by Carré White
“Stop that. It’s not necessary.”
“I’ve put you through hell with worry. I’m so sorry.”
“You’ve no reason to be sorry.”
“I will recover. I’ll give you that baby soon enough. We have our whole lives to make up for these last months. Sometimes, God tests us to see what our mettle is. I do believe this is all in preparation for even bigger things, better things. We’re just so close to the trees, we can’t see the forest.”
“I hope you’re right.”
He squeezed my hand. “I am.”
It was a little over a week later that Frank began to cough. I paid no mind to it at first, thinking it was from all the dust, as it hadn’t rained in a while and it was windy, but then he complained of exhaustion. The coughing progressed to where he was spitting up rusty-colored mucus. I was so concerned, I instructed Nathan to go to town to get the doctor. When he arrived, his wife, Rhoda, accompanied him.
“Oh, Hannah,” she said, her face a mask of concern. “What’s happened now?”
“I don’t know. He’s not well.”
“Let me make you tea, my dear. This is the last thing you need.”
While Dr. Caldwell examined Frank, I sat with Rhoda, chatting and sipping tea. Mrs. Hermosa was outside, weeding the vegetable garden, while we waited for news.
“There’s pneumonia going around at the moment.”
My mouth fell open. “That’s dreadful. Do you think he might have it?”
“I certainly hope not. It’s more than likely a seasonal illness.”
My woman’s intuition told me otherwise. I couldn’t shake the feeling that another challenge was on the way, an even greater one than when he fell from the roof. When Doctor Caldwell appeared in the kitchen, I knew my fears were going to be confirmed.
“Mrs. Clark,” he said tonelessly. “I’m afraid I’ve some bad news. Your husband is suffering from pneumonia. I can hear it in his lungs.” I stared at him, not being able to speak. “I’m going to proceed with the bloodletting, but from my experience, that only helps in rare occasions. I’ve some medicine you can give him three times a day, but other than a hot water bottle for his chest, there isn’t much I can do.”
Getting to my feet, I summoned strength I didn’t possess. “I’m…this is awful.”
“Yes, my dear. This is the last thing that poor man needed. I’m encouraged by the feeling he has in his legs and the movement of his foot, but if his breathing gets worse…there won’t be much we can do.”
I wouldn’t cry in front of these people. “Thank you.”
“Isn’t there something that can be done, Samuel? This family has already been through so much.”
“Nothin’s fair about life, my dear. Nothing at all.” His expression was grim. “I need to get on with the bloodletting. Excuse me.”
After the leaches had been applied and removed, Dr. Caldwell and his wife left. Mrs. Hermosa had come in from the garden, and I had told her about Frank’s diagnosis.
She had said, “I make him soup. I have a cure for this.”
My eyes flew wide. “You do?”
“Oh, yes. Family recipe. I go get herbs and make this.”
It was silly of me, but I clung to those words, putting all my trust and faith in her. She would restore Frank’s health. I was certain of it. But, time was not our friend, and, as the days wore on, his coughing became worse, the pain in his chest nearly unbearable. I’d given him laudanum, mixing the drug with water. This eased his suffering considerably, but nothing improved. I was far too busy to dwell on these stark facts, changing his dressings, bathing him, reading to him, and holding his hand at night. I’d brought in some blankets and slept on the floor next to him. This led to many sleepless nights, as I lay there listening to the deep rattle of his chest, his breathing wheezy.
He’d not been able to eat properly, the skin stretched over his bones making him appear far older than he was. It was a struggle for him to drink water, Mrs. Hermosa and I having to funnel it into his throat. He began coughing up blood shortly after, with a greenish type of mucus. The look on Maria’s face said it all; her unhappiness was evident in the deep lines on her forehead. She had worked almost as hard as I had, making soups and medications all day long. When one concoction failed, she tried another and another…until all that remained was the laudanum.
When the end was near, Jerry went into town to fetch Doctor Caldwell, while I fled the house, needing air. The image of my husband was firmly in my mind: his glazed eyes, grayish complexion, and the constant rattle of his breathing. It was a horrible noise, one that I would never forget for all my days.
