by Kevin Ryan
Then he was standing in front of Isabel's door. He wanted to knock but he knew what would happen if he did. Instead, he scoped out the floor. There was also an Oriental carpet in front of the door, for which Kyle was grateful. Tossing the pillow down, he wrapped the blanket over his shoulders and lowered himself to the floor. This wouldn't be too bad, he realized. He'd slept on his share of floors, and the carpet here was pretty thick.
Putting his head down, Kyle realized he was tired after all. Well, he felt better about relaxing now. He would know if anyone came to Isabel's door. Kyle closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep.
Isabel had barely opened the book when she heard creaking outside, but chalked it up to her friends moving around in this old house. She doubted the Special Unit would be so quiet if they came in.
Looking back down at the book, Isabel started reading the entry that the book had opened to when it fell:
March 15, 1938
Father would not be pleased. I have not written in
over a week. When I was growing up, I never would have considered such a lapse. Of course, I never thought I would still be maintaining a journal at all at my age.
Father was so certain that every detail of each of our lives as Bentons was worthy of record. Even as a boy, I thought the idea silly. However, I maintained the daily journal religiously… out of fear of him, if for no other reason. Now I am much less afraid, but only slightly less religious in my record keeping.
I'm not as sure that posterity will be interested in my life, but perhaps the children will be when they are older. If nothing else, it may amuse them.
Well, Claire has finished decorating the house. This was probably the greatest test of my bride. When Father built the house as a gift for the birth of the baby, I told my dear Claire that we would not have to live here if she didn't like it… especially knowing Father's peculiar tastes.
And when I saw that the finished home was grand but owed more to Baron Von Frankenstein than Frank Lloyd Wright, I made the offer again. Claire refused. She recognized that the house was a gift for her, and a peace offering from Father. And considering how against our union he was, I had to admit that it was a huge step for him.
"Besides," she said. "It has great character, it will be our own castle. I think it will be very comfortable."
Isabel looked up for a moment. Isn't that how she had thought of the house? Comfortable. Again, Isabel had the
odd feeling that there was someone other than her friends sharing the house with her. She continued reading.
And she has made it so. The children love their rooms and they have spent long days having "adventures" on the grounds. Though I never would have thought it possible, this place is home. I have no doubt that we will never live anywhere else.
Besides, it keeps me close to the mills, which I have no doubt was Fathers intention. He has given up on my older brother as a successor, which suits Matthew fine.
Speaking of Matthew, the impossible has happened. He has announced his engagement. She is a lovely girl, quite too good for him, but then, my Claire was too good for me.
My wife immediately insisted that we have the engagement party for them here and has thrown herself into the arrangements with her usual fervor.
The only thing that clouds her joy is the baby's fever, but it has only been a day, and the doctor assures her that it will pass.
Isabel got a chill from that line and thought again of the empty beds in the room off the kitchen. The next entry was from the following day.
March 16, 1938
Claire is marching forward with the preparations
for the engagement party, but she is slowed somewhat because she has barely let the baby out of her arms. The doctor has been here twice today and has given her every assurance, but Claire can barely let Jonathan out of her arms to sleep.
Father seems more and more certain that war will come to Europe and that that will mean an increased demand for our lumber. He is building more mills to prepare, and I have been spending too many long days away from Claire and the children.
That will have to change. I have already told Father that he must be prepared to do without me for the month of July. I will take the first real vacation since Claire and I have married. I have promised her, and she is happy, insisting that we spend the entire month in our new home.
Father was surprised, but I stood firm, and to my surprise, he relented. I think that some of my wife's strength has rubbed off on me. Either that, or Father is finally relaxing.
March 17, 1938
The baby's temperature remains high, though the doctor tells us that it will soon pass. Little Jonathan is brave and barely cries. I thought that Claire was looking tired, so I had the doctor check her and, sure enough, she has a fever as well.
She pushes herself too hard. Though she promised to take the day to rest, I found her busy when I
came home tonight. I should have checked on her and will have to come home earlier tomorrow.
March 18, 1938
An incredible thing happened today: Father came to visit Jonathan, who now has a rash in addition to a fever. He favors the baby because he was home more when Jonathan was born. Still, an unplanned visit to his grandchildren was extraordinary. He was remarkable with the other children as well. They didn't quite know what to make of the visit, but they were thrilled by the attention.
I think Father truly is relaxing and that some good has come from this fever. The doctor tells us not to worry. Apparently, these sicknesses are self-limiting and do not last more than a few days.
Unfortunately, it seems to have come upon Claire quickly. Her fever has been high, and her rash appeared scarcely a day after her fever began. She remained in bed most of the day with Jonathan. I think this is the first time in our life together that Claire has stayed in bed after nine o'clock in the morning. If not for the doctor's assurances, I would be concerned.
Now, little Robert has begun to run a fever as well. It looks like we might all suffer together for a few days. Little Sarah and I still feel well. She is quite a help to her mother, as is Robert. I will try to come home early tomorrow to look after them.
