Chapter 23
I waken to the smooth wipe of a wet cloth across my forehead. The bed beneath me feels good and sturdy and the sheets cool and soft. I still feel tired and sore, but a rested ease has come over me making it simpler to feel calm.
I open my eyes to find the room still fairly empty and quiet. It is warm and the light soft from the flame of the candles. The recovery of my vision reveals now new things lying about unnoticed before. To my left is an old wooden chair where the woman had sat, and past that is a closed door. Opposite the door on the other wall is an embroidered work of flowers. Opposite me and the foot of the bed is another door, this one cracked open and more welcoming than the other for some reason.
The woman who had helped me is nowhere to be seen and the man I remember is also absent. Something else is missing. I cannot put it into place so I let it go and reclose my eyes to rest.
There is a light clunk of china against wood and, more easily than the last time, my eyes open. Beside me on a tray are a bowl and two cups, silverware, a napkin, and a small kettle. Resting on the kettle and one of the white cups are two small pink hands. I look up from these and see the woman who had nursed me. She continues on her job of pouring something hot out of the kettle. When she looks up I find the two blue eyes unchanged. Seeing me awake, she seems both startled and pleased, as if she had just woken up as well.
Her face has a soft and tender quality and oddly, despite her youngness, she reminds me of my moeder. Her face is oval shaped but not too thin and she seems healthy but tired. She gives me the pleasant radiation of an angel in human form, and her hair tells me she has been much too busy with her angelic duties to comb it and take care of herself. It is messily pulled back into a loose bun and the brown color makes her blue eyes shine.
She watches me with those eyes and soon I feel an urge to speak. She reaches out and lightly brushes the back of her hand across my forehead, feeling my temperature. Seeming more contented, she turns in her seat upon the chair and calls out to someone.
“Harold!” It is a light call, one under control and calm.
She returns her attention to me and in a few moments the man I remember bursts in through the door. He enters sturdy but a bit blundering in his steps. He looks at who I am sure is his wife, considering her address of him, and when she turns her head and looks at him with a lighted face he looks to me. When his eyes find mine open, he seems to also wake up somehow, and steadily starts forward. I watch him as he comes closer and the smell of the mead in the pot becomes clearer to me.
“Now?” He asks the woman.
She responds with a few nods and then looks back to me.
I watch them both silently, still feeling a bit tired and unsure of my place here. They look back at me a moment longer.
“Do you feel rested?” It is the man, his face sincere and gentle.
I nod quietly but my neck feels stiff so I refrain from doing so again.
The woman looks back to the kettle on the tray and moves to lift it. “Do you think you could take some mead?”
I settle into myself and listen for any sign of nausea but find none. “I…think.”
It is all I can manage, but it also surprises me. It is more than I have heard myself since…since when? I only get to worry over it a moment, because the person at my side begins to move.
The woman hurriedly hands the cup to her husband and reaches to take a spoon. She takes back the cup and stirs it, then sets down the spoon and looks up to the man. “She will need to be held…”
He understands her. He walks over to the other side of the bed and then leans over to me. For some reason I tense a little at his movement and he stops, seeing this. He watches me a few seconds, letting me get used to the idea of his closeness.
He then assures me quietly. “I won’t hurt you.”
I watch him, and when I do not disagree, his hands gently and with purpose grip and help me up. He lifts me a bit higher from the foot of the bed and then moves a second pillow behind me to boost me into a sitting position. When I have settled, he lets me go, and I now trust him.
The woman scoots forward in her seat and raises the cup to my lips. It settles there and she tilts it so I can drink little at a time. The mead is fermented and sweet, and the warm fluid seems to heat up my empty stomach. When I have finished she sets it aside and fiddles with something else on the tray. As she does so, a sense of my hunger returns and I suddenly feel the emptiness I have created in my gut from the sickness.
“I…”
She looks to me and stops what she is doing.
I swallow dryly. “Could I eat or do you think I wouldn’t be able to hold it…”
She looks to her husband and the man nods and stalks out of the room.
“Broth,” she says to me. Seeing my face at the remembrance of how the smell made me vomit she becomes worried. “Do you still feel alright?”
I nod and my neck seems better in this position.
“My name is Grace Maessan,” she introduces gently. “My husband’s name is Harold Maessan…he is who just left us shortly ago.”
Her introduction of him is tender and loving, and I feel a little prick inside which I am not able to tie anything fast enough. I know of the name, Maessan, it is Dutch from the name Maas, short for Damasus or Thomas…which means taming or suppressing. My moeder said she would have named a son this if she were gifted one.
“We are alone for a few minutes. If there is anything I can get you that you wish him not to hear…?”
I cannot think of anything and so I shake my head a little.
She looks out into the room and views the place contentedly, as if seeing something for the first time. “You have recovered quickly from your illness…I am happy for it.”
I feel a little touched by this though I know it is plain.
She looks back to me. “Is your name…forgive me. I cannot remember it well.”
“Lyra,” I amend it faintly.
“Lyra…” She says it patiently, as though committing it to memory.