In the cornfield, the stalks towered over me. My feet crunched on the soil, while my eyes filled with tears. I had nowhere to go…nothing mattered…I was about to lose it all.
“Hannah.” The familiar voice was at my back. Hands grasped my shoulders. “Stop.” Nathan drew me into his arms. I was too far gone to object. With the heat of summer, his shirt was damp with perspiration. “I know you’re suffering. You can cry all you want. You need to.”
I said nothing, as the tears fell. I wept for quite some time, my sobs far too loud to be ladylike, but I wasn’t able to stop them. I shivered, trembling with emotion. I clung to Nathan, wetting his shirt. When I’d spent myself, he took me back to the house, where Doctor Caldwell stood on the steps, his hands in his pockets.
“You need to come say goodbye, Hannah.”
Oh, how I hated those words, anger boiling inside of me, but the grief was powerful enough to push that aside. I was about to become a widow at the tender age of nineteen. These last few weeks had felt like an eternity, the endless hours, the struggle to keep Frank alive. No remedy had improved his condition in the least, and, in the end, all we had been able to do was make him comfortable in his final days here on earth.
With heavy footfalls, I ascended the steps, moving towards the house, knowing that fate was waiting for me…with bad news. He passed on within the hour; his last words had been, “I love you, Hannah. I always will. Don’t stop living…without me. You must…carry on.”
“I love you too, Frank.” And then he was gone, his eyes staring into space, frozen for all eternity.
The hours that followed this event were blank for me. Mrs. Hermosa had taken over, commandeering the household, finding the clothing for Frank’s burial and feeding everyone. The body had been taken to town in Doctor Caldwell’s wagon. He planned to drive directly to the funeral parlor. I wasn’t capable of anything other than breathing in and out, and even that was a chore. As I had slept in all my clothes, it wasn’t necessary to dress the next morning, although my chest hurt from where the corset had dug into my skin. I owned a black shawl, but, with the heat, it was impractical to wear, yet I draped it around my shoulders as a symbol of mourning.
Nathan handed me up into the wagon. I sat next to him and Mrs. Hermosa, while Jerry was in the back. The jostling of the conveyance lulled me nearly to sleep, as exhaustion finally revealed itself. I wasn’t in my body for the service, my spirit floating to other places. I had managed to detach from the physical, seeing faces before me, eyes wet with tears. Sally, Rhoda, and Adaline had each held my hand, murmuring words of condolence. Pastor Bailey presided over the service, his mouth moving, but I heard nothing. The casket was simple, made of pine, and it stood in the center of the church with a bushel of wildflowers draped over the lid.
Nathan had been with me, seated next to me. Mrs. Hermosa was on the other side, her weathered hand wrapped around mine. When we left the church, I stumbled, feeling a wave of dizziness, but Nathan’s sturdy arms righted me at once, his words in my ear.
“You’re doing fine, Hannah. It’s almost done.”
Pastor Bailey read from the Bible, while several men lowered the casket with rope, the wooden box teetering precariously at one point. I’d thrown dirt upon it, once it sat six feet under. I found myself in several embraces, as Adaline hugged me and then Sally.
“The poor girl
’s in shock,” murmured Rhoda.
I stood there, while men began to thrust their shovels into a mound of dirt, tossing it into the grave. This would be the last time I ever beheld Frank. He was gone.
Chapter Ten
No one spoke on the ride home, and, after we reached the house, I took to the stairs, my fingers gripping the banister, as grief settled in around my shoulders. The weight seemed to drag me down, and each step was an effort.
“I’ll make her a sandwich,” said Maria. “She needs to eat something.”
Nathan stood at the bottom of the steps. “You do that.”
I was in the bedroom; the bed hadn’t been made. I fell to it, my face buried in a pillow. It was then that I wept; all the emotions I had been holding in during the day suddenly burst to the surface, like a volcano. Hands were on me; someone was loosening the dress, by releasing the buttons at the back. The garment was pulled over my head, the corset undone, stripped away. I wore a thin shift, and that remained, but my stockings were taken down, exposing pale legs. Then fingers drove through my hair, finding pins, pulling them free. It was a relief to be without these burdens. Blankets were placed around my shoulders.
