Morning Sky

by Judith Miller

  “Where’s Lilly?”

  “That’s why I’m here, Mrs. Nelson. You see, Aunt Lilly met with an accident. She’s being cared for by Dr. Boyle—at his office.”

  Mrs. Nelson removed her feather-bedecked hat and placed it on a table near the stairway. “What kind of accident? I didn’t send her on any errands today.”

  “She noticed an acquaintance passing down the street. She had walked out front to speak to him when a runaway wagon coming from the opposite direction knocked her to the ground.”

  Mrs. Nelson clasped a hand to her bodice. “Dear me! I trust her injuries aren’t serious?”

  “I fear they are. She was unconscious when I last saw her. I’ll go directly to the doctor’s office when I leave your house.”

  Mrs. Nelson paled at the information. “If there’s anything she needs or if I can do . . .”

  Jarena patted Mrs. Nelson’s arm. “No need to worry, Mrs. Nelson. I know Dr. Boyle is providing excellent medical treatment, and I can assist with her care. You have three children to look after.”

  “Please tell Lilly I’ll be praying for her.”

  Jarena stepped back and picked up the carpetbag. “Yes, I’ll be certain to tell her.”

  Once she was out the door and headed toward Dr. Boyle’s office, Jarena exhaled a deep breath. Thankfully, Mrs. Nelson hadn’t questioned her about the valise or its contents. Jarena had been prepared to say she had carried the carpetbag into the house—which was not exactly a lie since she’d carried it from the street into the Nelson residence. In addition, it contained Aunt Lilly’s letters, and she didn’t want to ask Mrs. Nelson to return the personal items upstairs to her aunt’s room.

  The waiting room of Dr. Boyle’s office was empty when Jarena entered, though the doctor stepped into the room shortly after the bell jingled above the front door.

  He smiled warmly and motioned for her to follow. “She’s fading in and out of consciousness. I believe there’s nothing more I can do—it’s a matter of time.”

  “She won’t . . . She isn’t . . . I mean . . .”

  Instinctively, Dr. Boyle patted Jarena’s hand. “I don’t know if she’s going to live. Only time will tell. However, you’re welcome to go and sit with her. I believe we’ll move her over to my house this evening.

  That way you and I can both look after her. We’ll put her in Macia’s room.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Boyle.”

  After seeing her aunt’s condition, Jarena realized sitting by the woman’s bedside would accomplish little. Instead, she’d go by the Nelsons’ to retrieve a few of Aunt Lilly’s possessions and then return to the Boyle residence and prepare supper. Perhaps by the time the men carried Aunt Lilly to the Boyle home, she would be alert enough to eat some soup.

  Though all had gone according to plan and her aunt was now safely ensconced in Macia’s bedroom, Jarena felt helpless. Lilly’s eyes occasionally fluttered open in a vacant stare, or she emitted an infrequent groan, but otherwise no signs of consciousness developed. Jarena wondered how long Lilly might remain in this lifeless state. Jarena sat in a nearby chair, mending a pair of cotton stockings while silently praying her aunt would at least have one final opportunity to accept Christ before she died.

  “Jarena.” The voice was but a faint whisper. Startled, Jarena dropped her sewing to the floor.

  Hunching forward, she grasped Lilly’s fingers. “Can you hear me, Aunt Lilly?”

  “Yes.”

  The single word was barely audible, but Jarena heard it. She dampened a cloth and wet her aunt’s dry lips. “If I lift you up, will you drink a sip of water?”

  “Yes.” The one word seemed all her aunt could manage, but at least it was something. Jarena slipped her arm beneath Lilly’s shoulders and lifted the cup to her lips. Her aunt took only a small sip. Even so, the effort pleased Jarena.

  “You’re making great strides, Aunt Lilly. By tomorrow I’m certain you’re going to want to eat some soup, and you’ll be anxious to return to work.” A feeble smile crossed the older woman’s lips before she once again slipped into a state of semiconsciousness.

  Later that evening, Dr. Boyle set up a narrow cot and situated it near Lilly’s bedside. For the remainder of the night, Jarena lay near her aunt, listening to her muffled groans and uneven breathing. Although she was fatigued and her body ached from the uncomfortable bed, Jarena arose the next morning at daybreak. Weary or not, there were chores she must tend to.

  After serving breakfast to the Boyles, Jarena prepared a tray for her aunt. Though she didn’t think Aunt Lilly would partake of any nourishment, she hoped the smell of bacon and eggs would at least stir her into a brief period of wakefulness. She placed a small china teapot on the tray as a faint knock sounded at the front door.

  Wiping her hands on her apron, Jarena walked toward the door.

  “Who could possibly be calling at this early hour?” She pulled open the door and looked down to see young Georgie Nelson looking up at her and holding a limp bouquet of pink and yellow roses. A smear of blood stained his right index finger.

  The boy extended the bunch of roses. “I brought these for Miss Lilly. Can I see her?”

