Five Sisters

by Leen Elle

  Nathaniel caught her worried expression sometimes before he drifted off, and he'd just smile and whisper hoarsely, "Not this time, my dear. I'm not going that easily."

  Although it was growing late and the clock on Nathaniel's dresser showed thirty minutes past ten, Gail couldn't bring herself to leave the room. What if he needed something during the night? Who would be there to help? So she scooted her chair forward and rested her arms on the covers of his bed. Her eyes felt as heavy as lead and ever so slowly, her head dropped down until it sat upon her hands. With a sigh, she let her eyes begin to close and before she knew it, Gail was fast asleep beside Nathaniel and she would rest there until morning.

  *****

  Nora, dressed completely inappropriately in her robe and slippers, was sitting across the dining room table from Sawyer with a checkered board in place between them. The room had been cleared for quite some time, but the pair could hear several of the sailors playing a friendly game of poker on deck.

  Ben Leslie's voice, so deep and jovial, could be heard clearly above all the rest. As Nora listened to him laugh and shout with the others, she set her elbow on the table, resting her head upon it, and sighed wistfully.

  Sawyer pushed his glasses up further on his nose and cleared his throat, "Your turn."

  "Oh right," Nora murmured distantly. She moved her pawn quickly, without even considering the move, before returning her attention to the voices of the men upstairs.

  Sawyer scratched his head of short, flaxen hair and used his pawn to jump over several of Nora's. With a grin, he swept them all up into his hand and set them in the pile he'd acquired beside the board.

  "Nora," he said once more, "Nora, it's your turn."

  "Sorry," she mumbled, aimlessly moving her pawn once more.

  That was all Sawyer could take. She'd been playing like this all night long- not putting an ounce of thought into her moves and not caring a bit when she lost every game. Instead of her normal, competitive self, she sat off in dreamland- thinking only of a certain blond-haired, hazel-eyed sailor that could be heard laughing merrily at that very moment.

  "If you don't want to play anymore, we can stop," he suggested, "Because it's not very much fun to play against someone who has no interest in the game."

  Nora fell out of her reverie and replied earnestly, "I'm sorry, Sawyer. I didn't mean to take all the amusement out of your game. We can play again if you want. And I promise I'll pay attention this time. I really will!"

  "No," Sawyer grumbled sadly, "That's alright. I'm just going to go to bed."

  "But Sawyer . . ."

  "I'll see you tomorrow, Nora."

  He scooped up all his pawns and the checkerboard in his skinny arms and said a quick goodnight before leaving Nora alone in the dining room. For a moment, she watched him leave and silently admonished herself for her discourteous behavior that night. But then, only a few seconds later, she forgot all about Sawyer and turned her attention right back to the voices of Ben and the sailors as if nothing had happened at all.

  CHAPTER 20

  Mary’s Realizaiton

  At midnight, Sara awoke to a dark room with her blankets entangled around her legs. Although she'd barely slept at all, the short hour she had fallen into dreamland had been a nightmare of tossing and turning.

  And now, she realized that something else was wrong as well. Looking around the room, she saw two empty beds. One of those belonged to Gail, who Sara already knew had fallen asleep in Nathaniel's room. They'd tried to carry her into her own bed, but Gail wouldn't allow them. She said she was perfectly fine where she was and she didn't want to leave poor Nathaniel alone.

  After spotting Emy and Nora, it wasn't hard to determine that Mary was the other missing sister. Thinking back, Sara realized that she hadn't seen Mary at all since dinner, in fact. On a rather small boat like Violet, that was a strange occurrence.

  With a furrowed brow, Sara removed the blanket from around her legs and covered herself with it. She buried her head into her pillow and tried to determine where Mary might be and if it was worth getting out of her warm bed for. Considering that she could just be getting a drink of water or taking a midnight stroll on deck after a restless night (like Sara so often did), Sara decided to remain in bed and simply wait for Mary to return.

