He went over to the table and said to his lab mate. "You are here early."
Stewart grunted. "I am. So what?"
"Nothing, nothing." Clay held up his hand. Stewart sounded hostile. "I see that Ray is going to use sugar instead of charcoal."
"It can be used. Sugar is good fuel," Stewart mumbled, "Niter and saltpeter are good oxidizers. That nerd thinks he is the only one who can make gunpowder. I have been doing this since I was a little boy. I can't believe they teach this in university and you get a grade for it."
Clay nodded. He didn't want to roil Stewart up because he looked like he was angry enough to explode. When Ray entered the class he looked excited. "I got sandbags and permission from the school heritage board to use the old blunderbuss that is displayed in the historical room. It is two hundred years old."
A young guy with a sullen expression came through the door with the old gun; holding it carefully and inspecting it as Ray gestured to it.
"The blunderbuss is a close range weapon. In the past some fired a very large ball. Most were loaded with a cluster of pistol balls, nails, glass, or just about anything else that was in good supply."
Ray licked his lips. "It was very deadly and weighed between ten and sixteen pounds. This one weighs twelve pounds and is two feet in length. Back then, this was considered small, especially among pirates. It has a large barrel," he pointed to the barrel, "and a bore diameter of around two inches. The barrel is flared outward at the end like a funnel. It was fashioned this way so that it could do a lot of close range damage. I think this gun precedes the musket and was used by plantation owners in these parts."
"Are you sure that it can be safely fired?" one of the guys asked doubtfully. "It looks heavy and rusty."
"It is heavy and rusty, but we are going to build gunpowder and try it." Ray was almost salivating. "Today we are going to make history and science come alive. The person who makes gunpowder that can propel the shot will get an ‘A’ for this lab."
The guys were grinning with glee, and the girls were looking doubtfully at the big black rusty thing.
"Oh, one more thing," Ray said. "We will not be using anything too dangerous, as they did in the past. We are going to wrap potatoes in cloth and use them as projectiles. The gunpowder is supposed to go into the barrel before the potato is put in. We'll wrap the powder in very thin cloth and light it—real primitive but there is a science lesson here."
"Thank God for that." One of the girls said feelingly.
"But," Ray held up his finger, "a small sack of potato can sting if it is propelled hard enough, and we are dealing with gunpowder. So please, follow the precautions I am now going to hand out to you."
Stewart was grunting all through Ray's talk, and Clay looked at the powder he was grinding. "That is very finely grounded," he said to Stewart.
"The finer the powder, the better it works. Didn't you hear when the twerp said that?"
"Why do you sound so mad with me?" Clay asked.
"Because you are sleeping with her too." Stewart hissed. "I saw you talking and smiling with her at that little bonfire party on Saturday night. All the girls were coming onto you because you were playing like you were Mr. Cool."
"Who is this her that you are talking about?" Clay asked slowly.
"Tracy," Stewart said, seething. "Don't pretend as if you don't know who I am talking about."
Clay frowned. "She is my neighbor. We live on the same block. I went to the block party with Jessica Bancroft. She is the girl that I like."
"You are a real player aren't you?" Stewart said, his eyes looking a little crazy. "Jessica is Ramon's girl."
"No, she's not. They are just friends." Clay rubbed his neck. "Look Stewart, maybe you should stop assuming things about me and Ray and Tracy."
"So you are friends with Ray too, huh?" Stewart growled. "What sort of kinky things are you two doing to my girl?"
Clay was exasperated. "Maybe you should talk to your girl about this?"
Stewart sighed, an icy smile creeping across his face. "You are right. I am over- thinking things, too jealous for my own good. I should calm down."
Clay nodded glad that Stewart was seeing sense.
"Okay," Ray said at the top of the class, cutting into the tense little dialogue, "after you have grounded your individual ingredients in the mortar with the pestle, I want you to carefully ground all the ingredients together. Please follow all the steps on the paper to avoid any accidents. I want to see a sample under the microscope to make sure that it is good enough. I am giving you ten minutes with it."