  Jarena peeked around the doorframe, thinking surely Mrs. Nelson must be somewhere nearby, but no one else was in sight. “Does your mother know you’re here, Georgie?”

  “She said I could bring the flowers. I picked ’em last night, so they’re kind of droopy, but I hope Miss Lilly thinks they smell good.

  She likes roses. She told me so.”

  Jarena stepped aside and ushered him into the foyer. “Why don’t we put those in some water before we take them upstairs.”

  Georgie followed along and enthusiastically plunked the flowers into the cut-glass vase Jarena offered. “How soon will Miss Lilly be coming back to our house?”

  “It’s hard to say. It may take a while before she’s strong enough to return. She’s mostly been sleeping since the accident.”

  “Can we wake her up? I need to talk to her real bad.” Georgie chewed on his bottom lip and picked a dry leaf from the bouquet.

  “Is there something I can help you with, Georgie?”

  “Nuh-uh. I just want to talk with Miss Lilly.”

  “Very well. Let’s go upstairs and see if she’s awake. I was going to take up her breakfast tray. You can carry the flowers.”

  They paraded up the stairs, down the hallway, and into the bedroom where Lilly lay just as Jarena had left her over an hour ago. Geor-gie walked to the side of the bed and placed the vase of roses on the bedside table with a loud thunk.

  Lilly stirred and her eyelids fluttered. Georgie seized the opportunity. “I’m glad you’re awake, Miss Lilly.” He leaned down and whispered into her ear.

  Aunt Lilly’s eyes opened, shining with fear. She grasped Georgie’s shirt and whispered a strained reply. The boy nodded and then pointed at the flowers. “I brought you some roses from Mama’s garden. Pink and yellow—the colors you like. Can you smell ’em?”

  Lilly’s hands shook as she reached for Georgie’s arm. “Yes. Thank you, Georgie. Now remember what I told you.”

  “Your hands are shaking, Aunt Lilly. Can I bring you a blanket?”

  “No. I’m merely feeling weak.”

  Jarena stepped forward with a cup of tea. “Perhaps this tea will help to warm and strengthen you a bit. And I’ve brought you a breakfast tray with bacon and eggs. Do you think you could eat a few bites?”

  Georgie stood near the doorway while Jarena assisted Lilly with her tea. “I’m going home now, Miss Lilly, but I’ll be back to see you in a few days and bring some more flowers.”

  “Thank you, Georgie. You’re a good boy.”

  Jarena furrowed her brows as the boy’s footsteps clattered down the steps. “You truly must have injured your head if you’re telling Georgie Nelson he’s a good boy.”

  Lilly sighed. “I don’t believe I’m . . . going to live, Jarena. I have a searing pain in my head . . . and I feel like a fi
re is burning in my belly. I’m so weak.”

  “You’re better than yesterday, Aunt Lilly. And I want you to know that although I was required to wrestle your valise from Mr. Holmes, I was able to safely return all of the Nelsons’ belongings to the safe before Mrs. Nelson returned home yesterday afternoon. I’m hopeful Mr. Nelson won’t notice if the items are out of order. So there’s nothing you need be concerned about except getting well.”

  Lilly turned her head and looked about the room. “My carpetbag?

  Where is it? There were letters . . .”

  Jarena stroked her aunt’s forehead. “After seeing the envelopes were addressed to you, I realized they hadn’t come from Mr. Nelson’s safe.

  The packet remains secure inside your valise—over on the floor by the chest.”

  “And Charlie? Did he take anything from my case?”

  “No. I didn’t give him an opportunity. I told him I’d send the sheriff after him if he didn’t cooperate. He was unhappy, but he didn’t argue any further. Now I want you to concentrate on getting well. Dr. Boyle will be up to check on you a little later, and I believe he’s going to tell us you’re on the mend.”

  “I don’t think so, Jarena. I can feel my body weakening. I now know what folks mean . . . when they say you can tell when you’re dying.”

  “I don’t believe you’re going to die, but I believe this may be a warning to you, Aunt Lilly. You need to make your peace with God.”

  “I don’t think it’s possible for me to make peace with God, Jarena.” She closed her eyes and took a couple of shallow breaths. “I’m certain He doesn’t like deathbed conversions. I doubt He even hears them. After all, it doesn’t seem right that folks like your mother and father could live godly lives and then someone like me . . . who’s been a dis-grace all my life . . . could ask forgiveness at the moment of death and receive it all the same.”

  A sense of desperation filled Jarena as she clutched her aunt’s hand. “This isn’t the time for us to debate the ability or willingness of God to forgive your sins, Aunt Lilly. If you truly believe you don’t have much time, you must ask Jesus to come into your heart—accept Him as your savior and repent of your sins. Surely you don’t want to spend eternity in hell.”

  “Now you sound like one of those fire-and-brimstone preachers who came around sermonizing at revival time.” A tear rolled down Jarena’s cheek, and Lilly attempted to wipe it away with a shaking finger. “If it’s that important to you, child, you tell me what to do and say, and I’ll do it.”

