The night dragged on, the dampness and chill
from the deluge rooted into my bones and filled my lungs with added
fluid. I violently tossed and turned, moaning from the physical
agony and groaning from the woe in my heart. My mind continued to
play back what Ayden had said. Daddy had turned into a drunk, a
lush who frequented brothels. He forgot all about me and had no
intention of seeing me again. When Momma died, Daddy’s soul died
along with her. He didn’t return to his duties as a keeper, as
Warren had told me. It was all a lie! The visions of him dead in
the arms of a dirty prostitute made my stomach turn and twist and
cry out in emotional torment.
Now I was left to face the truth and attempt
to recover, to pull myself out of uncompromising despair. And where
was Ayden? Was he beside me, comforting me, consoling me in my
grief, or wiping the sweat from my brow as the fever took havoc on
my body?
No
, he locked himself away in the tower, serving
those out on the sea and forgetting all about me.
The dewy morning brought dull sunshine with a
light, subtle wind. Polly came up early with a plate of scrambled
eggs and sausage, the mere sight of which caused me to gag. “Take
it away,” I said, sickened, and then I coughed up thick mucus into
the cloth she handed me.
“You’re not hungry?” she asked worriedly, and
she removed the plate from my lap.
I shook my head no
,
and took slow,
minute breaths until I was able to relax and fall back into the
pillow.
“You look peaked, Mrs. Dalton. Maybe some tea
and honey would help soothe your cough,” she said. “Here, sip on
some.”
I took the cup and saucer from her small hand
and slowly sipped the tea, only to start coughing unexpectedly,
which caused me to spit it out all over the bed. Polly rushed to
take the cup. “Let me go find Doctor Heath,” she said, and left me
trying to contain my unrelenting hacking.
Polly’s orders were to have Lizzy come to
stand by me until she returned with Heath. The frail little girl
could barely see over the bed. Her eyes were sunken and wide, and
her face was most definitely as pale as mine. Yet she managed to
dip the cloth into the cool water from the small bowl beside my bed
stand and, on her tippy-toes, gently placed it on my forehead.
“Thank you, Lizzy,” I whispered to her and
tried to smile.
She smiled back, and took my hand in her tiny
frail one, then asked meekly, “Does your tummy hurt?”
I nodded and tiredly smiled again. “Just a
little.”
“Polly ran for Doctor Heath. He has good
medicine, the kind that makes tummies feel better,” she said in her
wispy, little voice. “Ma’s tummy felt bad, too. But, she isn’t in
bed anymore.”
“I’m glad she feels better.”
“Does your tummy hurt because you have a baby
inside? Is that why it’s sick?” Lizzy asked, her pale blue eyes
wide with fear that I might say yes
.
“Don’t be dumb, Lizzy. Mrs. Dalton has a cold
that’s all,” Sylvia snapped, appearing out of nowhere.
Lizzy instantly bowed her small head, causing
her long, dull, reddish-brown hair to fall limp and cover her tiny
face. Then she backed away and slowly disappeared behind her
towering oldest sister.
“The doctor can’t get out of bed. He must
have tried, for when Pa found him this morning he was lying on the
floor by the door to his quarters,” she said nonchalantly as she
sent Lizzy on her way. “Pa says he has to sleep his fever off.”
“Who is looking after him?” I asked, sickened
even more to learn that Heath was so ill he’d passed out. I knew he
must have been on his way to see me when he collapsed.
“We’re all taking turns, Ma says. Right now,
she told me to check on you since Polly said you couldn’t eat.
Luckily, Ma is better; otherwise, I would be doing everything. Bad
enough Willard kept me up all night. He cries every time it
rains.”
“So you weren’t up in the tower last night?”
I asked through my terribly sore throat and dry, parched lips.
Sylvia’s eyes lit up at the thought, and then
she smiled a cunning smile, and came to prop up my pillow without
permission. “Well . . . I was up there for a while, until Pa was
through eating the supper I prepared. In fact, he said I was almost
as good a cook as Ma.”
I looked up at her, admiring her healthy glow
and the pink in her smooth skin that traveled down her neck and to
her ample bosom. I noticed one of her buttons undone, allowing her
cleavage to be even more pronounced.
