by Mari Labbee
He feared Indigo terribly but could never remember why. However, his instinct would not let him forget; it was intent on saving him and remembered things on his behalf. They did not see him that day; they passed a hair’s breath away from where he stood, and by some miracle, none of them turned or caught sight of him—neither Malik, who carried the invalid Alexander, nor Indigo, nor the other girl, whose name he didn’t know, but she was like a shadow appearing as if from nowhere. She frightened him almost as much as Indigo did. His fear made him return to his room that day.
Another shriek, followed by a long wail, and Elias jumped out of bed. As he did, he knocked over the cup of tea on the table by his bed and watched it drip down the table leg onto the floor. There was something in the tea, the wine, or the water. He couldn’t be sure, but he knew it had to be one of those. That’s how they were doing this. He hadn’t drunk what they brought to him in the last few days, and he was feeling stronger because of it.
They kept him in this room like an exotic pet they occasionally remembered to feed. The girl would always shuffle in, dragging her bare feet against the floor, humming, carrying a tray in her hand. To think her a simpleton was a grave mistake. Looking down and away, she feigned shyness, but those wary eyes were never off him; even when her back was to him, he was sure she was watching. She would always set his tray down and then go back out for the watering can to water the plants outside his window. Her routine never varied, and she always overwatered. The idea came to him as he watched the excess water running over their pots. He had taken one saucer from under the teacup and put it under one of the pots, and had been drinking that water ever since.
Another shriek, and he grabbed the pants that were thrown over the back of the chair by the window; frantically, he pulled them on, almost losing his balance in the process. He would sink into lunacy if he remained here.
Today I will find a way, or I will die trying.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Rosabel
June 21, 1831
Today we celebrated Elias’s birthday in our new house. He finished building it several weeks ago. It is my wedding present, and it is the most beautiful house I have ever seen. It would be the happiest day of my life if not for the news that he will be sailing again, and soon. He has been keeping this from me, knowing how upset I would be. I am upset. It will be impossible to start a family with him away at sea.
June 25, 1831
A servant by the name of Madeline has come to live with us. She is quite lovely and speaks French. She will stay with me while Elias is gone. Both Father and Aunt Vivian are gone now, and Elias will be gone soon also, so I am very happy that she will be here. I think it would be good to learn French, and she has promised to teach me. When Elias returns, I will be able to converse with him in French.
June 27, 1831
Today there was a bit of good news. Elias informed me that he went to the Lawsons and told them he would be leaving the company, as he did not want to go out to sea anymore. He wants to be here with me and to start our family. They offered him the position of chief procurer of Lawson Trading Company but only on the condition that he captain the Sparrow down to Dominica this one last time. They will not be able to find another captain before season’s end, and this seems like a good bargain to me, but still, it does not soothe me to know he will be gone for months. I did not want to burden him, so I told him that we would start our family as soon as he returned and that I was happy. This appeared to make him happy, and he kissed me. I will miss his kisses. I never tire of them. They all feel like the first one he stole in Meg Suttie’s garden. I was so surprised that night, but as soon as that first kiss was over, I wanted another. And the nights, how will I endure the nights without him? If I could, I would spend my days beside him in our bed. I never tire of him.
July 4, 1831
We went to the Sutties’ Fourth of July party tonight. It was great fun. There were fireworks, and everyone was in a festive mood, but every time I looked at Elias, I tried very hard not to cry. He was the most handsome man in the room. Tomorrow he will leave me. How will I survive these three months without him?
July 5, 1831
Elias has sailed. I stood on the dock and watched the Sparrow until she disappeared and for some time after, unable to leave there. I confess I hoped they might turn around and that he would disembark to come home with me, but, of course, that was not to be. I pray that my beloved Elias will be safe and return to me quickly. I pray to God he will return to me unharmed.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
December 12, 1832
Today my life returned to me. I was sitting in the parlor taking the sun as I do every morning, and I was busy with my embroidery when I saw a man walking toward the house. Sure that he was someone in search of work, I called out to Madeline. There was firewood to chop but only food for payment. A moment later, Madeline was at the threshold of the parlor with the stranger standing behind her. He was grimy and wore a heavy beard, but then I saw his eyes, and he spoke. I jumped up so quickly I lost my balance and fell against the windowsill. They say I fainted, but to find Elias’s face inches from mine upon waking was a joy great enough to drive every worry away. He has come home. I had given up hope.
December 25, 1832
Meg Suttie and her husband came for Christmas dinner, which was good. My embroideries have been selling well, and we were able to put together a nice little feast. All would have been perfect if Meg had not taken me aside for a talk.
“What is wrong with Elias?” she asked me.
It is impossible for me to hide anything from her, no matter my efforts. I tried to make light of it, but not long after I began, I burst into tears. I wish I hadn’t. I have tried so hard to ignore the strangeness in Elias. He looks years older since he left here just over one year ago. His hair has gone mostly white. I think he may have come down with a sickness while he was gone, but I do not know. He has not told me anything about his time away. I do not know where he was or what happened to him there. He is skin and bones and has yet to put on one pound since returning. Madeline told me that she saw him looking at my painting, the one I wish to forget and that it seemed to upset him. I fear for him. I am afraid for both of us. I could not bring myself to confess to Meg that he has not touched me since returning. I cannot bring myself to reveal this, not even to her.