March 19, 1938
I came home to find the doctor waiting for me. His face was grim, and he took me into the study. He said that Claire and Jonathan had begun to suffer from skin eruptions caused by pox.
I said I knew that Claire had had chicken pox as a child, and that was when he told me that it was…
I can scarcely write the word, as if by not committing it to paper it will not be real. Yet I am my fathers son, despite my many attempts to deny it over the years, and I will not let fear rule me.
Smallpox.
I can write no more today.
March 20, 1938
I called Father yesterday, immediately after I heard. His reaction was swift. I have never seen him so driven. He insisted that the doctor stay, and questioned him harshly. He knew for a fact that he and the children had been inoculated against smallpox.
Apparently, the vaccine is not always effective, and no better injection will be available for years. Father immediately called his law firm to find out if there was any experimental inoculation ready now, despite the doctors insistence that vaccination would do no good after the infection had begun. Nevertheless, there is a small army of lawyers now
trying to acquire the medicine. Father depends on his lawyers for everything, and if anyone can do it, it is them.
Then the doctor told us what to expect. The eruptions will continue, leading to permanent scars. A small percentage of the sufferers die, and a larger percentage are blinded. I listened to those words, but I could not connect them to my Claire and my children.
Father was furious when he heard that there was no treatment except for good nursing care. Then he exploded into activity and summoned workmen, who immediately began to take apart the sunroom off the kitchen to make an infirmary for us. By morning, there was an alien-looking hospital in our home with fi
ve beds… one for Claire and each of the children and one for me to lie down in while I wait with them.
I am haunted by the empty bed, my bed, in the infirmary. It does not seem right that my family suffer while I am well. The doctor says that the strain that infects them is strong and fast moving. Because of my close contact with Claire and the children, he says there is a strong chance that I will be infected. Father, of course, is immune because of his own bout with the disease as a child.
We also have two nurses, who are welcome because the servants do not want to enter the infirmary.
Claire and 1 stayed up the night, keeping baby Jonathan close to us. I tried to distract her by talking
of our summer plans, but she had an aunt who died of the pox and knows what to expect.
In the morning, we moved Claire and the children into the infirmary. Sarah has a rash now, and eruptions have appeared on Andrew. Claire is frightened, something I have never seen before in her. I curse this disease that has invaded our home.
March 21, 1938
Claire and Jonathan are very ill. They are both running very high fevers and she has little energy for anything other than worry over the children. Because of the high fever, she fears for Jonathans sight, but she runs the same fever herself.
The servants all disappeared together this afternoon. At first, Father was furious and wanted to have the police drag them back… something Father could easily accomplish. I convinced him not to. I doubted they would stay long. And I will not have people working here under armed guard.
Father and I have taken to preparing their food and feeding Claire and the children. I am glad for the duties. While we were preparing dinner, I was struck by the incongruity of seeing Father prepare food for anyone. I didn't think he had ever even set foot in a kitchen. Yet he has taken command of this as he takes command of his mills or boardrooms.
Perhaps God is keeping me well long enough to see them all back to health.
March 21, 1938
Father and I fell asleep in our chairs late last night and woke to find the nurses gone, and none more willing to come. It is just as well. I think the nurses' growing nervousness just made Claire and the children more frightened.
It has been a long day. All of them are running high fevers, and I wonder how long the fevers can last. Claire will not let Jonathan out of her arms except for very brief periods, even when she is delirious with fever. We also have had to place Andrew's and Sarah's beds close to hers so she can touch them.
At first, I feared for their eyesight because of the prolonged fevers, but now my fears have turned much darker. Father and I do all we can, keeping them clean and applying cold compresses. Claire and the children have stopped eating entirely.
The doctor consults with us only by phone now. When we discussed their temperatures and condition, he was quiet for a long time and then told us that we could expect a crisis soon for Claire and the baby.
Father does not look well. It is not the illness, however. He is aging. I had always thought my father indestructible, but worry creases his face and stoops his shoulders. And I would not have thought it possible, but his hair looks much grayer than it did just days ago. We do not speak much.
Tonight, I saw something that I never thought I would live to see: Father was kneeling down next to
the three beds, his hands clasped in prayer. I was too stunned to move for long seconds, then I kneeled down beside him.
Isabel turned away from the book for a moment. She was afraid of what it would tell her, of what the house might be trying to tell her. Though it took her a great effort, she picked up the book and turned the page.
11
Relax, I'll be out in a minute," Liz called from the bathroom.
"Okay," he replied.
Liz felt guilty taking so long in the shower, but she couldn't pass up the opportunity. She had made do for weeks now with five-minute showers in motel rooms with five other people waiting their turn. She had even been tempted to fill up the giant, claw-footed tub and soak, but Max was waiting for her… though not because he wanted to get into the shower…
Liz slipped on her black nightgown. She and Maria had bought identical ones two nights ago, not knowing when they would get the chance to use them since they were always crowded into a single motel room.
