by Ann Hunter
Rebecca paused and began laughing. “Thank you, Gregory Diggory.” She touched her mother’s shoulder. “Should we go to bed?”
Lilly reached for her daughter. Rebecca slid her arm under her shoulder and around her waist to help her up.
They ascended the stairs slowly and with much effort. Rebecca did not mind. She was close to her mother again, and though she worried for her health, she relished having her beside her once again.
Rebecca helped her mother change in to a night shift and settled her into bed. She offered to bring her a warming pan to place under the covers, but Lilly refused. Rebecca washed her mother’s feet and face. At one point Lilly caught hold of her wrist. “How is your hand? Have you been taking care of yourself?”
Rebecca clasped her other hand around her mother’s, trying to hide her hand. “Do not worry about that, for it is in yours. That’s all that matters.”
Lilly smiled and fell back against the sheets. Rebecca pulled the covers over her and dimmed the lantern’s light.
Upon retiring to her room, Rebecca gazed upon her hand in the moonlight. She had not bandaged it in several days, and forgotten to use salve. The work kept her so busy she barely had time to eat. Now that she looked at it, it was a rotten mess. Burnt and scarred. Rebecca wrung it. She felt no pain. She barely felt anything at all. She chewed her lower lip. A pit formed in her belly. She shook her hand out and pushed the threatening thoughts away that it hand would forever stay that way.
She still felt nothing. Perhaps it had fallen asleep. She pressed each finger, one by one, to her thumb, but all sense had left her thumb and the ball of her hand where she was burnt. Rebecca crawled under her own covers and wept.
V
Rebecca had barely fallen asleep when Lilly shook her shoulder. The sun was beginning to rise.
“Rise and shine, bed head.”
Rebecca rubbed her eyes. “Why are you up? I was going to make us breakfast.”
“Nonsense.” Lilly placed a hand in the hollow of her hip. “Khronos knows how hard you’ve worked. Our home never looked better. You have done well, dear heart. Today is the day of rest. Let me do the cooking.”
Rebecca shook her head. “You are the one who should be resting, Mother.”
Lilly headed downstairs. “Not another word. I have already fixed breakfast and fed the chickens.”
Rebecca stretched and scratched her head. The house was warm from the hearth fire and sweet with the molasses rich scent of cornmeal mush and cider. Rebecca smoothed her bed and padded down stairs. “I don’t think you slept.”
Lilly labored over the copper cauldron. “I slept.”
Rebecca sat down at the table. “One hour? Two?”
Lilly placed a bowl steaming with the syrupy cornmeal mash in front of Rebecca. “Eat.” She poured her a goblet of cider, cold from sitting outside.
“You need to eat too,” Rebecca encouraged.
“We need to get to church. My soul hungers. I am eager to hear Preacher’s words and be nourished. I feel faint in the city because all of the people are godless.”
Rebecca frowned. Christoph had not seemed like a godless man. She was not as sure about the others.
At church, Rebecca leaned her head against Lilly’s shoulder and laced their fingers together. Preacher carried on about The Corporation and that the efforts they are making against King Andrus are not in vain. The words fell on Rebecca’s ears like a foreign tongue, jumbled and dense.
When they got home, she tried to get her mother to rest, but it was no use. The day continued on as if it were any other Khronos Day. Just as Rebecca was drifting off to sleep, the door downstairs creaked open and shut. She propped herself up in bed to see out of her window. Lilly walked hastily down the dirt road toward church, no doubt to meet with Preacher and report her week. Rebecca rolled over and struggled to fall asleep.
In the morning, she rose and went about her usual routine. When she was dressed she rushed into her mother’s room, excited to see her before she left for the city. Lilly was not there. Rebecca bounded down stairs. No fire in the hearth. The cottage was still. Her shoulders slumped as she realized her mother had already left. No goodbye. Not unlike her father.
Rebecca pressed her forehead against a wall momentarily before kicking the baseboards hard. She tipped her head back and stared at the boards above, chewing her lip. No use throwing a fit. It would be lost energy she needed to complete her chores. She returned upstairs to make a schedule for the week which she carried out faithfully.
