“But…” Frances stammered.
Tariana laid a hand on her sister’s arm. “I’m sure the doctor knows what he’s doing, Frances. Let’s not let fear grab hold.”
While they talked, the doctor checked under the bandages on Michael’s leg, and he and the nurse replaced them with clean strips. They examined his head, casting wary glances at each other before plastering a creamy ointment across the swollen part, and wrapping it anew.
The nurse left the room, and Doctor Shamar repacked his medical traveling bag. “I wish the man would wake up. Please continue to try. I glean hope in the fact that he was awake once, and that he will come back to us. I am not an expert on the inner workings of the head and the role it plays in one’s recovery. If he doesn’t awaken soon, I’ll correspond with a specialist in Astoria to see if he can shine some light on the case. Meanwhile,” he leveled his gaze at Frances, “we need to be patient and understanding. If he does awaken with his memory intact, be thankful, but if it helps your squabble any, Michael’s last memory before the accident was with Tariana. Perhaps that’s what caused the initial confusion.”
Frances turned to her sister with tears in her eyes. “I was so quick to judge you, Tariana. My heart is such a muddle.”
“Let’s not worry about us now. We have Michael to be concerned about,” Tariana said, knowing she was taking the coward’s way out.
The girls settled into chairs on each side of the bed, and both held one of Michael’s hands. Frances talked of the dinner that had been overdone and not up to Mother’s standards and of the progress made today in the July fourth church event. They talked of a possible epidemic and the horror of it all. They talked on and on until the sun set, and Michael’s parents returned to take up the vigil.
The girls walked home in silence, their civil attitude toward each other boring a deep hole in Tariana’s guilty conscience. She decided she would continue to fast and spend the night in prayer; for Michael, Frances, and the whole messy game she’d played with their lives that sat like a keg of dynamite ready to explode in all of their faces.
The next day, the watch began again. Tariana felt it her responsibility to take her turn with Michael at the same time as Frances. If he awoke, he’d see them both, and that would surely put his memory back in order. Tariana stared in silence at the man who had filled her dreams for so long. She felt the inevitable separation as mercilessly as if someone had torn a limb from her body, certain that a part of her would never recover. Did one ever forget their first love, even if the feelings were never returned?
She supposed she’d find out.
The thing she feared the most was losing her sister – Frances: the one she’d formerly wished, as a young child, would drown in the river, and of late, simply leave the house and never come back. Self-examination had the power to provide enlightenment or destruction, and she knew the choice she would make that day. On the other side of condemnation was freedom. Tariana would somehow make it right with Frances, come clean, and perhaps risk losing this one day of peace they’d shared. The Lord expected full restitution for sin, not because He hadn’t forgiven her obsession, but because she hadn’t forgiven herself, and living a lie was no longer an option. Confession and forgiveness were not simply about setting oneself free to move on, but others caught in the trap as well. She could only trust that His plan would not tear the Gracin family apart.
When Michael’s hand flinched, and he began to stir, both women jumped to their feet with renewed excitement, their eyes glued to the man on the bed. He groaned and felt his head before slowly squeezing his lids open. The sun shone in his face, and Tariana rushed to the window to close the curtain. The light dimmed, and Michael relaxed somewhat.
Michael sighed. “That’s better.”
“We should call for the nurse,” Frances said.
Michael examined her with puckered brow, but when his face shifted to Tariana’s, he smiled. Her heart plummeted. He didn’t remember and her sins were about to be announced to the world by his rejection of Frances. Her sister would be heartbroken and there’d be no mending the gulf between them.
Michael resembled the innocence of a newborn, oblivious to the anguish that filled the room. “Thank you, girls for sitting with me. Listening to your chatter felt strange, like an echo in a cave and try as I might, I couldn’t reach you.”
“We’re glad you’re awake,” Frances said. “How are you feeling?”
“My head is pounding.” He turned to Tariana. “Last I recall is you and I standing on the ship’s deck, and then it all went blank.”
“You tripped over a pile of boards and managed to find the only section of railing under repair. You tumbled over the rope barrier and into the water. Jamie Sackerton was close by, and he pulled you out. Otherwise, you’d be at the bottom of the river.”
“You must thank him for me,” Michael said. “I have much living left to do.”
Why, oh why, did he stare at her so intimately? Frances was near to tears, watching her beau’s weak efforts at flirting with Tariana. She needed to end this nightmare, and sooner, rather than later.
Tariana returned to his bedside and said, “Michael, who do you think I am?”
He chuckled, followed by a cough, and both girls fussed over him until he regained his breath.
“Perhaps this should wait, Tariana,” Frances said, casting her sister a warning glance.
“What should wait?” Michael asked as he placed his glass of
