by Leen Elle
"I did mean it! I've meant it both times, just with different degrees!"
"Perhaps you should be less harsh in your judgments!"
"I'll be however harsh I wish to be, no matter what your opinion!"
"You're the most pessimistic person I've ever met!"
"You never answered my question anyway. Why are you here? It must have been an awfully long trip coming all the way from Brighton."
"Only a day's journey."
"So you traveled from dawn until dusk just to see Mr. Nathaniel West? Why I'd be flattered if you didn't seem so indignant about being here!"
" I came because I thought you were dying! As much as it may surprise you, I did actually think about you a bit after you'd gone and I was afraid you were still terribly ill and might pass away! If I'd known you had your voice partially back and if I'd known how contentious you'd be, I never would have come in the first place!"
"But you did," Nathaniel smiled. Not a sweet, thankful smile, but a mocking grin, "You spent all day in a carriage and came to this desolate town just to see me! Were you terribly worried about me, Gaily? Were you scared? Did you think I might be dead?"
"You're ridiculous! I'd leave this room right now but I've got no where else to go for the moment!"
"Now who's the pitiful one? You're homeless!"
"I'll find a room at an inn or something, don't you worry!"
"How long might you be staying?"
"As long as I wish to."
"If you're going to be coming back again, could you at least bring me a little food from outside this place? I'm going to end up starving myself if I don't start eating again."
"Why in the world are you asking for favors right now? You should know that I'm not in the mood to be bringing you gifts! Especially when you're always so demanding about it and never show your gratitude as you ought!"
"I might have said thank you if you'd do it! How do you know I haven't changed?"
"Believe me, this conversation is enough to assure me of that!"
"You've only caught me on a bad day! You should have seen that shot they had to stick in my arm!"
"I did see it!"
"No, but you should have seen it when they were putting in! They had to hold me down so I wouldn't jump up and sock ol' Carolyn right in the face! It's not my fault I'm angry at the moment! It's theirs! If they hadn't put me through such pain I might not be so upset!"
"It's not their fault! It's just . . . It's fate! It's not their fault your sick! And if you're trying to suggest that if I'd shown up yesterday and they weren't sticking foot long needles into your arm, you wouldn't be so rude, then you're terribly mistaken to think I should believe it! Before they even started you were yelling at them! And I heard some doctors talking out in the hall too. They said 'that West boy' is always causing a ruckus and that you ought to be locked up because you're always screaming so much and bothering the other patients!"
"Never trust the opinion of doctors! They're all a bunch of lunatics, you know! They're the ones who ought to be locked up!"
"They're the only ones who can help you!"
"No one can help me! Like you said, it's fate. You're destined to be happy and I'm destined to be lying in this sickbed all my life!"
"Oh!" Gail fumed, stomping her foot, "How can you really believe that? Don't you have any hope? Life's not all determined by fate, you know, it's also influenced by the efforts of people to make a better life for themselves!"
"I'd be a fool to believe such nonsense!"
"I can't believe I was ever worried about you! After you left, or after they carried you out rather, I was a mess, you know! I couldn't sleep and I couldn't think and I . . . I was really scared you were going to die. I didn't want to let you leave alone, but I can see now that my presence was of no importance! I've spent the last few weeks wringing my hands and biting my lip and wondering if you were alright! And now, it seems as if it was all for nothing! You don't even appreciate it!"
"I never said that!"
"You might as well have!"
"I'm honored that you should spend your goddam precious moments thinking of me! Don't simply assume that I don't appreciate it! Because I do!" his voice broke, "I do, for Christ's sake!"
Gail didn't quite know what to say. She let her eyes drop down to the floor, lowering her shield, and brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear. Spotting a wooden chair that had escaped her eye on first observation, Gail pushed it over beside Nathaniel's bed and sat down, pulling her feet up and sitting Indian-style.
With a sigh, she finally questioned, "What sort of place is this anyway? They don't even have a game of Chinese checkers, do they?"
Nathaniel shook his head, "It's a pity."
