrown him straight into the steering wheel. A large gash ran from the corner of his eye and up through his left eyebrow to the middle of his forehead. Blood, bright red, was running down from it, mixed with salty ocean water from the wave. The arm of his raincoat had been shredded and his right arm was cut as well.
Sara didn't know what to do when she saw him. Instantly, a feeling of regret and remorse ran over her. She wished she'd thought of him as soon as she arrived on deck. She wished she hadn't forgotten about him.
"Charlie," she murmured, kneeling down beside him, "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine. I'm fine," Charlie said quickly, trying again to get to his feet, "How are the men? And your sisters? And Nathaniel? And you?"
Sara set her hand on Charlie's shoulder and forced him to stay seated, "But your head . . . Charlie, you're bleeding."
"It's only a scratch," Charlie replied, brushing her away, "Is everyone alright? Is anyone hurt?"
"You're hurt!"
"I'm fine, Sara. Really."
Sara tore the corner off of one of her underskirts and wiped it onto his forehead, on the cut. Then she held it up for him to see. The scrap of white cotton was now a deep scarlet, covered in Charlie's blood.
Charlie reached up a hand to feel how bad it was, but winced in pain when his fingers touched the inside of the cut.
"If you don't have that cleaned out properly you're going to get an infection," Sara murmured.
Charlie nodded silently, and when Sara stood up he did the same. She took a rag and pail of cool water from the kitchen and they headed to Charlie's office, which was warm and dry.
"You don't have to stay, I can take care of it from here," Charlie said, reaching out for the rag.
But Sara quickly held it out of reach and asked, "How are you supposed to clean a cut you can't even see?"
"I'll manage."
"You'll hurt yourself! You're not supposed to touch the inside of the cut with the rag, and that'll be impossible if you can't even see it."
Charlie sighed, "Alright. Go ahead."
They sat down on the sofa- Charlie, on one side, sitting rather stiffly, and Sara, on the other, with her feet curled up beneath her. Like a little nurse, she gingerly dabbed away the blood around the cut and cleaned it out.
Charlie sat silently, a sparkle in those green eyes of his. A small smile crept across his face as he watched Sara work. She was so gentle with him, yet every so often he'd cringe as she touched the rag to his forehead.
"I'm not hurting you, am I?" she asking softly.
Charlie shook his head, "No. Never."
Gail sat down on the end of Nathaniel's bed and rubbed her head wearily. She'd taken a bit of a fall when the wave hit and her forehead was red. A bump had already begun to form in the center.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Nathaniel asked for what seemed like the twentieth time.
"I'm perfectly alright," Gail assured, "And you?"
"Just a little shaken, is all." Nathaniel replied. He was still a bit whiter than usual and his hands were shaking more than they ought, but he wasn't too concerned. This sort of thing happened quite often when Nathaniel was given a shock. He scratched his head, "Shouldn't you be getting upstairs to help though? I'm sure the men aren't doing too well after that wave."
"Yes," Gail nodded slowly, "Yes, you're probably right."
She didn't leave though. With the speed of a snail, she stood up and brushed her skirt, but she didn't leave the room.
"I'm fine," Nathaniel added quickly, thinking she felt inclined to stay because of him and his health, "Really, I am."
"I know, I know," Gail replied in a soft voice, staring at the floor.
"Will you come back down when you're finished?" Nathaniel continued, "We could play another game if you like."
Gail nodded, finally meeting his eyes. She gave a small smile and headed towards the door. Before she left, she looked up once more and said, "Yes. Of course I'll come back down."
From her warm bed downstairs, Mary could hear all the commotion occurring on deck. The sailors were limping about like dazed mummies, holding onto their bruised arms or aching knees. Mary's four sisters were rushing around as the four nurses: cleaning cuts, setting arms in slings, and bandaging legs.
Mary knew she should be upstairs helping and doing her part. She knew she shouldn't be lying in her bed, moaning and complaining of her troubled mind and restless heart. She knew she was being silly and completely useless down here, but no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't bring herself to get out of bed.