On Sixtherday, Rebecca stayed up late. She kept a kettle ready in the hearth fire and had prepared soured cream and corn meal bread. The fire crackled invitingly as she curled up on a chair by the window with her forbidden book of clocks and their inner workings. Her shadow grew long across the dining area as the moon traced an arc across the black, iridescent sky.
Far into the night, when Rebecca’s head began to nod and her eye lids droop, the door swung open. There was Henrietta Bartleby nearly carrying Lilly to the table. Rebecca leapt to attention and began helping at once. She wrung out a rag, heavy with steaming hot water, and placed it over her mother’s neck.
“Breathe, dear,” Henrietta urged Lilly.
Lilly drew a ragged, raspy breath. Henrietta patted her. “That’s a girl.”
Rebecca went about cutting the corn meal bread into small cakes and placing a dollop of soured cream on each one. “Where is Petunia?”
Henrietta shook her head. “We cannot talk about Mrs. Tully right here or now, Lady Tremaine. Not with your mother in this condition. Upsetting. Very upsetting.”
Rebecca’s brow furrowed. “Is she alright?”
Henrietta poured ale for herself and Lilly. “Nevermind that. Tend to your mother.”
Rebecca beat on her mother’s back to help her choke up the ash in her lungs. Lilly got to coughing and turned a disconcerting shade of pale blue at one point. Henrietta and Rebecca got her to her feet at once and lifted her arms over her head to help open her lungs. When that did not help, Rebecca insisted they get her outside into the cold night air.
Lilly fell upon her knees in the grass and lurched forward until she hacked up an ominous mass of black. Rebecca ran upstairs to retrieve her mother’s favorite blanket, and wrap it around Lilly. Henrietta helped Lilly back into the house.
Once seated, Lilly’s head fell back and she stared open mouth at the ceiling. Rebecca wrung out another hot rag and draped it over her mother’s throat and chest. Henrietta helped ale find its way down Lilly’s throat.
Rebecca sank into a chair beside her mother. “What does she do all day that makes her so sick?”
Henrietta shook her head. “That is for her to know and you to find out. Some of us are more sturdy and can handle the blackness in the city. Have you got it from here, young Lady Tremaine?”
Rebecca nodded curtly. “We’ll be fine. Thank you for making sure she got home safely.”
Henrietta smiled. “No trouble at all.” She rose. “Shall I see myself to the door?”
Rebecca moved from her mother’s side for just a moment to open the door for her neighbor. Henrietta Bartleby fixed her hair and left.
Rebecca spent the remainder of the night ensuring her mother was made comfortable. She seemed more feeble than last week. Though her own bones ached, Rebecca mustered a good deal of strength to help support her mother up the stairs. Lilly was silent tonight except for her incessant coughing.
Rebecca placed a warming pan at the foot of her mother’s bed and helped her change in to a night shift. When Lilly was settled, Rebecca climbed in beside her. She wrapped her arm around her mother’s waist and nestled close. “I’m not leaving your side for a second tonight.”
A clammy, thinning hand squeezed Rebecca’s.
Lilly finally breathed evenly, though her breaths rattled. This time Rebecca was able to rise and shine before her. She readied herself for the day, took care of the chickens, stoked the hearth fire, and prepared breakfast of johnnycakes,
eggs, and cider.
As she rose with plated food, placed them on the table, and dusted her hands on her apron, she heard her mother from the staircase. Rebecca glanced over her shoulder. Lilly was looking at her tearfully. Rebecca rushed to her side and Lilly leaned in to her to help get down the stairs. “I hope you are not cross, Mother. You needed to rest.”
Lilly shook her head. “Just now, seeing you there, Rebecca,” Lilly looked at her. “So grown up.”
She eased in to a chair at the table and looked up at Rebecca. Rebecca smiled as her mother touched her cheek and told her, “I could not be prouder.”
Rebecca placed the food in front of her mother, and spread a cloth over her lap, scooting her chair in for her before doing so for herself.
Lilly worked on her food slowly. “I know this must be hard for you, but my mind is at ease knowing our home is in such good hands.”
Rebecca blushed. “I had the best teacher.”