  Only twenty or so minutes later, a pair of footsteps flew down the steps outside the girls' room. The sound was followed by the soft sobs of a troubled young girl, making Sara sit upright in her bed. The door of the room slowly creaked open and Mary entered, looking far worse than Sara had ever seen her.

  Her dark ringlets were tangled and hanging into her face and her bright blue eyes were red, swollen, and dripping with fresh tears. The sweater she wore was hanging off her shoulders and the front of her dress was unlaced, revealing more of her chest than a lady ought.

  Like a confused child, she didn't even notice what was standing right in front her and was just starting to climb into bed and bury her head in the pillow when Sara, shocked beyond belief, finally spoke:

  "Mary?" she said slowly, "What's happened to you? What's wrong?"

  Her sister didn't speak, but her mouth dropped open when she spotted Sara.

  Again, Sara asked, "Mary?"

  And then, all at once, Mary broke down and began to cry harder. She sat down on the edge of Sara's bed and buried her head in her hands, letting the sleeves of her sweater absorb the warm tears.

  Sara pushed off her covers and crawled forward on her knees, taking Mary in her arms. With a soft voice, she assured Mary that everything would soon be all right and combed the mangled locks of dark hair out of her face.

  "I've been such a fool," Mary murmured, "I don't know what I was doing. How could I ever even think that I . . . And what of Ethan? What would he say if he knew that I . . ."

  Sara suddenly gasped, her eyes wide, "Mary . . . You didn't . . . did you?"

  Mary shook her head but continued to weep, "No, but I-I was considering it. And I almost . . . But then I pushed away and told him that I couldn't . . . I remembered Ethan and I suddenly realized how much I love him and how much I want to see him right now. But how will he ever forgive me, Sara? He deserves so much better. He deserves someone who will stay faithful to him and not go gallivanting about with big, strong sailors."

  "Then maybe," Sara swallowed, "Maybe you just shouldn't tell him. As long as you know it'll never happen again . . ."

  "It won't," Mary whispered, "It won't ever happen again. I just can't believe that I ever doubted my love for Ethan and his love for me. How foolish I've been! We're meant to be together and I love him, oh how I love him. But now, after all this, I don't even deserve his love or his affection. He's always cared so much for me, no matter what I did or what I said, but if he knew what I'd done this time I don't know if . . . if he'd still love me."

  "But if he doesn't know . . ." Sara whispered beneath her breath, "Then you have nothing to worry about."

  Mary nodded, "Yes, but how could I be so evil as to deceive him?"

  Sara bit her lip, "Is it more evil to keep him from your mistakes or to tell him that you doubted his love and gave in to your passion with another?"

  "How can I keep it from him though? Won't he find out? Won't he realize that I'm hiding something?"

  "Not if you mask your secret well enough."

  "But how can I?"

  Sara scratched her head, "Forget that it ever happened. Forget Noah and this ship and forget that your heart ever doubted itself. If you don't think about your mistakes and don't allow them to rise in your memory, perhaps Ethan will never realize you have something to hide."

  Mary wearily wiped the tears from her cheeks, "So I suppose that's it then? I should just leave Ethan in the dark and he'll never know. And since I've now realized how much I truly want to marry him and how much I love him, we'll just . . . we'll be happy. Right?"

  Sara forced a small smile and embraced her sister, whispering into her ear, "Of course you will, Mary."


  The sobs of Mary and the talking of both soon awakened one of their sisters, though they weren't aware of it. Now that Mary had realized how much she loved Ethan and was determined to never let him know what had happened with Noah, she wasn't half so worried and miserable. After she'd dressed in her nightgown and dried her eyes, she took a seat on Sara's bed where the two continued to talk into the night.

  Meanwhile, silent Emy lied awake beneath her blankets, quietly listening to her sisters converse.

  "What about you, Sara . . ." Mary whispered with a small grin, "When are you going to fall in love and get married?"

  Sara bit her lip, looking down, but managed to stammer, "I-I . . . I don't know."