Clay was carefully grinding his powders together as instructed when Stewart touched him with his goggles on.
"Want to see how fine my powder is?" He indicated to the microscope. "It seems that all you need is a little anger to grind the ingredients to a real fine powder."
Clay looked at him distrustfully, this guy seesaws between extreme emotions like a chameleon changes its color.
"Okay," he got up from his seat and looked into the microscope. The powder was indeed fine, like dust. Stewart must have been really angry.
He was just about to lift up his head when he saw a flash of light and the powder exploded with a sharp bang, sending the acrid black powder into his eyes and nostrils. He held up his head and he could see spot of lights swimming around behind his eyelids.
"Serve you right," he heard Stewart snicker. "Players get what they deserve."
Clay stumbled to his chair. He had a bad taste in his throat. It was as if the powder had gotten into his throat through his nostrils and was stinging him unbearably.
"What happened here?" Ray asked Clay.
Clay could hear Stewart chuckling, "Just Clay playing with fire."
"Are you okay, Clay?" Ray asked.
Clay felt his touch on his shoulder, but he couldn't make him out. There were still circles swimming around behind his eyes.
He coughed, and he heard Ramon's voice.
"Hey, Clay. Can you see me?"
Clay looked in the direction of his voice. There was nothing, just a shadowy outline, and those annoying shapes running behind his eyelids. "No," he said faintly.
"Oh, my God!" Ray said. "You idiot! You lit the gunpowder when he was looking into the microscope. Are you crazy?"
Clay heard someone on their phone, and after a brief moment, he could hear and feel students ebbing and flowing around him. He was coughing intermittently. His whole face felt like it was stinging him.
He felt the gentle hand of a lady on his shoulders. All the time he was struggling to breathe.
"Clay Reid. I am Nurse Coreen. I am going to accompany you to the Medical Center."
*****
"Clay, I am Dr. Henry Grime. Please indicate with a nod that you are hearing me."
Clay nodded. He had been having a panicky few hours with a million and one faceless people scurrying around him. Now and again someone would tell him that it was going to be okay, but how would it be okay when he couldn't even see?
He had finally stopped coughing, and a Nurse Dennis had given him nose drops. It was still stinging him, as if he had the flu and had been sneezing too hard and too long. His nose and throat area felt sore. Now he assumed that he was in an office because it was quiet, and he could hear the rustle of papers. He was blanketed behind a wall of stifling darkness. His right eye could barely make out brown shapes, but his left eye was completely dark. He squeezed the handle of the chair that he was sitting in and waited for this Dr. Henry Grime to speak again.
"I am going to be doing an examination of your eyes."
Clay nodded. His throat felt scratchy and abused when he opened his mouth. "I can't see anything from my left eye." His voice was hoarse and sounded gravelly to his own ears.
"Yes. That was the eye that got a direct hit." Dr. Grime said gently.
"This feels unreal," Clay said. "Am I going to be blinded forever or something?" He couldn't stop the panic from lacing his voice.
"No. I doubt that
." Dr. Grimes said confidently. "I am preempting myself. Let me examine your eyes first."
He came around to Clay's side of the table. Clay felt his presence, but he had no idea what he was doing. He realized how much of a privilege having one’s sight is. He felt extremely vulnerable behind his veil of darkness. Tears were building up but he willed himself not to cry. He wasn't a baby, but he was afraid. The tears were stinging his eyes though.
The doctor said to him, "Tears are actually cleansing, and at least I know that your tear ducts are working." He gave Clay a bundle of tissue and excused himself from the office. It was the first time in his life that Clay was feeling so utterly lonely and bereft and the tears did roll down his cheeks. They felt hot and they stung. He dabbed his eyes and wondered if his tears were black like the powder that exploded in his eyes. He didn't even hear when the door to the office opened.