“Don’t you think your Ma needs more help? You
shouldn’t be staying up in the watch room all hours.”
“Oh, Ma is fine. She’s as strong as an ox.
Before long, she and Pa will be romping in bed, making another kid.
And besides, she told me to go up and keep Mr. Dalton company, keep
him from dozing off after being awake for two days.”
Sylvia stood back with her hands on her hips
and admired her work. “There, that should make you more
comfortable.”
“Ayden . . . is he resting now?”
She thought exaggeratingly hard for a moment
while tapping her finger against her cheek, then, as if she
miraculously remembered, said no.
Too tired to drag out of her where Ayden was,
I closed my eyes and prepared to go to sleep, if I could actually
fall asleep with all the pain in my chest and my throbbing
headache.
“I’ll have Polly check on you in a little
while. Have a good rest,
Lill-i-an
.”
The first thing I focused on when my eyes
opened later that day was the light from the tower flickering off
the calm ocean. I was relieved to finally have slept, and
remarkably, I felt somewhat better. Yet, I was nowhere near ready
to get out of bed. After sitting up, I heard voices in the hall. It
sounded like Polly and Sylvia arguing. “It’s not yours! Give it
back!”
“She gave it to me. Mind your own
business!”
“I’m telling Pa.”
“Go ahead; tell him. He won’t believe
you.”
With my eyes glued to the door, I listened as
one of them stomped off, then watched as the door slowly opened.
Before she could notice I was awake, I quickly closed my eyes and
pretended I was asleep, peering through the narrow slits under my
lids so I could see just enough.
Sylvia came close to the bed and peered down
at me to see if I was awake. When she believed I was sleeping, she
dropped the plate of food on the dresser, then went over to my
dollhouse. She seemed almost too old to be playing with dolls. It
was odd and somewhat frightening to hear her made up voice as she
acted out the scene she created with them. “Lillian, my dear, you
look awful. So sickly and pale; so very unattractive. You should
take better care of yourself, like Sylvia,” she said in a pretend
man’s voice. “Why, Ayden, you know I fell overboard in that
horrible storm. I can’t help it if I caught a terrible chill,” she
said, imitating me. “Tell me the truth, Lillian; was it my brother,
the great doctor Heath, who pushed you over the side into the cold
Atlantic? Did he do it after your incessant flirting? Had he had
enough of your whorish ways? I know you want him; I see how you
tease him with your eyes, how you lust after him.”
“No, Ayden, I’m not a whore anymore, I
swear.”
So I wouldn’t cough, I held my breath as she
continued with her disturbing play, but it wasn’t long before my
lips parted from the strain, and I let out a huge gasp of air,
followed by a long coughing spell.
Sylvia whirled about, startled, then gathered
herself and rushed to my side, pretending to soothe me. “Easy,
easy. Here, take a sip of water,” she said, and she brought the
glass to my lips after the coughing subsided.
I took a sip and stared up at her with eyes I
knew she felt burn her flesh. Her face flushed at first, then as I
continued my penetrating stare, she looked away, and for the first
time, I saw Sylvia intimidated by me.
“Get out of my room, Sylvia!” I hissed. “And
stay away from my husband!”
“Why, Lillian, you must still be consumed
with fever. Here, put this cloth on your head.” She reached over
for the cloth, but I slapped her hand away, causing the bowl of
soup to crash down to the floor, spilling all over.
Sylvia went to reach for the bowl and was
startled when I found enough strength to snatch hold of the long
braid of her hair and forcefully yank her up. She winced in pain,
screaming, “Let go of me!”
“Did you hear me? You keep away, you
hear?!”
“You’re crazy, just like your mother!”
Her words came at me like a slap in the face,
and I instantaneously released my grip on her hair.
“That’s right, I know all about how she went
insane, how she tried to kill herself and ended up in a crazy
house!” she announced, while gathering her composure.
“Who told you that?” I choked, desperately
fighting back the tears that were ready to escape at any
moment.
“Ayden told me,” she said with a smug,
satisfied smile. “Now, I have to get up to the tower. Ayden asked
me to keep him company tonight. Says he hates being alone, likes
the company of a pretty girl.”
“Go!” I exploded. “
GET OUT
!”