All day she'd been lying here, thinking so much her head had begun to throb. All she could see was Ethan's face and all she could hear was his voice. They were tormenting her, torturing her, trying to force her into saying she really did love him and wanted to be his wife, Mrs. Mary Lindsey.
Mary Lindsey. Meredith Lindsey. For the twenty-two long months she and Ethan had courted, Mary had repeated that name over and over again in her head, like a silly schoolgirl with an incurable infatuation. She'd written it on the corners of her napkins and hummed its melody as she dressed each morning. Mary Lindsey. Oh how lovely it had sounded. Meredith Amelia Lindsey, wife of Dr. Ethan Lindsey. How perfect! How melodious!
And now, after only one long day, the name made her cringe. She shuddered in disgust. How on earth could she have ever yearned to be Mrs. Mary Lindsey? It sounded so strange, so ugly, so awkward and misplaced. As the sound of it reached her ears, Mary recoiled in shame, hiding her face beneath her blanket.
Oh how stupid she'd been, to think that she and Ethan could ever truly be happy together. How foolish she'd been to accept his proposal.
Mary had never felt more miserable in her entire life. She didn't know what she was supposed to do. Perhaps Sara was right, and it really was just a case of pre-wedding jitters. Perhaps she was just a blushing bride.
Or perhaps she was absolutely right. Perhaps she and Ethan weren't meant to be together. Perhaps they were meant to go their separate ways and never meet again.
The idea of a wedding had always sounded so exciting: picking out the napkins, sending the invitations, choosing the flowers, and trying on white dresses. But once the day was over, once the dancing had stopped and the champagne stopped flowing, she would be left to face reality.
When Mary was a girl, a wedding had always sounded like a great, magnificent party that every girl should dream about. But now it seemed far less appealing. She knew now that once the party was over, she and Ethan would be left alone to start their new life together. Oh how she dreaded that upcoming life she had foolishly agreed to.
An hour had passed. It was almost eleven o'clock now. Slowly, many pairs of feet, some small and some large, began to trudge down the staircase and into the hall. Mary could hear her sisters saying their goodnights to the sailors and Gail whispering farewell to Nathaniel.
Without thinking on it more than a moment, she hid her face beneath the quilt again and pretended that she had fallen asleep.
Sara, Nora, Emy, and Gail entered on their tiptoes, afraid they may wake their eldest sister. Yawning and sighing, they each put on their nightclothes and climbed into bed. Then, they whispered their goodnights. Sara blew out the candle beside her bed and the girls curled up beneath their blankets, drifting off into dreamland.
The four girls were so exhausted after the long, stormy night that they each fell asleep as soon as their head hit the pillow.
But Mary, tired though she may be, couldn't fall asleep no matter how hard she tried. Images of white dresses, golden wedding rings, and Ethan's sweet face haunted her mind. She had a feeling that this was going to be a long, long night . . .
CHAPTER 15
Mary Crosses the Line
No matter how hard she tried, Mary couldn't sleep a wink that night. She tossed and turned uncomfortably, beads of sweat running down her forehead. Her nightdress clung un
comfortably to every inch of her body, making her squirm and wriggle beneath her sheets.
Horrible thoughts ran through her head, wondering if Ethan really loved her, if she really loved him, if they would be as happy together as she'd once thought, and most importantly, whether she was really supposed to marry him. Suddenly everything was so uncertain. Mary didn't want to be held down to one man for the rest of her life if she wasn't sure he was the right one, yet how was she supposed to know who was the correct man for her? It was an impossible thing to answer and Mary finally gave up trying.
She needed to be free. Tired of being held down by Ethan, and this engagement, and her hot, sticky sheets, Mary jumped out of bed and removed her damp nightgown for a fresh one. Then she grabbed her robe, slid on a pair of slippers, and washed her face, before ascending the stairs to the deck.
It was a chilly night and most girls would have shrunk back to their warm beds after feeling the gusts of cool wind, but Mary found it refreshing. Her beautiful black waves weren't pinned up for once, but blew around her face and into those sky-blue eyes.