I feel an urge to speak, but just then Harold enters with a bowl of steaming liquid and carries it over to us. He sets it down before his wife and withdraws. “Is there anything…”
Grace shakes her head and he stops. He glances to me before he turns and leaves. The door is still left cracked.
I look down at myself a moment, realizing for the first time that I must be filthy and torn. What I find surprises me. There is no evidence of the last few hours’ engagements on me. I am in a newly washed dress and my skin feels clean and warm. It is shocking and unsettling, but I cannot say anything of it.
As if seeing me troubled, Grace gently speaks to me. “It is my new dress.”
I look up to her in a little relief yet still feeling scared of how I came to be in it.
“I washed you myself, without help from anyone, with cloths and warm water. I had to remove your soaked clothes otherwise you were prone to further disease. I kept you private during the time…and your clothes were torn and caked with dirt…I only did it because it was necessary.”
I feel better knowing it was only female eyes and hands which had nursed me, but still I feel a little awkward now that I know she has seen me fully.
“I beg you forgive me…it was only meant to help you feel better.”
“Thank you,” I say it faintly, but I mean it.
She seems reassured of my trust. “The broth is too warm at the moment…but it will be ready soon.”
I nod and look past her to the solitary door a moment, the one which is closed. I feel a twinge of pain in memory of something but I cannot remember. I feel a soft presence against my ear and remember the voices when I was sick…there had been more than two…I feel the light brush along my hand again and am fully woken. Nadeje had carried me in that way. The memory recollects in my brain. I feel myself take on the awareness…Nadeje.
It comes crashing down on me. “Grace.”
She looks to me and I feel the
sting in my stomach return. “Yes? Are you upset again?”
I look down to my hand as I remember the slip of his fingers from mine…that had been the last time…I try to breathe.
“Nadeje…” I say it weakly.
She looks at me concerned. “What do you mean?”
“I…” I can’t go on. “Who brought me?”
She seems reassured. “A young man…he carried you here and I offered him to be with my husband but he had to leave quickly.”
“What did he tell you? Everything he told you please tell me.”
She frowns as though trying to recall it. “He said you were sick…and he looked worried so I let him in. I could not see you because he was holding you but when he set you down I knew you were ill. I hastened to tell him that you needed to be undressed and put in warm clothes. He looked uneasy…but I told him you were not at risk yet…so he hurried me to help you.”
She pauses a moment as though concerned.
“I could see he was not Dutch…but he was also lighter than a Spanish man. I was uncertain if I should trust him, but when he looked at me I could see he was afraid for you. I promised him that I would take care of you, and offered him to stay…he looked tempted to do so…but he said he had to go…I asked how you came to be this way and he said he found you where the wall had broken…and I knew to check you for any breaks. I was worried head damage was done, but I see now you are alright.
“He told me to keep you the best that I could, and that he would pay me for it. I told him it was not necessary but he did not hear me seem to hear me…busy in his thoughts. I required him to tell me of your age and he told me you were around 18. He then assisted me in a few preparations for your healing…helped me position you better…”
I remember his lifting me again and my heart flutters uncontrollably with longing.
“He told me he must go and said goodbye to you…he told me to tell you that he would be back soon, and left us then.”
I feel my heart pounding in my chest and try to calm it. “He told you nothing of where he had gone…?”
She is watching me with a regretful expression. “No. I’m sorry.”
I feel lost. He wouldn’t leave me, would he? Nadeje…my Nadeje…My head starts to hurt again and I force myself not to let it get to me in that way. “Did he speak with your husband?”
She watches me a second more before she calls out to him. Harold comes in quickly. “Did the gentleman from last night speak with you?”
He looks confused, but seeing my flushed face he tries for a response. “He told me he needed us to help you…and that the Spanish had left…and that another ship of some kind was coming in…he said to lock all the windows in case of break ins…and oh. He said something about how he needed to go and warn the Dutch forces about the incoming ship…”
I catch my breath and cannot exhale it. If the ship had been an enemy ship…I remember it coming straight on…or if Sir Marren had caught him…I shiver and slowly cover my face with my hands. No…I feel my eyes sting with tears. No…Nadeje.
I can feel them watching, waiting and unsure of what to do feeling useless. I breathe deeply once, twice, three times before I let myself think of it again. I try to remember clues. I try to remember the sounds he had made against my ear hours before when he had left me, but they were lost long ago. I think of our last moments together as we had watched the Spanish ships sail away…of his promise…of his gentle murmurs to me of how I would be alright. I remember then the boats…how we could watch them in their mysterious journey over the invisible water in the dark…the boat we’d seen coming in…I recall his breath. “They’re running full speed…” I remember his words confusable to me at that time, but it hits me now.
We could see them but maybe they could not see us. I think of how the ship had not wavered at all in the dark space. It worries me and I feel guilty to of had Nadeje take me elsewhere, but as I remember my weakness, I feel that perhaps it was better he got me to a recovery place before it was too late to find one. Though we can see them, they might not see us. Of course. The boat could not see the wall in this rain, especially if it had come down. Whose ship did not matter then, but now it did. I remember the man in the market who had spoken with me. His words to Nadeje had been cold and hostile, but they had held meaning. “You Spanish shall fall…I will be enjoying the after party.” This boat…it was the after party.