January 4, 1833
Several days ago, a dozen men arrived at the house, ready to work. When Elias came home, he had a carriage load of beautiful wood with him. He does not say how he came to have it, and I am afraid to ask him anything. These past few days he has awoken at dawn and does not go to bed until near midnight, exhausted. He began carving a mantel today. It has roses and bell blossoms, and he told me that it is for me. That small remark is the only evidence I have that he might still love me.
February 1, 1833
It has been a trying week. And today was the anniversary of Father’s death. I still call him father, though Aunt Vivian, in her grief on the day of his death, confessed that he was not my actual father. He had loved my mother very much. And he had loved me as his own. I was put off at first, but then I thought of him and knew that he was my father in every way. I wanted Elias with me, but he could not be found all day and did not join me at Father’s grave site. In the evening, I went looking for him and did not so much find him as heard him. He was by the horse stall. I saw him sitting there with his head in his hands. “Go away,” he said, repeating it over and over as he rocked back and forth crying. I wanted to go to him to let him know I loved him, but something held me back. Elias, what has happened to you?
Madeline made a tea for me and sat with me in my room. She said nothing, but she knew everything. She has advised me to give him wide berth and allow time to pass.
March 12, 1833
It was my birthday today. Elias did not remember. But Madeline made a lovely cake, and he ate a slice.
April 7, 1833
I am tired of waiting and have decided t
o win Elias back. After all, I did that already once. He is my husband, and our marriage can still live. I will have him again.
April 8, 1833
Yesterday evening ended in disaster. My attempts at seduction failed, and this time I locked him out of our room. What kind of woman cannot entice her own husband? I saw the repulsion in his eyes when I laid myself out for him. Later he came to my door, trying to assure me that I was still as beautiful as the first day he saw me and that it was he who was different. I asked him in what way was he different, but he could not explain. I am doomed. We are doomed.
April 12, 1833
If my handwriting is affected as I write this, it is no wonder, for I still shake, and it has been two days. Ashamed to confess this, even here where no eyes but mine will fall. I still hesitate.
Since his return, Elias has not shared my bed and has been sleeping in another room. I still call this our room, though I am its only occupant. But even though he has not touched me—in that way—he is still the kind man I have always known, which is why I could not have foreseen what happened.
Two nights ago, Elias awakened me in the dead of night. At first, I was elated that he had come to me, thinking Madeline had been right, that it was time he needed. And that time would heal him. He had not been ready, and perhaps I had pushed too hard. I began kissing him, so happy to see him, but something in his manner put me off. His touch was cold and hard, and his eyes, which have always been warm and loving, were dull. It was as if he were looking through me. I quickly became frightened and tried to push him away, but he would not stop. He did not whisper lovely words into my ear, as he always has. He was rough, and he would not get off me. After it was over, he quickly left without a word. I still do not know what to think.
I believe Madeline senses things are not right. She insisted I stay in bed and has brought my meals up to me. Elias has not spoken to me about his actions and continues on as if nothing happened.
May 2, 1833
Today was filled with excitement. Isabel has returned. My sister has come home. All this time I thought she was dead.
June 5, 1833
My writing is overdue, but I have been busy. It has been a month since Isabel’s return, and my shock at seeing her is over. But when she appeared on the doorstep, I was quite taken by surprise. I did not recognize her, but she knew me. At first, I thought I was imagining things when she smiled and called me sister, but then she hugged me, and I knew I wasn’t. I was vexed. Why would Aunt Vivian lie? Why would Father lie? When we were children, Isabel disappeared. They told me she had gone away. When I asked why and to where, they told me she was sick. I never knew where she had gone, and Father never spoke of her, becoming cross if I questioned him. After Father had died, I asked Aunt Vivian, and she told me that Isabel had died in the hospital after a long illness many years ago.
We have spent this past month getting to know each other again. There is no doubt she is Isabel. Looking at her is like looking into a mirror. We are twins, after all. She looks so much like Mother, though—at least the memory I have of Mother with her black hair and green eyes.
The trouble with Elias continues. And Isabel soothes me when I speak of my concern. He avoids looking at me, and most of the time he is not to be found. Where he goes is a mystery. And Madeline has begun acting strangely, keeping to herself, staying locked in her room in the evenings instead of joining me for our card games. This is very unlike her. I told her Isabel would not mind, that she would not think it unseemly, but I do not believe she likes Isabel much. She has not said as much, but why else would she be acting this way if that were not so? Isabel knows nothing of games and does not seem interested in them, but she and I talk in the evenings, and that is a comfort.
I do most of the talking, however. Isabel has not told me much about her life. I have noticed that sometimes she says or does strange things that I find unusual, and I wonder where she learned them or from whom. She is a trifle impatient that I have learned. Especially with the two servants she brought with her. I do not know what to make of those two. They are like savages and nothing at all like Madeline.