With slow steps, she walked once around the back of the deck before noticing a dark figure up ahead. For a moment it scared her, for she thought everyone must be fast asleep downstairs at this hour, but then she remembered Charlie mentioning once that each of the sailors took turns keeping watch during the night. She hadn't any idea which one it might be until she took a few steps forward and realized that only the McAdams brothers were as large as this man. It was Noah.
He was only a few feet away, and yet he didn't see her. His broad shoulders faced the enormous sea, his hands were placed firmly on the railing, and his eyes focused outwards on some vague object in the distance that Mary could bet was nothing more than a large piece of driftwood or perhaps a lost buoy.
Taking a few more steps forward, Mary tried to rustle her skirt a bit and gave a fake cough so that she wouldn't scare him by arriving so suddenly, but he jumped anyway. He'd been so intently focused on the constantly moving, shuffling waves that a human form, and quite an attractive one at that, was a frightening, or rather shocking, sight.
"Good evening, Mary," he managed to say, "Whatever are you doing up so late? It must be at least two o'clock by now."
But Mary didn't answer. She knew what she wanted to do, what she'd been yearning to do for weeks, and without giving it a moment's hesitation she committed the unthinkable act.
Wrapping her arms around Noah's neck, she pulled him closer until her body was pressed against his. She pressed her soft lips firmly against his own.
Their first kiss only lasted mere seconds before Noah pulled away.
"But Mary," he began, "I thought . . . I thought . . . What about that doctor you're getting married to? Lindsey? Are you sure you should be-"
"Positive," Mary interrupted, pulling him in for another kiss.
Although she knew it was forbidden, Mary never wanted the moment to end. In truth, the fact that she knew such a thing was frowned upon only made Mary act with more passion and more fervor than if it weren't.
Noah embraced her; she felt so small when encircled in his large, strong arms. His kisses began to lower down her jawbone till they reached her neck. From there they continued down even further. They pressed against the thin fabric of her nightgown so hard Mary felt as if tomorrow she may find they'd left bruises. Sometimes his kisses were so passionately forceful they hurt. And yet, Mary never wanted him to stop.
As her heart began to race from the immoral pleasure, her chest heaved up and down and she felt her robe slip off her shoulders and onto the ground. Despite the horrid fact that she was kissing someone other than her fiancé, now she was making it worse by being clothed in only a thin, loose nightdress. Her mother would have died of horror if she could see her now.
Downstairs, Sara suddenly began to toss and turn in her own bed. She'd had a terrible dream. A nightmare, really.
It began on the most horrible day of Sara's life- the day of her parents' funeral:
Everything was exactly as it had been two short years ago, eerily so. She and Mary were standing near the door in drab black dresses, trying their best to greet the guests with a smile, but failing miserably. As the two oldest children, it was their duty to be strong and take control of things, but at that moment Sara wished more than anything that she could just sit in the corner and weep, like her younger sisters.
Nora sat on a stiff, high-backed chair with her hands her lap. There were dark circles beneath her eyes; she hadn't slept since Roy and Amelia had passed away and her sisters hadn't either. Every so often she'd reach up and dust away a tear with her handkerchief.
Gail sat on the sofa beside Nora, only twelve years old. A large black bow held back her red locks and her feet were crossed at the ankle. She sat demurely, which was very unlike her usual loud and unruly self, and stared at the wall, barely blinking. She'd always been the most headstrong of the St. James sisters, but now she felt just as useless and grief-stricken as the others. But she had taken the news differently than her sisters as well. After one night of weeping, her eyes dried out and she hadn't cried a tear since. She simply walked around as though in a daze, always burdened by the image of her father and mother lying lifeless in their bed.
Emy was standing in the corner, her head down. Every so often another tear would crawl down her cheek, but she didn't bother to brush it away. Although she'd always been a rather quiet girl, after her parents' death she became even more reserved than before. For several weeks after it happened, she didn't speak a word, virtually becoming a mute. It took some time, but she finally found her voice again and became the Emy her sisters knew and loved today.
