Five Sisters

by Leen Elle

  After a few moments had passed, she finally heard Nathaniel's voice. Its soft murmuring aroused her from the boredom of her game.

  "You know, I've been thinking . . ." he whispered, his voice raspy and hoarse, "I really ought to start thinking of something wise or witty to say when it comes time for it."

  "Time for what?"

  "My death, of course."

  Gail dropped her eyes back down to the marbles again.

  "All those famous and important people in the past had something great to say when they passed away. And even though I'm certainly not famous or important, I ought to say something good as well."

  "Like what?"

  "I don't know. It's a hard thing to think of," he paused, "But I'll bet that some of those men planned out their last words. These aren't spur of the moment type of things. They must be thought out. What about Beethoven's 'Friends applaud. The comedy is finished' or Karl Marx's 'Last words are for fools who haven't said enough.' Or how about Henry David Thoreau's 'Moose . . . Indian . . .' I'd rather not be known for that one though. It's a bit odd, I think."

  "Have you got any ideas?"

  "Not yet, my dear," he whispered, his voice growing weaker, "But if I haven't thought of something good to say before I die, feel free to make up something of your own."

  Gail gulped, but nodded, "Alright. I'll try."

  Nathaniel smiled, his eyes almost closed, "That's all I ask."

  *****

  Nathaniel fell asleep after that last conversation, and he didn't wake up until after dinner. Gail had moved from the bed to the chair and was flipping through one of the old newspapers from the stack beside Nathaniel's bed.

  When he awoke, she noticed something different about him. His breaths were quieter and he was no longer sweating, but shaking violently as though he sat in the center of a blizzard. His lips, still dry, had grown slightly blue and the shadows beneath his eyes were darker, despite his rest.

  "Are you alright?" Gail asked.

  Nathaniel didn't answer for what seemed like a century, and Gail wondered if he'd even heard the question. She was about to repeat it when he finally spoke again.

  "There comes a time," he whispered, still trembling greatly, "when you just can't give any more. Your stomach's no longer hungry, you struggle to find your breath, and, worst of all . . . you can't even lift up your own cup because your arm's so weak . . . . I haven't looked into a mirror for weeks, but I wouldn't like to either. I've never felt so brittle in all my life . . . One good punch would break all my bones into tiny little pieces, I'll bet . . . And I despise being so reliant on others, not that I don't appreciate your company, Gail, but I hate having to rely on you for everything. For food and for my health and for . . . for everything. And there comes a point where you just can't take it anymore . . ." he continued to pause, catching his breath, before speaking once more, "I've been sitting in this bed for so long, I doubt I'll ever get out. When I was just a boy, I still had hope that I might someday get out, but I've lost that hope now. After years in this bed, I just don't think I'll ever be strong enough or that my legs will ever gain the strength . . ." Nathaniel coughed several times and his eyes began to water, but once he'd regained his composure he said, "After feeling so ill and so weak for so many years, I just want for my misery to end. It's time, and I won't deny that anymore. Although I surely won't go down without a fight, I won't refuse the destiny that has awaited me for so many years. Lying in a bed without strength or amusement for the rest of my life is not a very inviting future. I only hope that I'm not forced to lie here for the next ten years, like a dead turtle. If I'm alive, I want to live. If I'm lying in a sickbed, I think I'd rather be lying in a coffin, free of my ailment and this constant misery."

  Within moments, he began to drift off to sleep again. But before he did, he couldn't help but notice the tears filling Gail's eyes.

  *****

  The night was a cold one and the moon hung hidden behind the dark clouds, only identifiable by a soft glow. Waves brushed up against the ship's sides, only a tiny part of the enormous sea that never seemed to end.

  As Sara walked along the deck, she could hear the wooden boards creak beneath her feet. A cold wind blew from ahead and chilled her to the bone, causing Goosebumps to run up and down her arms. She wished she'd been smart enough to grab a sweater before leaving the warm comforts of her bed. But alas, it had been carelessly forgotten. And now, poor Sara was to suffer from her idiocy. Wearing her simple muslin dress, brown shoes, and nothing more, she hugged her arms around herself to ward off the night's cold air. The harsh breeze had thrown her hair around so wildly it no longer looked like a ponytail, but rather like a bird's nest. Nevertheless, she didn't mind her appearance much, especially since everyone had gone downstairs and she stood alone on deck.

  But as she turned the corner towards the bow of the ship, a figure came into view up ahead.

  Although it wasn't terribly late, the sky had already darkened considerably and only a few sparse gas lamps lit the deck. The figure, a shadowed outline of black, turned towards her as she approached and Sara knew instantly who it was. Without seeing his face or hearing his voice, she just knew that it had to be him.

  Not daring to go a step further, she stopped where she was and watched as Charlie began to come towards her. As he stepped closer, his face was lit by the glow of the lamps and he gave a feeble smile. His rumpled hair fell lazily onto his forehead and his hands were buried in the pockets of his trousers.

  "Good evening, Sara."

  She returned his greeting with a simple, "Hello."