"How long are the visiting hours? It's nearly nine o'clock and I'm surprised they haven't already asked me to leave."
"Oh they'll let you stay as long as I want you to. They wouldn't dare go against my orders."
Gail raised an eyebrow, "You act as though you're the king of this place or something."
"I might as well be. Nearly everyone does what I ask them to. My parents sent over enough money to keep them all good and happy. The only thing they won't bring me is some edible food. It's ridiculous! You'd think they'd have a little compassion after seeing how serious I am about it! I can't force that slop down my throat. It's impossible!"
"I'll try and look around town for something tomorrow morning, if I can. What exactly do you want?"
"I don't care. I really don't. Anything has to be better than this. But some bread would be nice. Warm, sourdough bread. Or roast beef! Just a few slices with some provolone cheese. Mmm . . . Just thinking about it makes my mouth water."
Gail smiled, "I'll see what I can do . . ." she paused before questioning slowly, "Do you really hate the nurses here?"
"With all my heart and soul."
"You're despicable."
"I know it."
"How long were you in St. Francis County?"
"Only about two weeks or so, I think."
"And did you like it any better?"
"Well the nurses were younger there."
"Nathaniel!"
"And the town wasn't quite so glum. But I couldn't even think of trusting anything the doctors said."
"I've never seen you trust a doctor in my life!"
"Yes, but these men . . . They really were a bit loony. I suppose they did help a little with getting me back to consciousness and all that."
Gail's eyes widened, "Getting you back to consciousness?"
"Well sure. I can barely remember the week before I arrived at St. Francis County or the first week I spent there. I wasn't unconscious, no, but I couldn't talk and I couldn't move and I kept having all these weird hallucinations. I really didn't know where I was for most of it until they told me later on. I didn't even remember lying in my bedroom aboard the ship with you. I just kept having all these weird images of ravens flying around my head. The nurses practically fainted when I told them that. It's a bad omen, or something of the sort, to see ravens."
"I did read you the poem 'The Raven' on that last day."
"Makes sense."
"How funny . . ."
"And then after I arrived I just kept waking up at odd moments to see big dark figures and little white women standing over with me with tools in their hands. Scared me half to death. And they had me strapped down to the table so I wouldn't move. It was like a nightmare except it wasn't. All I saw was doctors and nurses and their shiny metal instruments and the swinging light bulb hanging from the ceiling. I had surgery, you know, though I've got no idea what they did to me. Something with my colon, I think. Or perhaps my liver. Didn't help too much though."
"I didn't know you had surgery! Was it terrible?"
"I honestly don't know. I can barely remember any of it. But I've got a big red scar on my stomach now," he pushed back his blankets and lifted up his nightshirt a bit, very slowly, as always, and revealed to her a lengthy scar, nearly eight inc
hes long, that was still dotted with blood. His stomach was horribly, hideously thin and white. But it barely even caught the eye when one saw his ribs, each one visibly poking through his sallow skin.
Gail gulped, "Looks awful."
"It's not so bad really. Only hurts when I swallow."
"Have you had much to keep you occupied here?"
"Not a lot. But the newspapers are new at least, and if I ask, they'll bring me books from the library sometimes. And I've got a deck of cards to play solitaire with."
"Tomorrow I'll try and find something else to bring you. A game or something, I don't know."
"You look awfully tired already."
Gail yawned, "Well I've been up since dawn. And that carriage ride nearly rocked me to sleep."
"You should probably go find somewhere to stay. I wouldn't want to be roaming around a town like this in the dead of the night. And you should probably get some sleep."
"Are you sure you don't want me to stay a little longer?"
"I'm not a child, Gail. You needn't worry about me."
"Well, I promise I'll be back tomorrow."
"And remember to bring some real food."
"Of course."
And with that, she said goodbye, left the room, assured the nurses that she wasn't afraid of Nathaniel and that she'd be back tomorrow, and headed out into the cold, dark night with her trunk at hand to find somewhere to stay for the night.