I raise my face from my hands and look out across the room.
“Mr. Maessan…he left…how long ago?”
Grace looks to her husband and he hurries to speak. “I should think about four hours ago.”
I look up to Grace. “Do you own a clock?”
She nods and looks to Harold. When he does nothing, she stands and hurries from the room. After a few seconds of awkward silence she returns. “It is four thirty in the morning.”
I swallow. “Mr. Maessan, could you…help me?”
I begin to move and he hurries to my aid. He supports me as I jump to my feet. Almost immediately I feel my head spin. I close my eyes and try to balance myself. Harold half lifts me.
“Let me go, please,” I say it as my eyes open.
Harold looks to me unconvinced as I ground myself. He slowly releases me but does not step back. When I do not fall, he sighs and gives me more space. I wish he hadn’t for a moment as my legs tingle in warning, but somehow I manage to stay upright.
“Grace…” She is watching me concerned. “Thank you…do you think I can walk a while?”
She looks at me uncertainly, and then slowly nods but seems to only do it for my sake. “Harold, stay with her.”
He nods and keeps close as I take some shaky steps about the room. I feel frail and delicate, knowing now how an old woman or newly walking child feels as they watch my every move. I also feel grateful for their immense support. When I have accomplished ten rounds about the room, I sit down and Grace gives me a few sips of broth even as I resent it. Strangely, it gives me strength and I begin looking for my shoes.
“I need to go…”
They stare at me and for once do not offer assistance as I try to find my shoes.
I explain. “I need to go…or else I could lose someone…”
I feel their suspicion growing and feel no embarrassment. I am serious and resolute. They seem to see this too.
“You are not strong enough to go…”
I look at Grace, pleading her, and there is a connection, one of womanhood, something unknown to man unless experienced between brothers. She reads me and it is settled.
“I will get you your shoes…Harold would you go with her?”
The man turns and looks frightened at her. “Grace, you’re two months in…”
I realize that for the first time, Grace would be old enough to have children. What was she? Twenties maybe… Harold thirty? I shake my head. “I will go alone.”
She looks at him bravely. “I will be fine.”
He breathes shallowly. “Nonsense.”
I stand. My head spins and I almost sit back down. “Grace, I am who will be fine. He must stay…thank you.”
She looks at me and I glimpse her hand clenching a bit on her lap, closer to her stomach. She sighs and does not argue further but rises to find the shoes.
In a few minutes I am at the door ready to leave. I step out and look back at the couple in the door way and wonder what it is like…if I would ever feel the companionship of marriage as they do.
Grace looks at me, and there is a shine in her eyes of health, a health that needs to be protected. “Tell him you have already repaid us…” I see her fingers lace with Harold’s. “And thank you.”
I nod, and after a glance to Harold, I plummet into the dark night. As before the streets are filled with dancing shadows and a reckless feeling is in the air. The smooth sounds of the current in the distance coasts in and out of hearing. The rain has stopped, but I can feel the threat of its return closing in, and the sharp clean air from the lightening still
flows in and out with each breath. As I continue through a few passages, I catch a glimpse of some places near where I remember the wall to have collapsed. I make myself stay back from short-cuts, even as I want to rush out into the open. I know I am not the only one out at this time.
A cold breeze catches in my throat but I force down a cough, knowing loud sounds are likely to be my end if I meet someone I do not intend to shake hands with. I draw near to the place where I must emerge from the alleys and look out across the lane-like field. No one occupies the perimeter. It is almost silent. I back away, knowing this not to be where I need to be. If no one was there, Nadeje wouldn’t be there either. I head back and take a different turn through some roads and old gardens. This way is much less pleasant, as the bramble from the dead plants tear at my skirts and make me have to take slow and careful steps; else I am to trip or snap a twig. Gradually, I find where I am, and looking out to see a familiar row of houses, I see a flicker of a moving shadow. I quickly move away and into an alley, breaking into a light run to the other side in case of danger.
I rest a moment as I scan my area to place myself. My eyes move and stop on a way between two abandoned houses, or, more likely, houses emptied by fear of the Spanish as men guard the walls and women gather in fewer houses. It is still in this spot, no breeze easily finding passage through these tight corners and narrow streets. I move towards it, no other egress seeming to look right to me. When I am half way through the route, I see I have made either the biggest accomplishment or the worst mistake. In either case, what I see makes me stand very still.
In the distance I can see all the rubble and ruins from where the wall had fallen. Past it the vast body of the river waits calm and still in the dark night, matching the sky’s above color almost identically. This scene lies mainly to the parts I can see to my right, but to my left, a greater picture engrosses my view. Where the wall had broken, now in its place was a ship, stacked with boxes of cargo and men showering in and out. It was docked stably along the canal and jutted half through the break in the wall. Ties of rope were brandished high and locked into place by chains. The plank looks as though dropped, and by these settings I am lead to believe their stay here was meant to be extensive.
Tears of Leyden Page 19