Sylvie

by Stacy Galloway

  She opened the wardrobe. A riot of colors jumped out at her. Rich velvet dresses hung next to ornately laced dresses. Near the far end, Bridgette spied a lone cotton nightgown. She pulled it free and shut the wardrobe. She walked out of the room and didn’t look in the mirror again.

  Once in Molly’s room, Bridgette went to the washbowl. She cleaned her face, hands and feet and dried off quickly with the towel. She unbuttoned her dirt covered nightgown, let it drop on the floor and quickly dressed in the clean one. She bundled the dirty items together and left them near the wash stand.

  She gratefully climbed back into bed. She thought about the angel in place under the apple tree and felt a mild flutter of panic. Somehow she would have to move it. Her mind grew hazy. Drowsiness won over and she fell into a deep sleep.

  And Becomes the Light

  Bridgette dreamed she was alone, bobbing up and down in the vast gray ocean. Her legs and arms ached from treading water. A wave washed over her head. She gasped and sputtered trying to catch her breath. Her head bobbed under the water and she couldn’t breathe. She popped back up to the surface and tried to take a big gulp of air but still couldn’t breathe. A convulsive cough wracked out of her and she slipped back under water. More coughs. Her throat constricted and she gulped for breath. She thrashed and pushed herself towards air but it was no use. She gagged. Water filled her lungs. She gagged again and threw up. Blood filled her mouth and nose. She gasped and woke up.

  She could taste blood and vomit. She tried to lift her hand to wipe her mouth, but her hand flopped uselessly. She wheezed for breath. She felt a cool washcloth against her face. Her stomach clenched and she threw up again. Blood filled her mouth and nose. She wheezed and tried to spit the taste out. A figure, out of focus and hazy, leaned in and wiped her face.

  “Now shh, shh, everything is all right. I’m going to open your mouth and give you some medicine,” said Nettie’s calm voice.

  Bridgette felt her mouth open and the thick medicine poured in. She gulped and swallowed and gasped for breath again. A coughing fit seized her and she doubled over. It finally ended and she collapsed back onto the pillow. Nettie’s face came into focus again.

  “I’m going to feed you some soup. You need the nourishment,” Said Nettie.

  Bridgette’s head was lifted and a spoon held to her lips. Bridgette sipped. It was warm and soothed her throat. Another spoonful was at her mouth. Bridgette sipped again. The chicken flavor was washing away the taste of blood. Bridgette wheezed and coughed. Nettie held the spoon to her again and she sipped some more.

  Nettie gently laid Bridgette’s head back. She pulled her chair close and rested her palm on Bridgette’s forehead. A worried look crossed her face. She wiped the cool washcloth on Bridgette’s face again.

  Bridgette’s thoughts tumbled over each other. She’d had a plan, but she couldn’t remember what it was. The angel. No. The book. Bridgette’s thoughts skittered and jumped.

  Nettie lit the candle on the table. Bridgette saw the journal and remembered. She was supposed to write her story down. Exhaustion settled to her soul. Tom’s gentle face floated through her mind. And then she thought of Sylvie in Bridgette’s own body, taking over Bridgette’s life, taking over everything that was Bridgette’s. A mild indignation rose up and quickly died. She was too weary for anger. She focused on Tom. She loved him. She needed to warn him.

  Bridgette’s throat was raw. She looked wearily at Nettie and croaked, “Can you please bring me a pencil?”

  She hoped ‘pencil’ was the right word.

  Nettie’s brow furrowed. “Dear, is there something I can help you with? Someone I can write to? You need to rest.”

  Bridgette’s voice came out in a hoarse whisper, “I’d like to write a little in my journal. It will help…” Bridgette didn’t know how to finish her sentence. The words danced away and she forgot what she was going to say.

  “I believe I saw pencils in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”

  Nettie left the room. She came back moments later with a handful of pencils.

  “Here you are dear. I’ll be right here with my sewing if you need my help.”

  Bridgette picked up a pencil and opened Molly’s journal of pictures. She wearily flipped through the happy scenes longing to immerse herself in them. But writing to Tom was more important, so she moved past them and found an empty page. She tore it out, visualized Tom and wrote him a letter.