  "Why aren't you downstairs with the others? I think the sailors started a game of poker and I believe I heard Nora talk of a checkers tournament with Sawyer. I'll bet they're having lots of fun by now."

  Sara didn't answer but asked, "And why aren't you down there, Mr. Wilkie?"

  Scratching his head, Charlie replied, "You know, I'm really not sure. I just fancied a walk, I suppose."

  Standing there before Charlie, Sara felt her breath begin to quicken. Only days before they'd possessed an undeniable awkwardness around one another- never daring to speak a word or even look at the other. And now, he was acting as though nothing had ever happened.

  "It's an awfully chilly night," he commented.

  "To be sure."

  His eyes widened, "And you're not wearing a sweater! You must be frozen by now."

  "It's not so bad," Sara lied.

  "No, no. Here," he began to pull off his sweater, struggling to fit his head through the neck hole and flailing his arms around, "Here! Take mine."

  "No, no. I'm fine, really. You needn't give me your sweater, Charlie."

  "If you don't take it you'll get a cold!"

  "And if you give it to me, you will get a cold!"

  "I don't care," Charlie sighed, thrusting the old sweater towards her, "Please. Please just take it."

  Albeit a bit unwillingly, Sara took the sweater and pulled it over her head. Darned in several places and oversized for even Charlie, the garment certainly couldn't fit her properly. But nevertheless, she felt herself drown in its worn navy yarn as her entire body was suddenly warmed. The scent of Charlie, peppermint mixed with seawater, surrounded her and she welcomed it without question. And the sleeve, she noticed, bore a patch of plaid flannel, which she herself had sewn on weeks before.

  Sara gave a small smile and murmured, "Thank you, Charlie."

  He only nodded humbly in reply.

  They stood there for a few moments in silence, gazing out at the tumbling sea and cloudy sky, before either spoke.

  "Oh! I almost forgot!" said Charlie, "I, er . . . I've been carrying this around with me for days. I wanted to give it to you, but I just . . . I couldn't," he pulled a book out of his pocket and handed it to Sara, "It's always been a favorite of mine and I thought you might, perhaps, like it as well."

  "I'm sure I will. Thank you, Charlie," said Sara, flipping through the pages with bright eyes. She then held the boo
k tightly in both hands and ran her fingertips over the embossed title and withered spine before looking back up to Charlie with a smile.

  He took a step closer and Sara bit her lip, looking down towards the book rather than to Charlie's eyes, where she knew she would lose herself if she gave in to the temptation.

  But he stepped closer still and reached out a hand, lifting her chin ever so slightly. Sara trembled at his touch.

  Then, all in an instant, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, placing his lips upon her own. Her heart seemed to freeze in that moment and she felt her insides going both cold and warm all at once. The deck and the ocean and the tumbling waves all disappeared as Sara lost herself. Her head began to feel dizzy and light, as though she might faint without Charlie's arms around her. And in his arms, protected from the cold, she felt so wonderful and safe that she longed to stay there forever.

  CHAPTER 22

  A Letter from Charlie

  The next day, Sara walked around the deck with bright eyes and an undeniable smile. Never before had she felt this way. Her head felt dizzy and her mind was up in the clouds. Her heart, which seemed to have grown, was sent aflutter each time she saw Charlie and she could barely pay attention to anything, much less speak in an intelligent conversation. The effects, of course, of having fallen in love.

  But despite all this, she noticed something different in Charlie as well. Each time she saw him, she felt her heart lift up and she was so deliriously happy she felt like singing. But whenever he saw her, it looked as though he were about to be sick. And the few times she'd tried to talk to him, he spoke only curt words and made an excuse to leave her within moments. Why he was acting this way, she didn't know. But it scared her. Most of the day, she couldn't even find Charlie. He sat alone in his office and wouldn't allow anyone to enter but Sawyer, who would bring him his meals.

  Finally, near the end of the day, Sara finally found out what was bothering Charlie. She received her answer in a letter, which she discovered lying at the foot of her bed with her name written upon the envelope in Charlie's tiny, yet meticulously neat, handwriting.

  She read:

  Dear Sara,

  Oh what a coward am I to say this all to you through a letter, but I just couldn't bear to say the words in your presence for fear we should have another argument. And how I am to go about this, I don't know.

  Today, I couldn't even speak to you, much less look you in the eyes. And I'm sure you noticed it. In fact, I haven't any doubt. Your confusion was apparent and I'm sorry if I've pained you in any way by my actions. But I'm afraid this letter shall only serve to plague you all the more. Although I wish it wasn't so, I have something to say which I feel cannot wait any longer.

  After my actions last night, of which I most heartily regret, I feel I've led you on to believe in a future which can never be. Once we had parted, I returned to my room and felt my heart begin to pound out of my chest. My hands became sweaty and I paced the floor deep into the night, unable to sleep because of the thoughts swarming my head. And worst of all, I kept glancing over to see a picture of him, of Roy, on my dresser. Just seeing his face made me feel embarrassed and ashamed all at once. It felt as though his eyes, though inanimate, were cutting into me and I just knew that he was somehow aware of what I'd done. If he'd lived to know of this, to know that I'd kissed his beloved daughter in a most inappropriate manner- a manner that could most certainly not be considered only paternal- is a horror I dare not dream of. And yet, it haunts me every moment.

