Five Sisters (A Romantic Suspense Novel)

by Leen Elle

  "Alright," he said, walking quickly across the street, "I think I've got it."

  Emy followed shortly behind and questioned meekly, "What is it?"

  "Okay, here's my idea," Brook pointed ahead of them, towards an old stone bridge, "I want you standing just up there."

  "On the bridge?"

  "Yes, on the bridge. Not directly in the middle, but a bit off center," by this time they'd reached the bridge and Brook modeled the position himself while explaining so that Emy would understand, "Rest your arms on the ledge just here and lean over just a bit; I don't want you to have perfect posture in this, hunch your shoulders a little. Not too much though. Just enough so that you look a little frail, dainty, sweet. A perfectly straight back is beautiful but unrealistic. Try it, just here."

  Emy attempted the same position Brook had done while he adjusted her appearance a bit- tilting her hat slightly askew, setting a few locks of hair in front of her shoulders, dusting off the broad, stiff collar of her cloak.

  "Yes, that looks lovely," Brook nodded, "Is it an easy position to hold?"

  Emy nodded, "Very. But are you sure this is what you want me to wear? It's not very pretty, is it?"

  "It's not exquisite, no. But I like it this way. It's more natural than if I had you all dolled up."

  "And I feel as if I'm in the way," Emy whispered, glancing behind her at the passersby, "Are you sure there's not somewhere better I could stand? Somewhere where there aren't a lot of people passing by me?"

  "No, no. It's fine. You're not bothering anyone. And it'll make for a more interesting picture."

  "And where will you stand?" continued Emy, "You're not going doing this from behind, are you?"

  "'Course not," Brook shook his head and began walking off the side of the bridge, holding his sack of tools and canvas. He headed then to the left, where there was a suitably sized area of grass and trees that sat just beside the river that ran through the bottom of the bridge. He shouted back up to her, with a wide grin, "I'll stand right here!"

  "Oh Brook," Emy wailed, "I don't like this at all!"

  "What do you mean? It'll be perfect! I've got a great view from right here."

  "But everyone's staring at me!"

  "You deserve to be stared at!"

  "Brook, please!"

  Brook headed back towards the bridge and once reasonably close to Emy, though still standing upon the grass, he questioned seriously, "Do you not want to do this? Because, like I said, you really don't have to. Don't feel pressured about it."

  Emy sighed, "I just wish everyone would stop looking at me. Once you headed out there and people recognized what I was doing they all just started staring. If it was only you, it'd be different."

  "There's nothing to be afraid of really. You don't know any of these people and you'll probably never see them again in your life!"

  Emy smiled, "That's true."

  "And I really would like to use a stationary model for once."

  "Well . . ."

  "And I promise I'll go as fast as I can."

  "Not too fast though . . . You don't want to ruin it."

  "So you'll do it then?" Brook beamed.

  Emy nodded, blushing once more, and Brook was so glad to hear her assent that he grabbed her hand from the ledge, brought it to his lips, and kissed it before running back off towards his supplies.

  Emy could feel her heart beating out of her chest the rest of the afternoon, and for once it wasn't because she was embarrassed that everyone was staring at her. It was because the one man she adored was staring at her. Despite the chilly weather, the back of her hand still felt warm from his kiss.

  *****

  Back in Wickensville, Gail was pacing the floor beside Nathaniel's bed as they both contemplated his three choices for the future.

  The sun was filtering through the curtains lazily, barely able to brighten the dark room, and Nathaniel's breakfast lay uneaten on the bedside table. Although it was only eight o'clock in the morning and visitors weren't supposed to enter the hospital until ten, no one seemed to mind Gail's disregard to the rules when she had Nathaniel to fend for her.

  Not surprisingly, they'd both had a very long night. Both lied awake in bed, Gail on her stiff tavern mattress and Nathaniel in his standard hospital one, as they thought over each of the options presented by Dr. Fitzgerald and Dr. Hopson.

  The first was completely unsuitable, both agreed. If Nathaniel was given no different medications, was not taken into surgery, and continued on as he was currently, his life would only continue to be a vague, meaningless bore. And Nathaniel distinctively demanded that such a situation would not be acceptable. Plus, the doctors seemed certain that his condition was worsening dramatically and if nothing were done and he weren't treated, he'd only come closer and closer to death.

  That left the final two options- a difficult, painful medication or a risky surgery. With the surgery, it was fairly certain Nathaniel would either die or become fairly better. With the medication, there was no possibility of death, but there was also no chance of getting well again. Neither was terribly appealing.

  It had been two days since the options were presented and since then Nathaniel had, as predicted, grown steadily worse. The doctors feared a collapse was near. He coughed up more and more blood each day and all the weight he'd gained since entering the hospital had been lost. His body was frail, severely white, and emaciated. A stark contrast appeared between the circles beneath his eyes, which now nearly looked black, and the rest of his waxen skin. He suffered from continuous bedhead, for his head rarely left the pillow; his very light brown hair was sticking up in some places and flattened against his scalp in others. Unable to do so himself and refusing to allow the nurses, he hadn't shaved in nearly a week. It showed. He bore not a five o'clock shadow, but a five-day shadow. Stubble and whiskers several shades darker than his hair covered nearly the entirety of his chin and lower face. In a day or two it'd be a full-fledged beard.

