Five Sisters (A Romantic Suspense Novel)

by Leen Elle

  He enjoys my company, to be sure, despite our endless arguments. And I'm glad I came.

  I promise to write again soon if you'll do the same. So long!

  Love,

  Gail

  In the coming days, several more letters arrived, all written in Emy's simple and rather pretty penmanship. She wrote to her "dearest Sara" and confessed that no words could express her current state of happiness.

  The Clarendon Art Institute was incredible, the workshop Brook worked in was full of amazements and wonders, and the brilliancy of the festival was beyond her wildest dreams.

  She loved the spectacular architecture of the exhibition rooms and enjoyed every moment she spent in Clarendon. The painters and sculptors and potters impressed her immensely. She had already spent a small portion of her money on a little watercolor painting that she planned on hanging above her dresser back in Brighton. With it, she had also received numerous pencil sketches and charcoal drawings from Brook. He completed so many that there were plenty to spare and he couldn't find a more worthy and thankful recipient than Emy. Each day in Clarendon, she wrote, was even better than the last.

  Her favorite activity was visiting the showrooms of the more famous artists present. Although she rarely found that their talent greatly surpassed the other artists at the festival, she adored lingering among the wealthy and highly sophisticated guests. Although she and Brook could both appreciate a good work of art, they found it amusing to stand beside the rich patrons and hear them try to praise the work with invented terms and profess how deeply a simple painting could affect their very souls. They had no idea what they were talking about and it showed. Nothing could be more hilarious to Brook and Emy than vain, overly smug people trying to claim that they were emotional and respective of artwork purely for the sake of their own outward appearances. Sophisticated people never enjoy admitting their own faults, especially in an area as greatly esteemed as art.

  Reading through the letters, Sara found herself exceedingly glad to hear that Emy was in such high spirits and she wrote back directly to tell her so often.

  However, when Nora read through these same letters a few hours later, although she, too, was happy to hear of Emy's contentment in Clarendon, she noticed something that Sara had not. It was not something unpleasant nor was it certain, but it made Nora smile nevertheless.

  She saw how excessively Emy spoke of Brook. Such an act was not surprising considering he was her only acquaintance on the trip, until one looked more carefully at the words she paired with his name:

  "A more gracious and benevolent man I have yet to meet."

  "Never have I heard someone speak with as much expression and enthusiasm as he."

  "With each drawing I receive from him, my admiration of his talent and dedication grows."

  "It seems that wherever we go Brook is able to introduce me to more of his mates from school and professors. With such an amiable personality and pleasing demeanor, it is not surprising that he should gain so many friends."

  "Because he knows that I am uncomfortable in large crowds and I do not easily converse with strangers, Brook stayed by my side the whole of the night. I could not have been more grateful."

  "There is no one in the world I would rather be here with than Brook."

  And finally, in the very last of the several letters, Emy related an anecdote that Nora could not help but giggle at, considering Emy's bashful and reserved demeanor.

  During an evening spent visiting the booths of amateur artists, a comment was made to Emy by an old, white-haired man with twinkling eyes and silver spectacles:

  "The man assumed me to be Brook's sweetheart, for he said we strolled the streets with a look only lovers can posses. If Brook had heard I'm quite sure I would have died on the spot, but he was fortunately visiting a booth nearby and admiring oil paintings. Nevertheless, I blushed immensely and stammered when contradicting the man's assumption. He laughed and told me I needn't be embarrassed. Then, much to my surprise, he tore out a sheet from his sketchbook, scribbled something on the back, and handed it to me, refusing to accept any payment in return. It was a lovely little pencil drawing of winter in the countryside with snowy hills, bushy evergreens, and near a hundred little figures building snowmen, constructing snow angels and igloos, sledding down hills, and throwing snowballs as well as various other winter activities. The picture was highlighted with small bits of color on the hats and the trees and the scarves and the powder blue sky, but the majority of it was crisp, clean white. I adore it and could not profess my gratitude to the man enough. But it wasn't until that night, as I admired it once more, that I noticed one small detail that had escaped observation before. The sketch was titled 'Young Lovers Behind the Tree' and, accordingly, near the very edge of the paper, partially hidden behind a pine tree, was the subject of the drawing- two lovers sharing a chaste, joyful kiss. And on the back I found a bit of the man's scribbling that read 'To Miss St. James, a young lover behind the tree.' I swear I haven't any idea what he was talking about. I only wrote of it here to tell you of the wonderful little picture, Sara."

  In a matter of instants, all of Emy's lovesick looks and silent misery aboard Violet were justified. Nora finally understood who she'd been yearning after for all those many weeks. Emy was in love with Brook.