  Mary's head cocked to the side, "Something wrong?"

  "No. Nothing."

  Mary raised an eyebrow, "You know you don't have to lie to me, Sara. I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to, not even Nora or Emy or Gail. Who is it? Have you fallen for Brook, just as I always thought you would? And your pride simply won't let you admit that I've been right all along?"

  "No, no," Sara murmured, "It's not Brook."

  "Who is it then?"

  Sara shook her head, "It's not anyone."

  "You can't fool me. I can see it in your eyes, Sara. Who is the object of your heart's desire?"

  "You . . . You wouldn't understand."

  "What's there not to understand?"

  "He's just . . . He's not the man you'd of supposed me to end up with . . . He's . . ."

  "I don't see what the big deal is," Mary shrugged, "If you care so much for him then I'm sure I'll like him."

  Sara lied back onto her pillow and rolled over so that her back was facing Mary. As she spoke, she fidgeted and wrung the quilt through her hands; her voice was soft and shaky, "He's . . . He's older."

  "And of what does that matter?" shrugged Mary, "Older men are better anyway; they're more mature. I used to court Frank Morris and he was eight years older than me."

  "The difference is more than eight years," Sara replied, "And he doesn't have much money to speak of or very much property."

  "You were never one to admire expensive dresses and trinkets anyway," Mary commented before asking, "Do I know him?"

  Sara nodded, "Yes, you know him."

  "Well?"

  "Quite well. In fact, he's known you for most of your life."

  "Most of my life?" Mary repeated, "But how . . ?"

  Sara couldn't take it anymore. With her back still turned to Mary, she pulled her blankets over her head and said with a muffled voice, "It's Charlie."

  As soon as the words were spoken, Mary didn't quite know what to say. Her mouth dropped open and she stammered, "C-Charlie? Charlie Wilkie?"

  Sara nodded.

  Mary, still bewildered, repeated, "Charlie? You're quite sure, Sara?"

  Sara nodded once more.

  "But he's . . . He was father's old friend. He's just . . . I can't believe it, but I . . . Well, you two are awfully alike at times. And . . . And now that I think about it I . . . Well I just think it's wonderful. You two would make such a charming pair! Does he know of your affections?"

  "Yes," Sara affirmed, "Yes, he knows. But he won't have anything to do with it. He absolutely refused to even consider it . . . But oh Mary, I know he feels the same way! I just know it! When we spoke of it, he just kept arguing with me and bringing up his age and his wealth and father . . . But I know he loves me. He loves me but he just can't bring himself to consider being reasonable . . ."

  "It's such a terrible predicament," Mary murmured, "If only he weren't so disagreeable and could love you as he ought."

  "I don't know what to do anymore," Sara whispered pitifully, "He won't even look at me."

  Mary gave a forlorn sigh as she leaned against the bedpost, Sara buried her head beneath her pillow, and Emy, still listening silently, sat in both shock and empathy for Sara after hearing of her adoration of Charlie. For several moments the room was silent but for the gentle wind whistling past the portholes and the muted waves just outside.

  When Mary finally spoke she didn't know quite what to say. Although she wanted to be supportive, she still believed that Sara would be matched well with Brook and said, "Well at least you always know that if Charlie never reconsiders you can always marry Brook and still live a happy life."

  Sara rolled over, "But I don't want to marry Brook."

  "It's only a suggestion."

  "And besides, I'm sure Brook's already met tons of nice women at that art school he's at. He's probably already engaged to someone else by now."

  "Oh, I doubt it," said Mary, "It's only been several weeks."

  "And even if he hasn't, I'm sure in due time he'll find his true love and he won't ever be thinking of me anymore. He'd probably never even consider marrying me."

  "I wouldn't be so sure of that. If Charlie never consents and Brook never finds his sweetheart, what would be stopping the two of you from marrying? Besides the fact that you don't love one another romantically, there's nothing to stand in your way! You're already good friends and enjoy spending time together, so why shouldn't you like to spend the rest of your life with him?"