The mourners arrived, dressed in black. They sighed over the unfortunate girls, now orphans, and gave their condolences. But nothing anyone could say would make Sara feel better.
In the front of the room were the two coffins, lying side by side. Roy lay in one and Amelia occupied the other.
None of the girls had looked at their parents yet, and they weren't sure if they wanted to or not. For most of the wake they'd made sure to stay at least several feet away from the coffins at all times, scared to see the cold white bodies inside.
The dream skipped over an hour or so, landing at the graveyard where Mr. and Mrs. St. James were buried. The crowd of mourners stood on three sides of the coffins, dabbing their eyes as the pastor spoke of Roy and Amelia's life and what wonderful people they'd both been.
Sara didn't hear a word the pastor said. She was so dazed and lost in her thoughts that she couldn't concentrate on the funeral. She could only remember the fat gray pigeon walking beneath a nearby oak tree.
It waddled back and forth gaily; completely unaware of the processions going on several yards away. Sara wondered if it could even fly, for it seemed far too large to be able. Although she was completely unaware of it, a tear began to roll down her face, staining her cheek.
The pigeon hopped away and Sara was forced once more to turn her attention back to the funeral. The pastor had ended his speech and the mourners each stepped forward to place a rose on the coffins. As Sara followed Mary up to the graves, however, a strange thing happened.
The people surrounding them all disappeared: the mourners, the coffins, and even Sara's three youngest sisters. The sky darkened till it was a deep, mysterious gray and the flourishing green trees all lost their leaves, becoming scary black shadows.
Mary almost looked translucent. She was hovering above the ground like a ghost and her dark ringlets were blowing about her face. She handed Sara the two roses she'd been holding so that Sara now had four.
But when Sara turned to place the flowers on the coffins, she found that the coffins had disappeared and were now replaced with two marble gravestones, etched with the names Roy St. James and Amelia Gallagher St. James.
Sara blinked, wondering if this could all be real. When she turned around to ask Mary, she found that her sister had gone as well. She was completely alone in th
e dark graveyard, with only the fat gray pigeon and her parents' gravestones for company. In the distance, where old buildings used to stand, a heavy fog was inching forward.
Sara dropped the roses at her feet and said goodbye to her pigeon friend. She had a feeling she wouldn't be seeing him much longer.
The air went cold, causing the hairs on Sara's arms to stand on end, as the fog crept steadily onward. She shivered, hugging herself, and closed her eyes as the fog consumed her, and when she finally was brave enough to open her eyes again she found herself in a long hallway filled on one side with rows of pale green lockers and on the other with enormous windows that let in the warm sunshine.
As Sara slowly walked onward she saw a figure coming into view. He was sitting on the ground cross-legged with his back against one of the lockers. Rumpled light brown hair fell into his eyes, emerald green, and he wore a pair of silver framed reading glasses. Beneath his eyes were two dark shadows and a line of freckles ran across his nose. The boy wore a school uniform: white collared shirt, black sweater and tie, and gray trousers, but the garments hung loose on his thin frame. They were obviously secondhand- worn out with holes and patches. He had his nose stuck in a rather large book and was reading it eagerly, absorbing each and every word with delight.
Sara knew almost instantly who it must be. He was much younger and a bit shorter, but she had no doubt that she was standing in front of the same Charlie Wilkie her father had known when they'd been schoolboys together.
He looked up as she approached and flashed her a smile, "'Ello! What are you doing here?" his eyes widened, "Oh wait! How could I have forgotten? Hold on a moment."
Sara stood silently while young Charlie turned around on his knees, opened the locker behind him, and pulled out a small book with a faded blue cover. He handed it to her and Sara heard herself thank him. Then, she turned to a nearby locker, opened it, and handed him a book of her own: large and covered in scarlet leather.
"Thanks. I've really been wanting to read this," Charlie grinned. He brushed off his pants and stood up, all the more for Sara to notice his lanky frame. Brushing some hair out of his eyes, he asked Sara if she'd like to join him for a bite to eat.