It wasn’t until Nathan got onto the bed that I realized he’d been the one tending to me. He held me in his arms, my nose pressed to his chest. I continued to weep, until sleep ended all of that. I woke in the middle of the night. The lamp had been lit, but I was alone, save for Maria, who appeared in the doorway holding a plate.
“You should eat something.” She sat on the bed, while I endeavored to sit, wondering where Nathan had disappeared to. I ate a few bites of sandwich, the bread sticking in my throat. “That’s good. You have some more and feel better.”
I could only finish half of it, feeling the need to use the privy. Sliding from the bed, I found my slippers and then a robe, which I wore. The outhouse was in the back, and I took a lantern to guide the way. When I returned, Nathan was waiting in the kitchen.
“You ate.”
I set the lamp on the table. “I did.”
“Good. It’s late. You should go back to bed.”
“I will.”
He was behind me, his presence oddly comforting. I thought he would continue down the hall and out the front door, but he was with me on the stairs. Maria had smoothed out the bed, tucking the sheet in where it had come loose.
“Thank you, Maria,” said Nathan. “I’ve got this now.”
“Okay, sir.” Her concerned look rested on me, and then she was gone.
Leaving the slippers at the side of the bed, I discarded the robe, sliding into the blankets. Nathan turned down the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.
“Are you leaving?”
“Do you want me to go?”
“No.” I desperately hoped he would stay, at least until I fell asleep. The bed shifted, his weight moving towards the center. I turned into him, while his arms went around me. “Stay with me…for a while.” I closed my eyes, fatigue falling upon me like a leaden blanket. Then the world went blissfully blank.
I woke alone, but the space next to me was still warm. Nathan had only just left. It was the first day of the rest of my life—a life without Frank. It was too awful to contemplate, the tragedy of the last few months, the accident and then the illness. It was a storm of misery that God had decided to rain down upon me. How I would go on now was a mystery. I thought bitterly how I was one of those widows who had been abandoned far too young. My family was more than a thousand miles away, blissfully unaware of Frank’s passing, as I had yet to write to them. These would be the first of several letters that needed to be dispatched quickly. Focusing on this task, I might be able to pass a good portion of the day in a somewhat meaningful manner, and then I could cry until bedtime.
An easy thing, such as getting dressed, proved arduous, my fingers struggling to close the back of my dress. Maria appeared in the doorway. “Let me help you, Mrs. Clark.” She deftly did up the buttons. “I’ll fix your hair too.”
“Thank you.”
It was a luxury having someone else manage the thick, tangled tresses. She parted the hair down the center and braided both sides, bringing them together artfully at the back. Pins held everything securely in place. Hiring Mrs. Hermosa had been a small blessing.
“I have to write letters.”
“I fix you breakfast, Mrs. Clark. You should eating something first.”
“I’m not hungry.”
In the mirror, by all outward appearances, I looked every bit the lady of the manor, although I stood in a farmhouse. I smoothed the skirts with trembling hands, wanting to put this chore behind me. I hated the thought of having to tell Frank’s parents that their son had perished.
“I have to get this over with.”
In the kitchen, I sat at the table, dipping the quill into the inkpot, scribbling the necessary messages. My fingers shook so badly that I could hardly read the writing. After an hour of starting and stopping, I jumped to my feet in frustration, an unreasonable anger boiling inside of me. Maria had gone outside to do laundry, while I seethed. The sound of a wagon brought my attention to the doorway, and I raced to see who had arrived, a strange, irrational wish materializing. I prayed that Doctor Caldwell had come to call, bringing my husband back.
“It’s been a mistake, Mrs. Clark,” he said. “Frank didn’t die. He was pounding on the coffin in the middle of the night, and the undertaker dug him out. He’s good as new now…and he’s walking unassisted. It’s a miracle.”