  Then, she turned to the next blank page and tried to write her story. At first her thoughts were clear. And then she started to get confused over what she was writing. She tried to re-read it but the words blurred together.

  She decided that maybe she would finish it later.

  She signed off ‘I love you, Tom, Bridgette’. She tore out another blank page and bookmarked her entry.

  She put Tom’s letter in the front of the book and set it on the table. Weariness washed over her. She closed her eyes and drifted away.

  “Sylvie,” Said Nettie

  “Sylvie,” Said Nettie. She sounded closer.

  Sylvie’s not here. Bridgette’s thoughts tumbled. Sylvie’s not here. I’m Bridgette. Sylvie stole my everything. Bridgette’s confused thoughts slid between her dream and reality. Someone’s talking. Who is that?

  “Sylvie,” said Nettie again.

  “No… Bridgette,” Bridgette mumbled.

  “Sylvie?” Asked Nettie, “Can you hear me dear?”

  “Bridgette, I’m Bridgette,” mumbled Bridgette confused.

  She blearily opened her eyes.

  Nettie looked concerned.

  “I’m Bridgette…” Bridgette started to explain, then her reality washed over her. She remembered asylums and lunatics. She stopped talking. Her breath wheezed through her.

  “Bridgette?” Asked Nettie. And then she added helpfully, “Is that a pet name?”

  Bridgette was silent. Nettie’s question sounded important, but Bridgette couldn’t think of an answer.

  Nettie looked nostalgic, “When I was a little girl, my grandmother called me ‘Anna’. No one else did, mind you, only my grandmother. It was her pet name for me. I can still hear her sweet voice and I still remember her words of wisdom.”

  Nettie paused.

  “If I was ill I would find comfort in being called ‘Anna’.”

  Nettie looked at Bridgette.

  Bridgette tried to think through the fuzziness in her mind.

  “Yes, it’s a… it’s a family name. Like a pet name…middle name…” Bridgette feebly explained trying not to sound crazy.

  “Well my heavens. ‘Sylvie Bridgette’.” Nettie paused thoughtfully. “I will call you Bridgette if that’s what gives you comfort.”

  Relief wash over her. Comfort? That would be heaven. She had another idea and tried to think of how to word it.

  “Nettie?”

  “Yes, Bridgette?”

  “When I die… I mean I know I will die soon….” Bridgette’s voice trailed off.

  She had known she was going to die from this illness, but speaking it out loud scared her nonetheless. She gathered her courage.

  “When I die, will you please put my family name on my tombstone? ‘Bridgette Boswell’? I know it’s…. it’s an unusual request, but if it’s possible…” Bridgette’s eyes filled with tears.

  She couldn’t believe she was talking about her death and tombstone. But it was rapidly becoming a reality. The illness was consuming her. Weakening her.

  If Nettie was surprised she hid it well, “Now Bridgette, you will get well and not have to worry about that for years. But to ease your mind, yes, I will ensure that ‘Bridgette Boswell’ is included on your tombstone. Now please don’t worry yourself about dying.” Nettie’s eyes filled with tears, too.

  “Now let’s take some more medicine,” Said Nettie wiping her eyes.

  And she poured the thick liquid into the spoon. Bridgette drank it and leaned back. Morbid thoughts of cemeteries and tombstones filled her mind. She pushed
them back and tried to stay focused. Shadows crept into the edges of her mind. People faded in and out of the room. Who were all these people? Her vision blurred. She blinked and the room came back into focus. Nettie’s worried face watched her carefully.

  “Nettie…” Bridgette rasped. Her throat felt thick and sore. She wheezed. Her thoughts skittered away and she forgot what she was going to say.

  Nettie remained gently prodded, “Yes, Syl- Bridgette?”

  Bridgette looked at her wearily. She wanted to tell her not to worry. That everything was going to be okay. But her mouth couldn’t remember how to say the words floating through her mind.

  “Nettie,” she rasped, “Please don’t worry. I….. I’m…” the words eluded her. She was so sleepy.

  A cough rattled out of her. Bridgette wheezed and tried to take a deep breath. Bloody mucus filled her mouth and she coughed and spit it out. She wanted to tell Nettie she was sorry. But she plummeted and fell into a deep, black, sleep.

