Cordie seems unhappy we are here. I know this from her tappingfoot and near-constant sighing. She figures she knows everything about me andcannot understand how I came to be friends with this undisclosed male.
“Who is he?” she finally asks. “The fellow you wish to visit?”
I finger spell, T-O-M C-R-A-D-D-O-C-K and then showCordie my usual sign for his name. My companion flags down a nurse and asks forhis location.
“Oh, yes,” the woman replies. “Follow me.”
She leads us to Tom’s bed, and Cordelia informs me that thereis only one chair. This situation makes her tap her foot again.
I sit down and wave her away. Come back later. Fourhours.
“What would your father say?”
Don’t care. Go.
“I’ll tell you what he’d say. You’re fired, Collins! Collectyour things and depart!”
Calm down. Father won’t find out.
“Remember Halloween night? What a disaster that was! I barelyescaped with my employment intact.” Cordelia turns toward the bed and surveysTom. “He does have a nice face though, Miss Hester. Kind-looking, strong.”
Yes.
“Wish I had those lovely lashes. Good jaw line, too.”
I nod, eyes misting up behind the black glass of my spectacles.
“You’re sure you’ll be all right?” Cordie murmurs, crackingunder my will at last. “Can I get you anything? Water? A handkerchief?”
No. Thank you.
“I’ll be back at five. Willard can cool his heels ’til then.”
Cordelia leaves the ward, and I reach for Tom’s hand. His pulsefeels weak, so different than it did before. I remove my glove and touch hisface, running my fingers along his cheek, smoothing the laugh lines around hiseyes.
A clock chimes downstairs in the next hour of my vigil, andagain sixty minutes later. A nurse wants to check Tom’s wound and asks me tostep away for a while. I use my cane and walk to an empty corner of the men’sward. Kelly joins me, sandwiches in hand.
“Thought you might like a bite,” he says. “I have bottles oflemonade in my pockets, too.”
Not hungry, I sign.
Kelly takes my arm, turning me toward the door. “Well, I am,and I don’t care to eat alone.”
We leave the ward, turn right, and walk for several yards. Thenthe doctor stops and leads me through a narrow doorway. “Sorry,” he says, as Istep inside the room. “It’s a tiny place, but it works when I need a quickwink. No chairs, I’m afraid. You sit on the cot, and I’ll take the floor.”
The rope and canvas bed groans loudly as I rest my weight onit. I scoot to the edge of the feather tick, face hot.
“Never mind, Hester. It always does that. Here’s your sandwichand some dried apples. Eat up.”
I bite into the thick, buttered bread and taste a delicate sliceof ham inside, a daub of grainy mustard layered between. The dried apples stickto my teeth, and I roll my tongue into the crevices to capture the last oftheir sweetness. So much for not being hungry.
“Hit the spot?” Kelly asks, a smile in his voice.
Thank you. Very good.
Once our early supper is finished, Kelly delivers me back to mychair near Tom’s bed. “Craddock’s quite pale, but I haven’t seen any infectionor fever, which is a marvel. Have faith, Hester. Your fellow’s a tough one. Heobviously has something to live for.”
I smile, skimming my fingers along the edge of the bed until Ifind Tom’s hand and link it with mine. Kelly turns to the patient across theaisle and asks the man about his level of pain. He calls for a nurse andprescribes a different medication. From there, Kelly wanders among thesuffering, making every effort to ease their discomfort. He fights a losingbattle but does so valiantly.
Having returned from taking Maude Lambson to her afterlife, SirDeath hangs about these people—a long shadow stretching toward their sick beds.I feel Him biding time, waiting beyond the room’s threshold.
In the corner of the room—approximately thirty feet away—I heara soft, convulsive groan, followed by stillness. Sir Death hovers no more but entersswiftly and flies to the bedside of the dying man. Though it is rare, somehumans see Him in their last moments, when the veil separating mortality andthe after-life grows thin. He appears to them as a family member or an oldfriend, come to bring them home to the other side.
The Reaper draws the man’s spirit from his body and glancesover. I reach across Tom, shielding him from Sir Death. No shadow on thisone. Pass him by.
He rolls His eyes, gently mocking. If it’s Craddock’sdestiny, I will come. You cannot stop me, Lady V.
Damn, He’s got me there. Death is always in cahoots with theclock. I watch the newly departed soul looking about the ward in confusion. TheReaper takes his arm and draws the fellow upward, toward the ceiling, as thoughhe weighs no more than a feather. The dead man does not call out to me forjustice or retribution, but journeys easily to the other side. Death isn’t gonefor long. In an instant, He’s back at the threshold.
“Hello!” Cordelia exclaims.
I nearly spring out of my chair. Confound it. How did I nothear her approach? Angry squirrels are usually quieter than my companion.
Tsk, tsk, Visionary. Sir Death laughs at His post nearthe door. Am I distracting you?
Not at all, Sir.
He can be so egotistical, this Reaper. Still, I prefer egotismto His anger—it’s far better for my health.
Cordelia scoots by me and picks up my cane and reticule. “Wehave thirty minutes to get you home, miss. Willard’s waiting out front.”
All right, I sign.
After kissing his hand, I stand and touch Tom’s face, feel hismotionless features. He could be a marble statue, except for the warm skin andthe slight stirring of breath at his lips. I don’t know why I do it, perhapsit’s Sir Death being so close, but I make a sign upon Tom’s forehead—markinghim with a V.
Deus tibi faveat. May the favor of the gods be upon you.
I nod at the Reaper as Cordelia and I exit the men’s ward.Kelly told her about the cotillion and she peppers me