CHAPTER 32
Letters from Emy and Gail
Although only a little more than a week had passed since the departure of Brook, Emy, and Gail, the period felt much longer to Sara. In Brighton, though surrounded by her two remaining sisters and the merry and eager Lindsey family, Sara seemed unusually lonely and spent her days wallowing in despair.
To state the name that most often occupied the poor girl's thoughts seems rather silly when such a statement should be more than obvious to all.
Nora, caught so often thinking of her own sailor, was of no consolation. When together, the two sisters were even more miserable than before. They tried to divert themselves with games or conversation or various household tasks, but no matter how hard they may try and how earnestly they went about the day's activities, their minds always returned to the sea.
Mary, prancing about the house with Ethan at her side and a smile upon her face, attempted to brighten her sisters' spirits but to no avail. They tried to be pleasant and cheerful, for her sake, but could never truly convince her of their felicity. She knew of their sadness, even when they struggled so desperately to conceal it.
But Mary could not be downcast about their condition for long. There was always some feature of the wedding to discuss and contemplate and finalize. For most of the month, she and Betsy, often aided by her sisters, set to work on the dress. They went into town to buy the fabric and lace, laid everything out on the kitchen floor to cut the pattern, and began to sew the seams with a careful hand and neat, miniscule stitches. Such an enormous task directed the majority of their time. While John and Ethan worked hard hammering nails and chopping up wood and building the house Ethan and Mary were to live in, Betsy and Mary sat by the fire gossiping with their needles at hand.
To pull Mary away from such gaiety would have been sinful, Sara thought, so she bore her misery alone.
Often she found herself wishing sweet Emy and lively Gail had not left her, but it was a selfish desire that she dared not dwell on. Emy, whose complacency and patience could be matched by no one, deserved a holiday free of somber sisters and the overly earnest bride-to-be. And Gail, whose sadness and worriment surpassed Sara's own weeks before, most certainly deserved to see Nathaniel and assure herself of his good health. And, in turn, Nathaniel deserved to welcome such a concerned girl into his hospital room and free himself of loony doctors and fretful nurses, if only for a moment. She was the only person he'd ever met, including members of his own family, who he believed truly cared for him and would be sorry if he were to die. Sara felt terribly guilty for wishing them home again and dreaming they might drag themselves away from exciting fairs and ailing invalids, but she couldn't help it. Only their letters, which arrived exceedingly often, could console her.
Emy's came first, arriving only three days after she'd left:
Dearest Sara,
I wish to tell you of Clarendon, of Brook's university and how wonderful it all is, but I unfortunately cannot. Our carriage rolled into town not two hours ago and we've only just unpacked our belongings and gotten settled in. We were so eager to see the school today but night has already fallen upon us and it won't be possible until tomorrow.
However, I'm happy to say that even though the trip's only just begun, I'm already enjoying myself immensely. Our rooms are located in a wonderful little tavern in the center of town. I've never had a room all to myself before though, so it's rather strange to me. In Laraford it was Nora, Gail, and me. On Violet it was all five of us together. And in Brighton it was you and I. To be honest, I've never exactly wanted my own room. And it's still far less appealing in a busy city where my window graces the rowdy streets and I fear of pickpockets and thieves and murderers hiding in the night. But Brook has assured me that with his room only just across the hall I shall remain perfectly safe. If I grow fearful, I can jump from bed and knock upon his door. And if the whistling wind or the dangerous alleys outside my window make me tremble and grow fretful in the night, he even offered to lie upon my hard wood floors to protect me and alleviate my nightmarish worries. Such drastic measures will hardly be necessary, but I appreciate his kindness and his offer nonetheless. A more gracious and benevolent man I have yet to meet.
I fear I shan't sleep tonight, dear sister. Not for fright, but because my excitement for tomorrow's proceedings is too great. For near the entirety of our trip Brook told me of his high expectations for the festival. He divulged which painters and sculptors shall be present, whose work shall be represented, and which exhibitions he was most anxious to see. He assured me most animatedly of the school and the festival's brilliance and of that I have no doubt. Even if, for some unfortunate reason, I should never see the art myself, just hearing the joy and the excitement in his voice and the vivacity of which he explains such sights would surely make me just as content as if I'd seen them all myself. Never have I heard someone speak with as much expression and enthusiasm as he. Until we enter the festival, I fear my heart shall never slow its continual rapid beating.