"Oh, Clay." A warm body engulfed him. The person had ample cleavage that was pushing into his back, so he knew it was not Jessica; she was not as well endowed. The shaft of disappointment he felt was overwhelming.
"I came as soon as I heard." he recognized the voice now. It was Tracy Carr.
"I can't believe how out of control Stewart has gotten. When we broke up a few weeks ago I had no idea that he would become unhinged. If it makes you feel better," her hair was tickling the side of his face. It smelled like strawberry. "The police have taken him into custody. Apparently, he's been threatening Ray too. Ray has been helping me with a project for a stupid science subject I flunked last semester."
Clay sighed. "Yes, he's out of control."
"I know." Tracy was rubbing his hand. "I heard that you can't see."
Clay nodded.
"So you can't see the green skirt suit I am in right now?" Tracy asked, almost disappointed.
Clay shook his head. "Sorry."
The door opened again, and the doctor cleared his throat. "Miss, you will have to wait outside like the rest of Mr. Reid's friends."
"There are people waiting outside?" Clay asked faintly.
"Yes. Loads of them," the doctor said. The door closed behind Tracy. "Now that your eyes have had a cleansing bath, let's examine you."
He held up Clays left eyelid and then his right.
"When you say there are people outside waiting for me, is Jessica Bancroft out there?" Clay asked eagerly.
"A pretty girl with brown hair and a tearful face? Yes, she's the most anxious to see you." The doctor said gently.
"Thank you," Clay said with a grateful sigh.
"No problem," The doctor said. "Can you see this?"
"What?" Clay asked.
"So you can't see it."
"Lean forward." When Clay leaned forward he could see a faint light from his right eye.
He told the doctor, who said softly, "That's good." After several more tests, Dr. Grime went back to his side of the desk. Clay heard the ruffling of several papers before he spoke.
"The good news is your right eye is not severely damaged. The bad news is your left eye is badly bruised from those particles and you may be getting some reaction from the potassium nitrate—runny, stinging eyes and sensitivity to light. I will assess your eyes again in a few days; maybe by then your sight will be back. I don't anticipate that both eyes are permanently damaged. Until then, I have a prescription for you. It is a solution to drop in your eyes twice per day. I assume from observing that anxious young woman outside that you will have support during this very scary time of your life?"
"I guess so," Clay said, relief flooding his voice.
*****
"We are not going to invite that boy to stay with us," Ryan Bancroft hissed into the phone. "Jessica likes him. She is my baby girl, and he is an older man. It is a recipe for disaster."
"He is blind," Celeste said calmly. "We can't have him living alone."
"Lots of blind people do it," Bancroft said sullenly. "The guest room is too near to Jessica's room. Do you want a repeat of Adrian and Cathy on our hands?"
"Cathy never stayed here," Celeste said.
"Not that we know of." Bancroft said, looking back at the boardroom. He had left a meeting to deal with this latest drama in his family's life. The big wigs were in the boardroom trying not to listen to his conversation. Bancroft grunted at the thought of them doing so.
Young people can find creative ways to get together. He didn't want to literally hand them the keys to do it, and worst yet, do it in his house.
Celeste sighed. "I already told Jessica that he can stay with us for a few days. He can have Deidra's room."
"Deidra's room!" Bancroft hissed. "Don't you think that something is wrong with us? We put up our children's prospective partners under one pretext or the other. It's becoming a pattern, and I don't know anything about this Clay Reid."
"Then find out," Celeste said sweetly. "I already changed the sheets and I asked Adrian to get his bags. He is upset, disoriented, and blind. Let your Christian charity rule instead of your dirty mind."
Bancroft hissed his teeth when his wife hung up and wondered why she bothered to called and tell him about this Clay boy staying at the house anyway. She knows who really runs the house.
He straightened his spine and headed to the boardroom. At least there he had some power.