  CHAPTER 33

  A Turn for the Worst

  "Another letter from your sister, Miss St. James?"

  Gail nodded, "It's the third one this week. She must be awfully bored. I don't even think that she waits to receive my letters before sending hers."

  "Does she wish you to come home?"

  Although it was Maureen who spoke, all three nurses lifted their heads to hear Gail's response.

  "Not in writing, no," affirmed Gail, "But I'll bet she's wishing it. Not that I pride myself in being a wonderful companion, but with only lovesick Mary and somber Nora to keep her company, it would be of no surprise if she wanted me and Emy at home to keep her company as well."

  "But you're not planning on leaving Wickensville anytime soon?"

  "I hadn't planned on it."

  Maureen, Edith, and Carolyn sighed in relief and continued with their work, giving Nathaniel his daily medications just as they had the day Gail arrived. For the first few days of her presence in Wickensville, under the hospital's policy she was not allowed to sit in a patient's room during this process. But Nathaniel screamed at his nurses and insisted that it was completely unacceptable that Gail should be ushered out into the hallway when he did not protest to her being in the room. As they always did with enough pleading on Gail's part and enough yelling on Nathaniel's, the hospital staff finally agreed to it. But as the nurses went about their work, Edith, the oldest of the trio, couldn't help but shake her head at the impropriety of it all. A young girl of no more than fifteen watching as they treated Nathaniel and gave him his treatments; it was a disgrace in her eyes.

  Nathaniel chuckled, "You three always ask about Gail leaving as though awaiting the announcement of your dying day."

  Maureen gave a feeble smile, "We enjoy her presence, is all."

  "I'm not a fool, you know. I know why you like having her around," he paused, "Do you really think me so evil that you must beg poor Gail to stay?"

  "No, no."

  "Of course not."

  Nathaniel gave a short, loud laugh, "I've never heard worse liars in my life."

  Edith came forward with a tray and set it down on the side of Nathaniel's bed. One at a time, she removed the lid of each bottle and poured out the appropriate number of tablets, handing them to her patient as she did so. Unable to hold the full glass of water himself, Maureen lifted the cup to Nathaniel's lips instead as he swallowed each handful of the tablets.

  "I swear you're going to kill him one day with all those pills," Gail murmured, bringing her feet up beneath her Indian-style as she sat on a chair beside his bed, "They're so huge he'll probably choke on one."

  "I wouldn't be surprised if I did," Nathaniel a
greed.

  Carolyn shook her head, "There's no need to talk to us about it. Dr. Fitzgerald and Dr. Hopson are the ones who decide these things. They should be around to visit you within the next few hours, Mr. West."

  "And you know I'm really looking forward to that . . ."

  Gail giggled, "They're your favorite guests!"

  Once the administering of pills and ointments and that awfully long needle was finished, the nurses pushed out their cart and left Nathaniel and Gail alone for the rest of the afternoon.

  Gail found a deck of cards in the drawer of the bedside table and quickly dealt out two hands to play a game of Rummy. Nathaniel was watching her carefully, as he always did. He'd never played cards much before he met her and it always amazed him how quickly she could shuffle the cards together, let them form a bridge and cascade through, and then deal them out without turning a single one over or getting them all jumbled up. She promised to teach him when he was feeling stronger.

  The game began. Cards were drawn and played, hands considered, the contemplation of whether to go with a group or a run was made. Both participants had taken a good amount of turns and the game was almost halfway through before they were interrupted by some simple coughing on Nathaniel's part.

  But it was no worry. Seamlessly, after the slight pause, the game continued.

  A modest conversation ensued, spoken lazily and with several sighs.

  "When do you think Fitz and Hopson will be coming in?"

  "I don't know . . ." Nathaniel shrugged, "Why?"

  "Well, I'd rather I wasn't around when they come."

  "Why should you say that?"

  "They don't like me here. I heard you fighting with them that first Sunday after I arrived."

  "They don't know what they're talking about. And besides, I think they were only upset because you were spending your Sunday with me rather than at church. They're real religious, you know. They think that if you were to pray in the church all afternoon for my good health it would be better for me than if you stayed here."

  "Oh."

  "And they don't like how you're bringing me other food too, which is crazy. I told them I'd kill myself if they made me eat anymore of this hospital slop."

  "The food from the market is probably a lot better for you too. They shouldn't be complaining."

  "Exactly. Plus, they're really just upset that you, a young girl who is not a member of my family and who spends far more time in this hospital than she ought, is in here all the time. They find it 'completely unreasonable' that you're spending so much time here when you're certainly not my sister and we're most definitely not engaged."

  Gail huffed, "They're just two uptight old men. What do they know?"

  "Right again, my dear. But it didn't help much when they found you lying asleep with your head upon my bed last week."