  June 22 nd 1912

  With Angels

  Ting, ting. Tap, tap, tap. Clink. Clink, clink, clink. The noises weaved their way into Bridgette’s consciousness. She listened groggily, but didn’t open her eyes. Her breath rasped through her swollen sore throat. Her ribs ached with each painful breath.

  Silence. Bridgette descended back into her coma-like sleep. Ting, ting, ting. Clink, clink. The sounds were louder. Bridgette struggled back up into wakefulness and tried to listen. She blearily opened her eyes. The dim room slowly came into focus. Nettie was wrapped up in a quilt and sound asleep in the rocker. Tap, tap, tap. Bridgette gathered every ounce of her strength and sat up.

  Molly was sitting cross legged on the floor having a tea party. The pretty pink cloth was spread out like a tablecloth. A little teapot sat in the middle surrounded by teacups and saucers. The little flowered bell sat near her right knee. Miss Lovely was propped up against the wooden box next to her.

  Molly clasped her hands to her mouth as if to stifle a giggle. She shyly dropped one hand to her chin and bashfully waved at Bridgette. Then, with her hand still under her chin she pointed her little finger at Nettie. And brought her finger to her mouth in an exaggerated ‘shhhh’ motion. She clasped her hands over her mouth giggling silently.

  Bridgette smiled at the little girl. She waved at Molly, pointed to Nettie, and made the same exaggerated ‘shhhh’ motion. She giggled out loud and clamped her hands over her mouth to stifle it.

  Molly smiled at her. Bridgette felt a surge of love towards the sweet little girl. Bridgette looked from Molly to Miss Lovely and saw the doll’s face was streaked with dirt. There was an ugly black hole where her missing eye should be.

  Bridgette carefully stood up. She waited for the familiar dizziness, but it didn’t come. She got down on her hands and knees and looked under the bed. She found Miss Lovely’s eye, picked it up and sat on the edge of the bed.

  She gestured ‘come here’ to Molly. Molly understood and got up from her spot on the floor. She picked up Miss Lovely and walked over to the bed. She looked sadly at Miss Lovely’s face and then held her out to Bridgette.

  Bridgette took Miss Lovely and held her gently. She looked into the ugly black hole and saw a little wire. She carefully hooked the eye onto the wire. She held Miss Lovely up. Both eyes opened. Bridgette laid Miss Lovely down. Her eyes closed as if asleep.

  Molly soundlessly clapped her hands in joy. Bridgette held Miss Lovely out to Molly. Molly clasped her and stared into the dolls face. She hugged her to her chest and beamed at Bridgette.

  A shadow filled the doorway. Molly looked at the doorway and beamed. She ran and hugged Richard’s knees. He picked her up and swung her around. They both silently laughed. He set her on the ground and looked at Bridgette. He then looked at Miss Lovely and back to Bridgette again. He nodded a ‘thank you’.

  Richard walked into the room, knelt down by the bed and pulled out the wax coat and the book of Locum Tenens. He grimaced at the book before setting it inside the wooden chest.

  Next he went to the table and picked up Sylvie’s red journal. He sadly shook his head and placed it in the box. Last, he picked up Molly’s brown picture journal. He silently flipped through the pages and smiled.

  He removed Bridgette’s letter to Tom and set the brown journal in the box. He gently laid Bridgette’s letter on top of it and closed the lid. Then he picked up the box and his wax coat and walked towards the door.

  In the doorway, he gestured towards Molly and Bridgette to come with him. Molly hugged Miss Lovely and ran happily to him and held his hand. Bridgette slowly stood up. She expected her sore body to protest, but her aches had faded. She took a deep breath but didn’t cough. Molly nodded that it was okay and gestured for her to come along. Richard and Molly turned and walked out the door. Bridgette followed.

  They walked through the quiet house and into the kitchen. Richard held the screen door open. Molly walked outside followed by Bridgette. They all three walked down the back steps and along the side of the house. Richard stopped and picked up a shovel that was leaning against the house.

  A dark shape loped towards them. Ole Duke stopped and sniffed. Molly patted his head. The four of them walked towards the apple tree.