From what I have seen of it, Clarendon looks to be, on most accounts, a fine, charming town. Its noise and chaos can be intimidating, but the beauty of the season overpowers such unpleasant factors. I do, however, fear for our poor Gail. She harbors a stronger heart than I, I daresay, and shall uphold herself better than I could in a town such as Wickensville. But I still worry of her happiness in such a place, especially when Nathaniel is not well either. If only you'd seen the look of it as I did the day we dropped her off. A more quiet, depressed, dark, and saddened place cannot be found. No one smiled there, not even the children. It was an unfortunate sight indeed. If you hear from her as I expect you shall, write to me quickly in case I do not hear first. She is not yet sixteen and I wish she weren't staying in Wickensville alone. She has Nathaniel, of course, but his presence is different than that of a companion or a guardian.
I desperately wish to know of his health as well. If he is looking just as ill as the last time we saw him, I must pray for poor Gail as well as he. She cares for him far too much to bear such a disappointment well. But I have faith in both the health of Mr. West and of our Gail.
I cannot wait until tomorrow. The sun shall not rise soon enough to please me. I promise to write to you of everything I see.
I hope all is well at home. Assure Mr. and Mrs. Lindsey of our safety and our arrival. Also, relate to Mary and Nora the contents of this letter and tell both that I promise to write again soon.
I'm sorry, but I must go now. Dinner has been served downstairs and our stomachs are rumbling already. Until to
morrow!
Your joyous sister,
Emmeline St. James
The following day, the postman arrived with another letter. But this one bore the address of Wickensville. It read:
Sara,
I hope all is well in Brighton. I'm missing everything and everyone back at the Lindsey's house already. Wickensville isn't quite what I'd expected. I could spend pages and pages telling you all about its depressing gloom and eerie silence and dark streets, but I do not wish to worry you. I shall only say that I strongly advise you not to ever set foot in this town unless you absolutely must.
However, I'm happy to say, for Nathaniel's sake, that the hospital here is wonderful. I've never seen one better. For the most part, the staff is friendly and inviting. The atmosphere is far brighter than that of its surroundings and the doctors have my respect in their education and their actions. Nathaniel certainly doesn't feel the same way as I on these matters. Within my first hour in the hospital I heard him complain that the nurses were petulant, the doctors were lunatics, and the food was a disgrace. But do not worry. I told him directly how rude, obnoxious, and ungrateful I thought he was being. Although he still finds plenty of time to criticize the medications and the room and the meals and the physicians (and on and on the list goes), since I've arrived I believe he hasn't been quite so contentious as before. The nurses assure me of that daily and beg me to stay as long as possible. As long as I stay with him, they don't have to deal with his complaints and I'm the one who's yelled at most. But I don't mind it greatly. The poor women have been abused, I fear, by Nathaniel's harsh critiques. For calming him down a bit at times (though the serenity usually only reigns after a lengthy period of quarreling) the nurses are most grateful and I'm happy to oblige them.
All that being said, it goes without saying that Nathaniel isn't quite so terribly ill as when we saw him last. Half of his voice has he returned, though it is raspy and often leaves him after prolonged shouting matches with me. He is no longer sitting on the brink of death, I'm glad to say, but do not mistake my words. He is far from good health still and each day I fear he is growing worse again. The uncertainty of his condition drives me mad. But the doctors are doing everything they can. He had surgery before I arrived, though he tells me it did him no good, and the doctors are continually trying new injections and new medications on his frail, weakening body. It's tearing him apart, I can tell, and dragging down his last bit of strength, though he tries to blame everything on the lunacy of the doctors and never mentions directly the pain and the weakness it's causing him and the destruction it bears upon his fractured mind.