  "But, I . . . How do you know about that? You were asleep."

  "Oh, I know. But ol' Fitz made sure that I heard what a disgrace we were making. As if I had anything to do with it! It's not my fault you were tired."

  "'Course not."

  "It's the work of science. Of the natural human body."

  "The Sandman."

  "And yet ol' Dr. Fitz comes around and talks to me like he's my old man, ordering me not to allow 'such nonsense' to take place and saying that it's perfectly unacceptable that the hospital should allow you to stay past visiting hours simply because I allow it. What's he getting so upset about? If I want you to stay, I should have that right. I am a dying man, after all."

  "He thinks it's bad for your health to have me around, which is crazy."

  "Alright, so I yelled quite a bit when you first got here. Who wouldn't? I was surprised."

  Gail grinned, "He did have a point with that one though. The next day Maureen said you looked weaker than usual. And you could barely talk."

  "Just lost a bit of strength. Nothing to get worried about. I was fine the next day, after all."

  "You've been yelling quite a bit since I got here though. And every time you seem to get a bit worse."

  "But I always recover."

  "I suppose."

  "And besides, when you weren't here I found plenty of things to argue with those nurses about."

  "Yes, but when you fight with them you never get quite as passionate as you do when you fight with me."

  "It's not my fault you can easily get me upset."

  "But it is your fault you allow me to stay, which is what Dr. Fitzgerald was saying and . . ."

  "Hey! I thought you agreed with me! Why are you defending him?"

  "I'm not defending him, I'm just stating the facts."

  "Doesn't sound like it."

  "Hey! You didn't draw a card. You can't discard without drawing."

  Nathaniel reluctantly drew up a card and sighed, "Ruins my whole hand. I knew I shouldn't take it."

  "You had to."

  "I could have taken what was on top of the deck. It's an ace."

  "Who needs an ace?"

  "I love aces."

  Gail raised an eyebrow, "Well you'd better hurry up and get your hand sorted out because I'm going down soon, mister."

  Nathaniel groaned, "For Christ's sake . . . And I'm almost there too."

  All in a moment, he erupted in another fit of coughs. Gail waited for him to finish, but when he didn't, and his face gradually began to pale, she leaned back and tossed him his handkerchief from the dresser. Even then, he was not through. He dropped his hand, the cards scattering across his quilt, and grabbed the handkerchief hastily.

  "This had better not be a farce so that I can't win the game, Nathaniel West. You're not so pitiful that I'm going to throw up my cards and allow a tie."

  He shook his head, the coughs subsiding, "No, no. I'm fine," he coughed again, "Just hand me my cards, without looking at them, of course, and we can finish."

  Setting aside his handkerchief, he took the scrambled cards from Gail and began to place them in their former sequence, by suit, "My turn?"

  But Gail wasn't paying attention. Her eyes were locked upon the handkerchief he'd set down. Slowly, she reached out a finger and turned the cloth over to reveal speckles of crimson dots, Nathaniel's blood.

  "Nathaniel," she murmured, "Are you sure you're alright? There are . . ."

  He nodded and brushed away the handkerchief, "I'm fine. I'm fine."

  "Are you sure you don't need me to call . . ."

  "You don't need to act so frightened. It's not as if it hasn't happened before . . . Shall we continue our game?"

  Gail nodded, though wearily.

  The game was finished, Gail being victorious, and another started. It continued in the same fashion, littered with conversation and several small disputes, until Nathaniel finally won. Gail then ran back to the tavern to pick up some food she'd bought and returned so she and Nathaniel could start another game whilst eating their suppers.

  But throughout the day, at moments quickly forgotten by Nathaniel yet memorized by Gail, Nathaniel began to cough quite violently again. It wasn't the coughs that were alarming to her, for those are expected from a sick man, but she couldn't take her mind off the blood, which seemed to increase as the hours passed. By the time they were finished eating the white handkerchief was nearly covered in drying blood.

  Nathaniel gave a small smile, watching her wide eyes as she gazed upon it, and scratched his head, "It's just blood, Gaily."

  "I know."

  "It's happened millions of times before."

  "Not as long as I've known you."

  "Just because you've never seen it, that doesn't mean it hasn't happened."

  "You don't . . . you don't have consumption, do you?"

  "No, no. 'Course not."

  "How do you know? Have you checked with the doctors?"

  "For Christ's sake . . . You think I'm just making this all up?"

  "I don't know."

  "I don't have consumption, Gail. I'd know if I did," he smiled again, "And you needn't be so w
orried. I'm fine."

  "I know. I just don't like to see it there, right in front of me. It's rather scary."

  ""I've got plenty of blood left in me, I assure you."