  Gail looked a mess as well. Her thick, auburn hair was pulled messily up atop her head and, with no thoughts toward propriety, she hadn't dressed before coming to the hospital that morning. Instead, she wore a long, plain white nightdress, her regular brown shoes, and a soft red robe. It was in this fashion that she continued pacing the floor, rubbing the space between her eyes every so often as if she had a terrible headache.

  "Good God," Nathaniel murmured, his voice barely audible, "This is ridiculous. What am I supposed to do?"

  Gail shrugged, "Why couldn't they just tell you which one they think is best?"

  "They are the doctors here," Nathaniel nodded.

  "It's only decent that they give you their opinions. But they haven't even hinted . . ."

  "The jerks," whispered Nathaniel.

  Gail sat down on the edge of his bed and pulled her legs up beneath her, sighing. Without any warning, Nathaniel suddenly looked towards her, appearing exceedingly frustrated. He wasn't only frustrated with the doctors though. He was now frustrated with her as well.

  "You know, you're a jerk too," he added.

  Gail's eyebrows wrinkled together, "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "You haven't told me your opinion either."

  "Sure I have . . . I've . . . I told you that you definitely couldn't choose the first option."

  "Well I knew that already, Gail. But you've never told me which one you do think I should choose."

  "I want to be sure that you make this decision on your own, uninfluenced."

  "Oh, come on. That's silly! Just tell me! It'll help me make a more educated decision."

  Gail shook her head, "No, no. How do you even know I've made my choice? Perhaps I'm just as unsure as you are."

  Nathaniel raised an eyebrow, "Don't you dare try and lie to me, Miss St. James. I'm positive that you've decided which is best. You may be wavering a bit, but you know, in the back of your mind, which you'd choose if you were me. I'm sure of it."

  *****

  The day was a long one.<
br />
  For Gail it was spent leafing through a stack of boring books, trying to get Nathaniel's mind off his health long enough for a game of cards, and roaming the hospital's long white hallways for a storage room where she might find some new handkerchiefs for Nathaniel, who was going through so many they filled a crimson stained stack beside his bed.

  For Nathaniel it was spent in misery. His temperature dropped slowly, dipping far beneath the average normal temperature, and he couldn't stop trembling. A terrible, terrible headache arose around mid-afternoon and refused to leave. It was so bad he had to deny Gail a second game of poker and simply lied beneath his covers, moaning softly in agony. Also, as stated above, he continued to cough up more and more blood and by the end of the day he had to enlist Gail's help to find more handkerchiefs. His appetite was gone. He couldn't sleep. His head was throbbing in pain and his fingers were shaking. And, to add to all this, he still had to decide which option he wanted to choose.

  It was all too much. The pain and anxiety was unbearable.

  By the end of the day he just couldn't think anymore. He knew he'd never be able to decide for himself. He needed someone to tell him what to do.

  Gail, sitting at the edge of his bed Indian-style, was exhausted as well, as she should be. As much as Nathaniel's illness plagued him, it caused Gail to suffer as well. She was the one who had to listen to his misery and see his blood before her and witness his fall back towards death. The effect this all had on her was undeniable.

  Her silent reverie was interrupted by Nathaniel's hoarse, pleading whisper.

  "Gail," he murmured, rubbing his eyes wearily, "Oh Gail . . . Just tell me what to do. I don't know anymore, I just don't know. I've probably lost my mind so much that if I do try to decide myself it'll all be a big mistake and I'll end up in my grave. I'm sure of it."

  Gail sighed, feeling just as tired as he, "Oh don't say that."

  She began to trace the thread of Nathaniel's quilt with her finger, slowly moving around each square until her hand was drifting closer and closer to Nathaniel's chest. And then suddenly, with a desperate plea visible in his eyes, Nathaniel's took Gail's hand. She let him hold it for a moment, allowing it to be placed upon his colorless cheek.

  "Tell me what to do, Gail," he repeated once more, his eyes tearing into her.

  Gail swallowed, shaking her head uneasily, "No, Nathaniel. Please. I can't."

  "But why? I want to know what you think. I'm begging you here. If I were strong enough, I'd get down upon the floor on my hands and knees. You know I would . . . And I know that you want me to decide uninfluenced, but I don't. I need someone else's opinion and you're the only one I really trust."

  He looked up to see tears visible in Gail's eyes and was instantly silenced.

  "I can't," she murmured, shaking her head, "I'm sorry, but I can't. I don't want to feel responsible if I . . . if I make the wrong choice."

  "No one's holding you responsible. I just want your advice . . . Please, Gail?"

  Gail drew her hand away from his grasp and looked downward as she dotted the tears in her eyes with her sleeve. And then she whispered, though her voice was barely audible, "I think you should go to surgery."

  "You do?" Nathaniel's eyes were bright and he gave a small, thankful smile.