  As they approached the tree Bridgette instantly recognized the angel. The angel’s wings spread majestically on her back. She held a harp and seemed to be playing the harp and praying at the same time. Made of a delicate colored pink marble, the angel was both graceful and timeless. She glowed in the pale moonlight.

  Richard set the box and the coat on the ground. He pushed the shovel into the ground and pried it under the angel. The angel tilted. Richard pulled out the shovel and moved to the other side. Again he pushed the shovel into the ground and pried up. The angel tilted the other direction. He set the shovel down and gently wiggled her out of the ground. He carefully laid her down.

  He picked up the shovel and dug a hole. Molly, Bridgette and Ole Duke watched him silently. Richard laid the shovel down, picked up the box and wrapped his wax coat around it. He put the box in the hole. It fit perfectly.

  Richard filled the dirt back in. He stopped, stood the angel up and wiggled her back into place. He filled more dirt in and finished off with a few clumps of sod. He stamped the sod and dirt into place, stepped back and brushed his hands together.

  Molly bent down, picked a violet, smiled shyly and held it out to Bridgette. Molly looked as much an angel as the angel she was standing next to. Bridgette walked over to her and Molly handed her the violet.

  Molly stood next to Richard and held his hand. Moonlight washed over them. They looked at Bridgette and smiled. Peace and relief flowed over Bridgette. She gazed at the stars. A brief light streaked across the sky and Bridgette remembered to always make a wish on a falling star. She closed her eyes and wished for Tom to know how much she loved him.

  The beauty of the evening was perfect. Bridgette looked towards Richard and Molly in gratitude. They had vanished. Bridgette looked around while Ole Duke watched her with his sad eyes. Richard and Molly were gone. Bridgette looked down and saw the violet in her hand. She held it tightly and walked back towards the house.

  As she walked alongside the house she saw the shovel leaning there. Doubt crept in. Had she dreamed the whole thing? Had they really buried the box or was it still in the house? Ole Duke stopped and looked up at her. She patted his head. She still had the violet. Peace settled over her again. She knew they had buried the box. She took one last look at the angel standing gracefully under the apple tree.

  “Thank you,” she said out loud, “Thank you both for everything.”

  The wind whispered through the apple tree’s leaves. Another shooting star streaked across the sky.

  Bridgette walked back into the house. She glided through the moonlit rooms. Back in Molly’s room, there was no sign of the tea party. She glanced over at Nettie who was still sleeping. She gently set the violet on top of Nettie’s sewing.

  Then, she got into bed,
covered up, and closed her eyes. Calm and tranquility filled her. She floated peacefully away.

  June 19 th 2012

  No One Knew

  Thunder cracked overhead and Tom plunged the shovel into the ground. He leaned down hard and wedged it under the marble angel. The angel didn’t budge. Tom stopped and wiped his forehead. He thought of the air conditioned house. Maybe he’d finish this later. And it sounded like it might storm.

  WHOOSH! The screen door banged violently open and slammed shut.

  “What the hell?” Said Tom, looking around the empty yard.

  He dropped the shovel and ran into the house. He paused in the kitchen. On the table, the laptop screen swirled in its familiar screensaver pattern. Otherwise, the house was dim and quiet. He walked softly towards their bedroom and peeked in.

  Bridgette’s long brown hair was spread across the pillow. She shifted in her sleep. Tom watched the blankets rise and fall with her slow even breathing. He walked cautiously into the room not wanting to wake her.

  The room was freezing cold. Tom shivered and rubbed his arms. He looked in the closet and under the bed. Nothing was out of place. Relieved, he quietly backed out of the room leaving the door open a few inches.

  Tom opened the door to their extra room. It was a jumble of boxes and household items that didn’t fit anywhere else in the house. In fact, this room was the next thing on their ‘to do’ list after digging out the angel.

  Tom searched the room. There was no one there. He felt a little foolish, but knew he would have to search the rest of the house just to make sure. Closing the door to the extra room, he went to the living room next.

  The room was airy and light with the morning sun. Tom peeked out the curtains. The yard was still empty. His last dig at the angel must have loosened something because it was now laying on the ground. Tom winced and hoped it didn’t break when it fell. He dropped the curtain and looked carefully around. There was nowhere in the room for someone to hide. Tom left and walked over to the cellar door.