* * *
Sylvia left with a satisfied grin, and as
soon as the door was closed I began to weep uncontrollably, until I
was drained and weak. Then I curled up into a ball and descended
into sleep, happy to have the opportunity to forget about what
Sylvia had said and how Ayden had revealed such personal family
secrets to her.
I was well enough the following morning to
get out of bed with a little assistance from Polly. She was up
early to bring me my breakfast, and then she took my dress from the
closet and placed it on the foot of the bed as I had asked.
“Are you sure you are ready to get up, Mrs.
Dalton?” Polly asked with a concerned frown.
“Absolutely. I feel well enough. Tell me,
Polly, is Doctor Heath still in bed?”
“He is still awful sick. Ma says he won’t
take his medicine.”
“She’s been looking after him?”
“Ma and me and Mary.”
“I must go to him. Thank you, Polly, for
taking such good care of me,” I said and placed a small kiss on her
cheek. “You’re a kindhearted little girl.”
She smiled. “I was happy to help. Sure am
glad you got better.” Then hurried out with my plate.
On my way out, I stopped before Ayden’s
bedroom. He was in there resting peacefully. I heard him lightly
snoring, unconcerned for me or his brother, and it hurt terribly to
feel him pulling away. However, I had no time to dwell on Ayden’s
betrayal. I needed to get to Heath right away. He needed me; I
sensed him calling for me.
Hazel was attempting to have Heath sip some
hot tea when I entered his tiny bedroom. His quarters were sparse,
his room consisting of a bed, end table, and a small window above
his bed that faced north. The shutters were closed, blocking the
view and shutting off natural light. The room was stuffy, and I was
nearly overcome with the stench of kerosene from the lone lamp.
Hazel put the teacup down and came to me as I stepped into the
room. “He won’t eat, won’t drink, and won’t take his medicine.
Found some cough syrup in his black bag over there. Man is the most
stubborn I have ever met,” she said just above a whisper.
“I’ll take over from here, Hazel.”
“How are you feeling?” she asked, peering
close into my face. “Did you shake that awful cold?”
“I’m better, thanks to the girls and your
chicken soup,” I said with genuine gratitude.
“Tell the doctor to take in some of my soup.
Then maybe he’ll stop moaning and groaning and finally clear up his
lungs so he can take a breath without having a coughing attack that
leaves him drained,” Hazel said loud enough for Heath to hear, then
departed, returning to her daily grind.
I left the door to his bedroom open, then
went straight to his window, reached over his bed, and threw open
the shutters.
“Close them,” he groaned.
With the light of day now shining into the
room, Heath’s poor condition was instantly revealed. He was as
white as a ghost, his cheeks hollow under his newly acquired beard,
his blue eyes bleak, dull, and sunken. He had lost so much weight
he was almost unrecognizable. “Oh, Heath!” I gasped.
He opened his exceedingly weary eyes,
fighting the light, and then was instantly overcome with a severe
coughing fit. I grabbed the medicine bottle and filled up the spoon
left beside it.
“You will take your medicine,” I insisted
when he finally stopped coughing.
He closed his eyes and listlessly nodded in
agreement. I sighed with relief and gently parted his lips with the
spoon. Slowly, Heath took in the liquid. Swallowing was difficult,
for his throat was raw from choking and hacking up the vile green
and yellow mucus that filled his lungs.
“Why are you not fighting this? It’s as if
you want this illness to win,” I said, and I took hold of his limp
hand. “Is the doctor a hypocrite? He insists on others taking their
medicine, but won’t do so himself?
“Lillian,
please
,” he moaned, unhappy
with my lashing.
“I am not leaving your side until you have
recovered, you hear me, Heath Dalton? You will take your medicine,
eat your soup, and drink your tea! Do you understand? What would we
do here without you?” I said, choking back my tears. “Lizzy needs
you. I see how lovingly you look after her. She is sicker than they
realize. And the others . . . won’t you think of them?”
Heath mustered up enough strength to open his
bleak eyes and stare helplessly at me. He looked so pitiful, and it
pained me terribly to see him frail and feeble. Heath was always
strong, even after his accident. His strength came from within,
though now he seemed to be mysteriously lost, his strength of mind
forsaken.