  Sara sighed, "Oh, I don't know. I suppose I'd consider it if it was my last resort and Brook agreed as well, but who knows if that'll ever happen?"

  "It's possible."

  As the two sisters continued to argue and discuss Sara's relations with Brook and her prospect of marrying him, Emy sat in quiet misery beneath her covers.

  Throughout this voyage, she'd found herself thinking of him more often than ever. Her days were spent walking the deck forlornly, dreaming of what could never be, while her nights were filled with the tossing and turning of unrequited love. If only he might notice her, just once. Just once would be enough to fill her heart with the joy she'd been dreaming of for so long. And now, as she listened to Mary and Sara speak, her heart dipped even deeper into agony.

  She'd loved Brook since the first day they'd met, but now it seemed impossible that he'd ever love her back.

  CHAPTER 21

  Ailing Nathaniel

  In the stuffy confinement of Nathaniel's room, not long before supper, Gail sat on the foot of the bed, cross-legged. She was rolling marbles down a slide she'd constructed from one of Nathaniel's spare blankets, aggrieved that they could no longer play Chinese checkers because of Nathaniel's ailing condition.

  In the past few days, his health had worsened considerably. And Gail, though she tried not to admit it, grew increasingly worried as each hour passed and he only seemed to grow weaker.

  With a sickly white face, sunken in eyes, and trembling hands, he sat on his deathbed, awaiting the day he would finally pass away.

  Most days, he'd simply lie quietly beneath his covers.

  Gail kept him company, spending just about every hour of her day, and most nights as well, in his depressing room. Every so often they'd talk to one another, but most of the time Nathaniel was too weak to speak. The effort of conversation drained his strength and he only spoke in whispers.

  Although they'd both heard the same tales a million times before, Gail often pulled out a storybook from Nathaniel's bedside table and read to him. Or sometimes, she'd draw him pictures for entertainment. Pictures of her sisters or the ship or the sailors. Pictures of pirates or a world full of marine life, complete with whales, dolphins, and silly little crabs. The scribbled images, surely not the mark of an accomplished artist, were appreciated by Nathaniel nonetheless. He kept them in a large stack beside his bed and would look at them when in need of a smile.

  Sometimes, he'd break out in fits of coughs and Gail wouldn't know what to do. He couldn't breathe and his white face would redden as he gasped for breath. Each time this happened, everything always turned out all right. But for a split second, Gail would feel her heart stop as she wondered if this were the moment when he'd finally take his last breath.

  And now, the poor invalid was so frail and weak that he could barely move. When his dry l
ips were in need of a drink, he'd reach his hand toward his cup but as he tried to lift it off the table, he'd struggle. Even the tiny weight of that little cup was too much to bear.

  Whenever it came time to eat, he'd refuse, claiming he wasn't hungry. Gail knew he must eat though, for his nourishment was quickly diminishing, and she'd force him to do so. If it was necessary, she'd spoon the soup into his mouth herself.

  Today Nathaniel had barely spoken at all, which scared Gail. As she sat at the edge of his feet, failing to become amused from her silly game of marbles, she'd glance towards him every so often in hope that he might finally speak to her and prove that he wasn't quite so ill as she thought.

  A blanket reached up to his chest, hiding his gaunt arms beneath it, and he wore the same pair of blue striped pajamas as always. Although the room was neither hot nor cold, his forehead was damp with sweat yet his shoulders were trembling. His light brown hair was flattened on the right side from his pillow and yet the left side stuck up a bit, and his eyes were dead and lifeless, surrounded by dark shadows and blinking slowly. And in the center of his pale face, his lips sat dry and cracked, as always.

  "Would you like something to drink?" Gail asked.

  In reply, Nathaniel gave a small, almost unnoticeable nod, so Gail leaned forward to retrieve his cup. She held it to his mouth and slowly tilted it forward, letting him gulp down the tea. When he'd finished, she set it back down and sat back again, rolling another marble down her slide.