Chapter Seven
"Do you want me to get you anything?" Celeste Bancroft asked Clay every ten seconds. He was still trying to figure out how he was ensconced in the Bancroft's living room and why he allowed himself to be railroaded into staying with the family of the university's president.
He remembered Jessica's warm tears on his neck when he was led out of the doctor's office. Feeling disoriented, he remembered her feverishly saying that she would take care of everything and Ramon saying that he would be his eye for the rest of the semester if he wanted.
He couldn't fathom why he had given in like he had, but he had to face things. He was torn from everything that was familiar, and he was grateful for the Bancroft's help.
Jessica was sitting beside him now, holding his hands. Earlier she had told him where everything was and had gone into great detail about the layout of the house. Mrs. Bancroft had told him to call her Celeste.
He was beginning to feel smothered, and blind. This was a hard blow for someone who was very much used to depending on his sight. Now he was waiting for his other senses to kick in.
"Okay, I am going to leave you two alone now," Celeste said in her gentle maternal voice. "You can sort out what you are going to do next, Clay." That reminded him that he had to call his own mother and tell her about this latest development in his life, or maybe not.
"I can't believe this happened to you. Why would Stewart do such a thing?" Jessica said to him, her hands moving gently over his.
"He said that he saw me talking to Tracy on Saturday night at the bonfire thing, and he said I stole you from Ramon."
"Ridiculous!" Jessica's hands jerked on his, and he held them steady. She was nervous. He could feel her pulse under her skin.
"Is everything okay?" he asked softly.
"No," Jessica growled, "I am quite nervy on your behalf. Stewart is telling everybody that he had no idea that the lighter in his hand would give off a spark and that he had nothing against you. I don't believe him."
Clay sighed. "I can only think that he is off his meds. He was pretty roiled up with me and with Ray."
"He should be locked up for good." Jessica got up, and he heard the steady pounding of her feet on the floor. She was pacing feverishly. "I can't stand that pinched-face Stewart. Do you see how close set his eyes are? He looks evil."
Clay chuckled. "Oh Jess. Stop being mad on my behalf. I am sure my sight will come back."
"You should sue him," Jessica said, coming to sit beside him again. He felt when the settee shifted and her weight sank the cushion and her soft curves pressed near his hand.
"I am not going to sue him," Clay said. "I am just going to pretend that this is an accident and leave it alone. I
am however going to recommend counseling for Stewart. His feelings for Tracy are bordering on being obsessive."
Jessica snorted. "You don't say. Anyway, it's near evening; the sun is peeping through the curtains like a golden swathe on the walls. What do you want to do?"
Clay smiled. "I can picture that. For now, I want to be still. I have a slight headache and a definite throat, ear and nose ache."
"Maybe it's a good idea if you sleep," Jessica said softly. "Maybe when you wake up your vision will be back."
Clay nodded. "I really hope so."
"If not, we are going to have to get you a stick to move around with."
"Or a guide dog," Clay said, trying to be humorous but feeling a sharp sense of panic at the thought of losing his sight forever. He couldn't think that way.
"Well, we have Daryl. He's Daddy's dog, and he only likes Daddy. He tolerates Mommy, and he has a love hate relationship with me."
Clay got up unsteadily, and Jessica stood beside him. "I know how scary this must feel but don't worry, I got your back."
For some reason that made Clay feel like crying. He battled the feeling of vulnerability and held on to her hand as she guided him to a guest room. She sat beside him while he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.
She had only known him for two weeks, but she hadn't run to the hills when she heard that he was blind. She didn't know anything much about him really. She was just being Jessica, kind hearted and sweet.
He fell asleep to her singing one of her favorite Khaled songs.
*****
"Have you told your family about your situation yet, Clay?" Dr. Bancroft was sitting at the head of the table. Celeste was beside him.
Clay imagined that they were both looking at him curiously. He could barely make out the outline of his head. His right eye was coming back but the progression was extremely slow. Vision from his left eye was still totally black.
Just To See Her (The Bancrofts: Book 8) Page 6