They ate in quietude, occasionally talking about what Preacher might say at Sermon or what they should have for supper.
After breakfast was done and cleaned up, they dressed themselves and attended church. Rebecca took much the same position as she had the week before, grateful to have her mother by her side. She did not care about what Preacher had to say. Only that Lilly was here with her. She tried not to think about how she would wake in the morning alone again. Which she did, much to her dismay.
As she pushed through Oneday and on to Twosday, she noticed that the work did not require as much effort. Her muscles did not ache as much or complain, though she was still just as tired at the end of the day. Triunesday led into Fourthday and Rebecca looked forward to Fiveday, for it was the last she had to endure alone before her mother returned on Sixtherday.
Rebecca rested as much as she could Sixtherday so that she could attend to Lilly’s every need. When the door swung open at midnight, Rebecca was alert and ready. Only the sight before her made knees betray her. Henrietta Bartleby carried Lilly in her arms like a newborn babe. Henrietta’s breath labored. “Fetch a doctor as quick as you can!”
Lilly was unconscious.
Rebecca’s mouth opened and shut like a fish.
“Now!” Henrietta bellowed.
Rebecca barreled past her to dash madly to Doctor Proctor’s home. She pounded on his door until candle light flickered in every room.
Doctor Proctor came to the door in his nightgown and sleeping cap, holding a candle. Rebecca asked him to make great haste for it was of the utmost urgency. Doctor Proctor nodded and assured her he’d get his things. He was an older man, close in age to the Diggorys, no doubt had gone to school with them as a lad. Rebecca paced in the yard, running her hands through her hair and chewing her lower lip. Why was he taking so long?
Doctor Proctor emerged at last with his bag of tools and started his clockwork carriage, not unlike the one Robert invented. Rebecca got inside beside him. He turned the little copper key and the carriage sputtered to life.
Doctor Proctor made small talk on the ride back, noting how the outlaw of clockwork was pish-posh. Rebecca filed her nails down between her teeth, wishing the carriage could go faster. A lot faster.
She practically dragged the old man inside when they arrived. Henrietta Bartleby was upstairs in Lilly’s room, dabbing her forehead with a hot rag. She waved the doctor over. Rebecca stood at the door of the room, afraid to enter. Every breath Lilly took was a fight to draw, shallow and exceptionally ragged. Rebecca leaned her forehead against the door jamb and shut her eyes tight. Her heart ached more than it had ever before.
Henrietta bustled about, keeping the bed warming pan hot and assisting Doctor Proctor. Rebecca leaned against the door jamb with her arms crossed, well away from the chaos and out from under foot.
After an hour or so, she heard a moan. She looked toward her mother and noticed her head turned toward her and her eyes barely gaping. Lilly stretched out her arm, hand wide open. Rebecca rushed to her side and knelt by the bed. She kissed her mother’s hand and brushed it against her cheek. “I’m here, Mother.”
Lilly drew a deep, slow breath and laid her head back, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Finally the doctor began packing his things. “I have done what I can. It is in the Maker’s hands now. Make sure she takes this.” He placed a glass bottle full of red liquid on Lilly’s night stand. “Keep the windows open. Help her get as much fresh air as possible.”
Henrietta was already in the process of throwing every shutter up. Rebecca looked at Doctor Proctor forlornly. “Why is she so sick?”
Doctor Proctor rubbed the back of his neck with a kerchief. “She’s drowning, Lady Tremaine.”
Rebecca’s brow furrowed. “Drowning? There is not anything deep enough to drown in for miles.”
“She is drowning,” the doctor restated, “in ash.”
“How is that possible? Is not The Corporation a factory? She works inside as a mender.” Rebecca looked to Mrs. Bartleby. “Doesn’t she, Henrietta?”
Henrietta paused and looked over her shoulder. She gave no response.
Rebecca looked back to Doctor Proctor. “Only the city could drown one out. You’d have to be outdoors.” Rebecca looked down at her mother’s sleeping body. “I do not understand.”
Doctor Proctor touched Rebecca’s shoulder. “I am sorry I have no other answers for you, my dear.”
Rebecca kissed her mother’s hand. “What of Oneday? She can not go back to work like this.”