  Gail nodded, biting her lip and forcing a smile in return, "But that's all I'm going to say, Nathaniel. You have to decide for yourself, alright? Don't base your decision purely on my ideas. I'm no expert and I haven't the slightest idea what I'm talking about. So just be sure that you think for yourself, okay?"

  He nodded, "Of course."

  CHAPTER 35

  Sweet Emmeline

  The following morning, Gail dressed tiredly in a simple, yellow printed dress and slugged her way down to the hospital, her feet dragging beneath her on the cobblestone streets. After saying a quick hello to the secretary at the front desk, who had become quite familiar with Gail in the past two weeks, Gail headed upstairs, yawning abundantly as she did so. The directions etched in her memory, she didn't even have to think upon which stairs to mount or which hallways to enter when finding her way to Nathaniel's room. Her mind still lost in dreamland and her movements made languidly, she wandered past doctors and patients' rooms as though sleepwalking.

  But as Gail turned the last corner, a sound reached her ears that made her instantly stop in her tracks. There were women, presumably nurses, screaming at one another and the pitter-patter of their feet rushing about. Loud, violent coughing interrupted their shouts and an indescribable ruckus of clatters and thumps. The fuzziness of Gail's head cleared as she listened. She became suddenly alert and, wondering which room the chaos was coming from, quickened her pace down the hallway.

  As she neared room #219, Gail stumbled upon a startling realization. The noise was only growing louder and louder. Now just before her, hidden by a single wooden door, the commotion was blaring, taking over all her senses at once. And as she took a deep breath and opened the door, it became only worse. For now, not only was it difficult to hear, but she felt as though the whole world were moving in slow motion.

  Edith, Carolyn, and Maureen were indeed shouting, yelling at both one another and at Dr. Fitzgerald, who was fumbling through his bags and making a mess in the corner. There was so much going on that no one even noticed Gail's entrance; she stood flat against the wall with her hand upon her mouth.

  For a moment the nurses' bodies blocked the bed from view, but then Edith darted out of the room in search of a stretcher and Maureen stepped aside to grab a large tin bucket from the closet. And there he was, lying beneath covers stained in red and looking far worse than Gail had ever seen him, far worse than she could have ever even imagined.

  Though his hair was damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead in ginger-colored clumps, his face was snow white, as though he were freezing cold, and his hands were shaking uncontrollably. It looked as though he hadn't slept in days for his slate gray eyes were encircled in a mask of black. But worst of all, the sight that made Gail's eyes widen in horror, was the blood. It covered the top of his sheets, his pillows, his pajamas, and his mouth.

  Before Maureen had managed to pull out the large pail, Nathaniel's chest jerked forward and he coughed dryly. First he only spit up a few drops of red, and then he began to heave and the blood came rushing out. Maureen yanked at the tin one last time, freeing it from the closet's mess, and rushed forward with it, placing it before the invalid's mouth as he continued to vomit.

  Gail felt as though she might be sick herself, but she couldn't make out the words to speak or the strength to move. Her mind was racing and all she could think about was the blood and how much blood one can lose before they're dead. The exact amount was unknown to her but she was certain Nathaniel was coming close.

  The door slammed open and Edith wheeled in a stretcher, Dr. Hopson following. He spotted Gail and only shouted, "Out! Out! No visitors, Miss St. James!"

  But Gail could barely think, much less leave the room. She only managed to ask, her voice frail, "What's happening to him?"

  Suddenly Maureen's hands were upon her shoulders, physically leading her back out the door.

  "Miss St. James," she said quickly, breathing fast, "You mustn't stay in there."

  "But I want to stay with Nathaniel."

  "He's very ill, miss."

  "I know he's very ill but I don't want to leave him. He would want me to stay."

  "You'll make yourself sick if you stay much longer. There's too much blood for so young a girl to see."

  "But what's wrong with him? No one's telling me what's happened!"

  "We don't know what happened, miss. Only that he's worse, much worse. When we entered the room this morning he looked as he does now and he hadn't the voice or the strength to call for help. He was already covered in blood."

  "But what are you . . ."

  "We're doing the best we can, Miss St. James."

  "Can I . . ."

  "It'd be best if you go hom
e for now. He's being admitted into surgery. Dr. Fitzgerald and Dr. Hopson have come to take him away and . . ."

  "But is that what he wanted? Is that the choice he made? You can't do it if he . . ."

  "Mr. West signed the papers last night, miss. Everything's in order. We just hadn't expected it all to occur so soon so we're a bit rushed but I assure you that he's in the best of hands and . . ."

  Edith held the door open as Carolyn passed through, carrying a folder and a sack of bloody sheets. Gail looked anxiously into the room to see Nathaniel lying upon the stretcher, his eyelids fluttering and his teeth chattering as though he were caught in a blizzard. Dr. Fitzgerald raised a large needle, filled with a yellowy liquid, before injecting it into Nathaniel's elbow. In only a moment, the invalid became perfectly still, unconscious, lying upon the stretcher as though it were his deathbed.