My memories of our childhood are not clear. I struggle to recall precise events, but Isabel looks vaguely like I remember her.
She was surprised to find out that I thought she had died. But I explained that Father and Aunt Vivian told me so. She seemed cross for a time about that, but I believe it has passed. She has been kind and is so interested in my well-being. She asks many questions, and I am happy to answer them, but I do hold back. I have not told her that Elias has not been a husband to me since his return unless one counts that horrible night. We take afternoon walks along the cliff to the lighthouse, but we don’t go up. I told her I do not like it in there, and I never go up.
She does go up; I have seen her. I saw her up there the other night, her black hair in the wind. She looks so much like Mother. How lovely everything must look from there.
June 7, 1833
I am having quite a time becoming accustomed to Isabel’s servants. Their foreign ways are confusing. The girl, Minkah, is rude and uncomprehending and smokes a foul smelling weed. And the man, Malik, is no better than an animal. We have him tending to the garden and the horse. They ignore me completely as if I am not even there! I have expressed my annoyance to Isabel, and she has promised to speak to them, but I see no change. They only take orders from Isabel, yet they live in my house. I am becoming quite tired of having to go through Isabel for even the smallest thing, as it relates to those two.
And Madeline has become even more secretive. I hardly see her anywhere. Like a spirit, she disappears around corners and fades away into the shadows. I tried to speak with her yesterday when I saw her in the garden gathering vegetables, but she hurried off. She completes her tasks as if in a race, and her good nature is all but gone. I am confounded.
Elias is still distant and not only avoids me but everyone else in the house, especially Isabel. I would like to see him accept my sister as his own. She is so affectionate toward him and always tries to engage him in conversation, but he is being difficult.
June 9, 1833
Elias has begun sleeping in our bed again. Little else has changed between us, but now I have hope. I will do what I can to preserve the bond between us—what little of it is left. In those quiet moments before sleep, I try to speak to him, try to persuade him to tell me what is bothering him, about his time away, but he does not talk to me. It matters not; he is sleeping next to me again. I have been sleeping poorly, especially this past week. And I awake feeling ill. Perhaps I am not accustomed to having Elias by my side anymore. Perhaps I am dreaming but cannot remember.
June 12, 1833
Elias is having fits. As he sleeps, he jerks about to and fro for most of the night. I have not had a peaceful night in as long as I can remember. If it is not worry that keeps me from closing my eyes, then it is this. I am tired every day and not feeling well. But complaining is a useless thing, and I am not the only one with troubles.
Earlier this evening there was a strange occurrence, and it has been rolling around in my head. The house was quiet, and I was in the kitchen when I heard voices through the open window. I stepped outside and held the lantern before me, but I saw nothing. The voices were low, almost like a murmur, and they sounded almost musical. They were coming from somewhere inside the woods, so I went to look. I had not taken more than a dozen steps into the woods when I stopped because I heard something thrashing ahead of me. Before I had the chance to turn back, Elias appeared out of the shadows and ran square into me, knocking me to the ground with such great force that I hit my head on the ground and lost the lantern. His eyes were frantic, and he looked at me as if I were a stranger before roughly pulling me to my feet and dragging me along behind him like a sack of meal until we reached the house.
“Do not go outside!” he yelled before walking off.
I looked after him, bewildered by his behavior. What in the world was he doing out there,
what was he running from?
Later in our bedroom, he would not broach the subject, only telling me that I looked pale. I could have said the same about him, but I did not. Where has my beloved Elias gone?
June 13, 1833
Madeline is acting stranger than ever. This morning she appeared in my room and bolted the door behind her. She handed me a small medallion on a long chain, but as I began to pull it over my head to put around my neck, she quickly took it from me and wound it around my waist, clasping it there. Then she very solemnly instructed that I was never to remove it, and I was never to tell a soul about it. She repeated this as she helped me dress. Once I was dressed, she passed her hand over my dress, satisfied that it was not visible, and she seemed calmer. I will wear it for her if it makes her feel better.
June 14, 1833
Madeline has gone. Like a ghost in the night, she disappeared without leaving word. I searched her room today, looking for a letter, anything that she might have left behind to explain why she left, but there was nothing, and she took all her belongings, leaving nothing behind. Why would she leave without saying goodbye? I loved her like a sister. Where could she have gone, and why would she not say goodbye?
June 15, 1833
Great God, I am with child! I announced it this morning as we ate our morning meal. Isabel clapped and came to hug me around the neck. I cannot tell if Elias was pleased or not. He said as much, but there was little affection. I hope he is happy; his feelings are no longer on display. Surely this is the happiest thing that could happen. It is what we talked about so much. I wish Madeline were here; she would be so happy.
June 17, 1833
Meg came to see me today. I was so excited—an old friend. How I need one. I also thought how surprised she would be to know I have a sister, something she never knew. She brought little Pearl with her. What a darling child. Meg was ecstatic to learn that soon I will have one of my own.