Henrietta crossed the room to join them. “She must. If she does not, she will lose her job.”
Tears welled in Rebecca’s eyes. One slipped down her cheek. She sniffed and looked up at Henrietta. “The last three weeks she has come home sicker and sicker. If she goes back, she will surely die!”
Henrietta stroked Rebecca’s hair. “Every gear and cog must serve its purpose in The Great Wheel, Lady Tremaine.”
Rebecca shook her head. “No. No, her purpose lies here with me as my mother.”
“I will let Preacher know that Lilly will be taking Sermon at your estate tomorrow.”
Rebecca swallowed and turned her gaze back to her mother. Lilly looked so pale and fragile. She did not want to take her eyes off of her for fear she might vanish into the air, turned into ash itself.
When Henrietta and Doctor Proctor were long gone, Rebecca forced herself to move. She leaned up to kiss her mother’s cheek and whisper that she would be right back. She changed in to her night clothes and extinguished the hearth fire for the night.
As she padded upstairs, she noticed som thing at the top of the landing. She stooped to inspect it and found a small, familiar leather book. She picked it up and opened it to see her mother’s handwriting scrawled across the pages. It was dated around the time she began work at the factory. Rebecca crawled into bed beside her mother, propped up some pillows, and began to read.
I have taken a job with The Corporation, under the rule of Chief Executive Officer, King Andrus, Lord Over All That He Sees Or Has Ever Heard Of. The Corporation stood in need of menders. Preacher said this was the best way to infiltrate the factory and discover what Andrus intends for the clock people. Why would such a place create so much smoke? What are they doing inside?
The Corporation runs like a well oiled machine. Emerald green pistons the size of ships pump and writhe across the factory floor with furiosity. Workers labor beside them, slick with oil and grime from keeping the pistons going. My main work area is the infirmary. It would seem every hour or so a new worker comes in with an injury or illness. I do what I can to heal them. Some cough up black humors, others lose fingers to the machines. I am ordered to send them back to work as soon as they can stand and walk.
It bothers me these poor souls are not allowed to heal before returning to work. The mention of Maker Khronos is forbidden within the confines of these walls. I find working comes with great difficulty when I cannot pray for these people.
Today one of them lost a hand. I was ord
ered to give him a sedative, bandage him, and put him exactly back where he was. I stood there beside him and stared at the pistons. They led out of the room in every direction.
Where do they go? What is their purpose? What great wheel do they drive? They seem so foreign and excessive when one is used to the concise workings of a clock.
Today a girl, not much older than my own, stumbled into the infirmary with a wretched cough. I was shocked such a young one was allowed to work in a place like this, but she said she did not work on the main factory floor.
I took her aside once she was treated and asked her to show me her place of work. We walked down corridors blocked from view to a grate with openings only large enough for a child or small adult such as myself.
I saw where the pistons lead. I saw unmentionable creations. Things I can not explain here. Things I dare not repeat for fear of my writing being discovered. It is no wonder the people are sick. It is no wonder the sun is being choked out. This is what the king calls progression.
Rebecca shut the diary as Lilly stirred beside her. Tiny flecks of pink and purple dusted the horizon outside. Rebecca slid the diary under the pillows behind her and leaned on her elbow to meet her mother’s gaze. She smiled for her and moved a strand of blonde hair from her haggard face. “Good morning.”
Lilly offered a weak smile and croaked a barely distinguishable hello.
“Would you like to eat? What can I get for you?”
“Ale,” Lilly croaked.
Rebecca kissed her forehead. “Back in a flash.”
She raced downstairs to pour a goblet of cold ale she’d been keeping just outside the front door behind the trellises. She filled the goblet, wiped the sides clean, and took it up to her mother. She helped her sit up and lifted the goblet to her lips. Lilly drank greedily without taking a breath. Ale dribbled down her chin and throat. Rebecca wiped it away and rushed downstairs for more upon her mother’s request. She grabbed an extra goblet and filled it to save herself a third trip. Rebecca helped her as she had before and was glad she filled the third goblet for Lilly sucked it down and then fell back against her pillows into a restless sleep.