From the look of things between Maria and Michael lately, Liz didn't think Michael would be seeing Marias tonight. But then again, Liz had been surprised when Maria had bought it, considering how things had been between her and Michael. Well, Max was going to get his
surprise right now, Liz thought as she ran a brush through her hair and checked it in the mirror.
Looking down at the sink, Liz saw brand-new hand soap. There had been unopened soap in the bath, as well as shampoo and conditioner. Like the food in the kitchen, it made her nervous. Someone had taken pains to stock the house, and for all they knew, people would be moving in tomorrow morning.
As long as they don't show up tonight, Liz thought, giving herself one last check in the mirror. She and Max would be sharing a bed… in a private room… for the first time since they'd left Roswell. She didn't intend to waste it.
She opened the door and stepped into the bedroom. Max was lying on the bed in the dim light of a bedside lamp. He didn't even raise an eyebrow at seeing her outfit. Well, she could play it cool too. She didn't say anything and bent down to rummage through her bag for a moment. Then she got up and casually walked over to the bed.
Max was sitting up against the headboard and it looked like he hadn't moved since she had left to go into the shower.
"Max?" she finally said, leaning closer to get a better look at him in the low light. Although he was sitting up and looked alert, his eyes were closed and he was sound asleep.
Liz shook her head. He had responded to her maybe a minute ago, when she had called out from the bathroom. Still, she knew he was a heavy sleeper, and he seemed to be able to go right to sleep even when worry made it difficult for her.
For a moment, she considered shaking him, but decided against being selfish. After the day they'd had, Max was more than entitled to some rest. Besides, there was no way to know what tomorrow would bring.
Liz slipped his jeans and shirt off, knowing it would take more than that to wake him. Then she pulled the quilt up to his shoulders.
Well, Max will have to get his surprise another time, she thought.
Isabel saw that the handwriting on the next page was ragged, as if the man who had written it was shaky. There was no date on top.
I knew something was wrong when I woke. I fell asleep with my head on Claire's lap while she held our baby in her arms. I woke slowly, then started up when I realized that something was different.
I had been dreaming of a fire, no doubt because of the heat from my wife's fever. Then the fire in my dreams went out. The change woke me and, for a wonderful moment, I thought her fever had broken. I felt a brief swell of joy. My wife would be well, everything would be all right.
Then I realized something was wrong. The fever was gone, but she was cold, and so was our child. I frantically tried to wake them, raving as I did. My sounds woke Father, who came quickly. He checked them both, and his face was stricken.
He put his arms around me for the first time in my living memory and said, "They're gone, son."
I pushed him away, still raving. He had to fix this, I screamed. He could make calls. He had doctors, lawyers. He needed to pay someone, do something. I was mad, and in my madness I could only think that Father had never failed at anything in his life. The world seemed to bend to his will. There was nothing he could not do.
He let me rave and then gently laid me down next to my Claire and our Jonathan. Father made calls. Men came. They wore masks and wanted to take Claire and Jonathan from me.
I would not let them. I told them that Father would fix it.
They waited. Finally I let them take my wife and son. They were gone, and I was in a world I did not understan
d.
The next entry also had no date.
This morning I tended Andrew and Sarah while I was vaguely aware that Father was making calls and some sort of arrangements. For a moment I was grateful that the fever had kept Andrew and Sarah from waking, for long I am a coward. I did not know how I would answer them if they asked for their mother.
Sarah, woke briefly and looked at me for a moment of complete clarity and said, "Daddy, I'm thirsty."
She could not sit up, so I propped her head with pillows and fed her water with a spoon. She looked
at me for one wonderful moment and said, "Thank you, Daddy."
She passed in the night.
I did not rave this time. Father called the same men again, and they came in their protective masks. I wanted to tell them they didn't need their masks. This terrible disease only took women and children… my woman and my children. But I found that I could not speak.
I did not let them take Sarah for hours… not because I thought Father would fix this or God would take it back, but because I could not make my hands release her.
Later, Claire came to speak to me when Father was out. I was surprised, but she told me she would explain everything. She said she could only stay a little while. She just wanted me to know that everything was going to be all right. Next time, she would stay longer and bring Jonathan with her.
Andrew is worse. He wakes briefly sometimes, but by now I know the signs. Claire stopped in with Jonathan to tell me not to worry. I cannot help it, but felt better when she gave me Jonathan to hold.
I was glad to see them both free of the sickness. They are fully recovered now. Though I begged her, she said they could not stay long. She kissed me and said, "It's getting late." Then she left before Father returned.
Later, I gave Andrew some water with a spoon, then… God forgive me… I drank from the same
spoon. I know now that God has only made me wait to become sick so that I could take care of my family.
But I do not think I can wait anymore.
Father came in as I was doing it and screamed from across the room. He ripped the spoon from my hand and looked at me with a crazed, furious expression on his face. I thought for a moment that he might strike me, then he broke down in front of me. "No, not you," he said, tears running down his face.