But, that was a fantasy, as Sally Higgins stepped down from her perch. “Oh, Hannah.”
“You don’t have to come out here to watch over me.”
“Nonsense. Of course I do. I’m here to be of service to you. I brought some chicken salad and bread. We can have sandwiches.” I eyed her warily, not feeling up to company in the least. “Oh, dear, you look sore. You’re about to bite my head off.”
“You should just go away.”
She shook her head. “You need me to help you with something. I know you do. I don’t care if you scream at me, like you look like you’re about to. I can handle it. I had to bury my little brother when I was thirteen. We were as thick as thieves. I loved that boy more than I loved my own parents. I cried for weeks. I’ll try to spare you half of that, if I can.” Her skirts whooshed by me. “Now, what can I do for you? The house looks spick and span. No need for cleanin’.”
“You’re not going away, are you?”
“Certainly not.”
I sighed. “Oh, drat.”
“Come now, what can I help you with?”
“I have to write letters.”
“Excellent. I’ll put the food in the larder for now, and we can get some letter writing done.” She headed down the hallway. “I’ve been told my penmanship is pretty good.”
Having no choice in the matter, I followed. Two hours later, the most important letters had been written, as I had dictated to Sally, who scribbled with the quill. The letter to Frank’s sister would have to wait, as would my sisters, although I wrote a brief note to Louisa. When this chore had ended, Maria made chicken salad sandwiches, and I ate one, realizing I was absolutely famished. It wasn’t long before Sally left, and I thanked her for helping me. The calm of evening found me wandering from room to room; the curtains separating the dining room had been taken down. The space was empty now, as the bed had been put away.
I declined to eat with Nathan, Jerry, and Maria, hearing them talking in the kitchen. Instead, I loitered in the living room, traversing the carpet, while the clock kept me company. It was a strange restlessness I couldn't explain, not wanting to go up to bed just yet, but knowing that I would eventually have to. Once the men had left the house, I wrung my hands; hating having to be alone in the room I had shared with my husband.
“Do you need anything, Mrs. Clark?” asked Maria.
“No. Thank you.”
She took to the stairs. “You let me know, if you need anything.”
“I will.”
I waited for as long as I could, the hour growing late, and then I grasped the banister, pulling myself up, one step at a time, as if I were marching to my own execution. In the bedroom, the lamp blazed, flashing out yellow light. My clothing was left on a chair, while I pulled the nightgown over my head. Then I grasped each hairpin, tugging it free. Once my face and hands were washed, I slipped under the covers, but the heat forced me to throw back the heavier blanket. It would be another hour before I slid from the mattress, sliding open the window, feeling the breeze.
“Oh, Frank,” I murmured.
It was useless trying to sleep. Snatching the lamp, I’d made my decision, hastening from the room and down the stairs. The house was eerily quiet; the only light came from the moon, which shone in through the windows. I left the porch, my feet crunching over gravel, as I reached the bunkhouse. Its lights were out. The door creaked on noisy hinges. This woke one of the occupants, who sat up suddenly, glancing in my direction.
“Hannah?” It was Nathan. “What’s wrong?”
“Might I have a word?”
He got to his feet, sliding them into shoes. “Sure.”
We stood outside, while a gust of air sent strands of hair into my face. “I…can’t sleep.”
“I’m sorry.” Our eyes met, as my silent entreaty was understood. “I’ll stay with you, if you like.”
“It might help.”
He took the lantern. “All right.”
Relief flooded me, although I knew this was highly improper. In the house, we worked our way up the stairs, trying not to wake Maria. There was a creaky fourth step, but the others were quiet. Once in the bedroom, I left the robe and slippers behind, sitting on the mattress. Nathan went around to the other side. He lay next to me, but I wasn’t able to make out his features, because his face was hidden in the darkness. I rolled into him, finding the solitude that had eluded me all day, closing my eyes. His arms went around me, and it wasn’t long before I drifted to sleep.
In the morning, I stared at the ceiling, knowing that Nathan was gone. I lay like this for quite a while, having no desire to leave the bed.