  You must think I'm a lunatic now. Or a scoundrel. Or just a horribly unkind, evil man who doesn't find fault in refusing a girl one moment, embracing her in the next, and refusing her once more instants later. But I swear I never meant for all this to happen. I regret everything I've ever done to lead you on or bring up your hopes only to dash them down again.

  When I kissed you last night, I cannot deny that I enjoyed it. But it was only an act of instinct.

  I've admitted to you once before, that evening in my office, how fond I am of you, Sara, and I must confess that my feelings have not altered once bit. But as great as my adoration may be, I explained to you the reasons why I must not harbor ideas of a romance. In the days after, though it was terribly difficult when in sight of you, I believed that I had made the right decision and I did not regret my choice. Even yesterday, as I saw you various times throughout the day, I upheld my decision.

  But then last night, when I saw you walking alone on deck, I don't know what came over me. All my reasons for refusal suddenly diminished as I walked towards you. And when we spoke, I was so caught up in my adoration that I didn't see any reason why I shouldn't take you in my arms at that very moment. And so I did it.

  The entire idea had only popped into my head seconds before and I committed the act with irrational, foolish reasoning. I did it without thinking through my actions or remembering my past decision. I acted with such thoughtless fervor that I allowed my heart to overtake the power of my head. I allowed myself to give over to the emotion I'd been hiding for so long and it was a terrible mistake. I regret that kiss more than anything in the world and if I could, I'd turn back time and stop myself from giving into the temptation of it all.

  But I don't mean to say that I didn't enjoy the kiss. Because I did.

  I enjoyed it more than I ever should have.

  But no matter how wonderful it felt, I really shouldn't have given in to my foolish heart. It acted without thought or reason and now burns with regret, because no matter how much my feelings of adoration may grow for you, dear Sara, we cannot savor the idea of a future together when we both know that it could never be. The obstacles that lay before us are great and to ignore them would surely be a mistake.

  As I've recited all these reasons to you before, there really is no need for me to repeat them all. But I shall do it nonetheless, as a reminder to us both.

  Our age difference, which measures nearly twenty years, would seem astonishing to most. Especially when you consider that you, a young, smart girl, can choose a man nearer to your own age. A man who won't die two decades before you. A man without graying hair and wrinkles. A man whose future looks as bright and unclear as your own. A young, intelligent man with the wit to make you smile and the charm to sweep you right off your feet. Doesn't that man seem much more desirable to you? Doesn't he sound more appealing than this tired old man?

  And even if you disagree with me right now, I just know that you'll change your mind in time. You'll meet that man, that perfect, wonderful man, and you'll forget all about me. You'll forget about Charlie Wilkie and that silly kiss on the deck. You'll marry that perfect young man and live happily ever after and realize how foolish it was to ever think of marrying me when you could marry him instead.

  Next, there's the state of my currency affairs, which leave much to be desired. I haven't had a real job in years. Once I bought Violet and set out, I was only able to achieve a reasonable income by storing packages on the ship and taking them to other ports. Like a mailman. But those packages don't bring in as much money as I'd like. And now, as my years of debt have built up, I've barely got anything left. And the fact is made even worse when you consider that I've got sixteen sailors on my hands as well. If they knew how bad my financial situation is, I doubt they'd still be with me.

  Plus, I live on a ship, which is certainly not a suitable place to start a family. And I've been living on the seas so long that I'm not sure how easily I could adapt to dry land again. At some point, I'll probably have to take up a residence on land and get a job to ease my money problems, but until then I don't plan on leaving Violet. And once I've saved enough money, I'll head straight back out to sea again. Life on land is too difficult. Too difficult for me, anyway. I suppose if I had to, I could get used to living in a community again, but life on the sea is far more appealing to me and far more suiting to my character. On land, it seems as if everyone is so concerned with reputation and wealth and well-founded gentlemen. But with
my shabby sweaters, old ship, and lack of a family when my fortieth birthday is only two weeks away, I wouldn't exactly be welcomed into refined society with open arms.

  And on the sea, I never had to worry about love before. The difficulties of romance had never consumed me and I was grateful for that. I dreaded going through the troubles of finding a wife because I didn't think she was out there. It seemed like every woman I met wanted someone with more money or higher aspirations. Someone more sociable or attractive. So I escaped to the sea, where I never had to worry about such frivolities. And I went through the years without any problems avoiding marriage. I only saw women the few times a year we were docked at ports and never had time to form any long lasting relationship. I suppose you could say I wanted to avoid commitment, because it's true. Really though, I was just afraid of marriage. I was afraid to marry someone I didn't truly love for fear of a miserable life or a divorce. Or what would I do if I thought I was in love with a woman but our feelings didn't last and the marriage fell apart?

  When I first asked you if you wanted to ride with us to Brighton, I hadn't any idea what might evolve from my actions. And if I'd known what would occur in the next few weeks and known that I might hurt a very lovely young girl, I never would have asked you to join us. But it doesn't do to dwell on what can never be.