  Jarena straightened her shoulders. Her heart swelled with joy: There was hope for her aunt. “Are you sure?”

  “I said I’d do it, but I don’t have the strength to keep talking. Just tell me what you want me to say and do.”

  CHAPTER

  21

  New York City

  Truth knew Silas wanted to help her. However, she had grown weary of his constant reminders that he must be careful. So far as she was concerned, his vigilance took up far too much time with his trying to plan everything down to the last detail. Even now, he was once again delaying the delivery of her letter.

  Silas’s exasperated sigh filled the room. “You gotta unnerstand that if I go to town ’ceptin’ on the regular schedule, I’s for sure gonna get in trouble. They’s gonna know somethin’s not right. If I’s gonna help, you’s got to be patient, Truth. I done tol’ Mr. Laird you’s still sick, and Daisy’s gonna sneak upstairs and check on Miss Macia.”

  Truth paced the length of the carriage house with her arms tightly folded across her chest. She’d been able to spend several days feigning continued illness, but that meant leaving Macia alone. However, with Silas unwilling to go into town until his regularly scheduled trip next week, she must now return to look after Macia—which meant resuming the visits with Mr. Laird. She shuddered at the thought, yet she knew Silas was correct. They dared not draw unwanted attention.

  “An’ you cain’t be spending time down here in da carriage house,” Silas insisted. “What if Mr. Laird walks over here an’ sees you?”

  “Does he sometimes come here?”

  “He been here once or twice, and with you sick, I figure he might be wantin’ to check and see if I been lyin’ to him. Ain’t smart takin’ chances.”

  “I’ll go back upstairs in a minute. The days are long sitting up there with nothing to do. I told Daisy to bring me some mending from the house and I’d finish it for her.” She looked directly at Silas. “Have you noticed that since I quit going to tea with Mr. Laird, I’ve been feeling much better?”

  “Course. I’d be a fool not t’ see that.”

  “Well, do you remember me telling you I thought I’d seen Mr.

  Laird putting something in Macia’s water on several occasions?”

  Silas picked up one of the harnesses, laid it flat on the wood table, and began spreading neat’s-foot oil on the leather straps. “Um-hmm, I remember that.”

  “Well, I think that’s what he was doing to me. Putting some kind of drug in my tea—or maybe in Daisy’s tarts when she served them to us. I never actually saw him, but I think that surely must be what he did. Otherwise, why would I feel better since I’ve quit joining him for tea? What do you think?”

  Silas continued applying the oil, carefully seeking out any spots he might have missed with the worn paintbrush. “So you ain’ needin’ me to go fetch the doctor after all? Is that what you’s saying?”

  “Even if I’m not so sick, we still need to have the doctor see to Macia. I can explain the ailments to him. I should go myself since I’m feeling somewhat better.”

  “That ain’t smart thinkin’. What if Mr. Laird comes searchin’ for you or you go lookin’ for the doctor’s office and get lost in da city. You ain’t never found your way ’round no city big as New York, now has you?”

  Truth recalled her arrival at the train station and the subsequent incident with the omnibus. Perhaps she couldn’t navigate about the city on her own.

  “You needs t’ learn some patience. I’s gonna fetch the doctor, but it ain’t gonna be until next week. Promise me you ain’t gonna do nothin’ to get us in trouble.”

  His request wasn’t unreasonable. Placing Daisy or Silas at risk was completely unfair, and Truth knew it. “All right. I’ll wait, but that means I must return to see Macia tomorrow. If Mr. Laird insists I join him for tea, I’ll watch him carefully.”

  Silas removed a bottle of castor oil from the shelf and poured a dollop into a separate container before adding a measure of the neat’s-foot oil. Truth watched as he stirred the concoction and then thoroughly brushed the next harness. After replacing the bottles and cleaning his brush, Silas rubbed his stomach and nodded toward the stairs.

  “You best go on. I’s goin’ over and see if Daisy saved me any victuals.”

  Truth stood at the small window in the bedroom over the carriage house and watched as Silas ambled across the grassy expanse toward the kitchen door. Taking up a pair of stockings from Daisy’s mending basket, she threaded a needle and hoped Silas would soon return.

  Truth completed the mending and, after a bit of searching, found a set of pillowcases in the bottom drawer of Daisy’s chest. With nothing else to pass the time, she dug in the sewing basket, deciding to embroider a delicate border of pink and yellow flowers along the edge of the pillowcases. She hoped Daisy wouldn’t think her actions too presumptuous. Though she longed for a book to read, Truth had been unable to convince either Silas or Daisy to remove a volume from the shelves that lined the Rutledge Academy classrooms.

  When she finally heard the carriage house door open, Truth shoved the pillowcase into the sewing basket and waited, uncertain if it was Silas or Mr. Laird who had entered. Holding her breath, she tiptoed across the room, opened the door, and peeked downstairs. Silas was pulling a tin from the shelf, obviously preparing to continue his work on the harness straps. After she assured herself Mr. Laird hadn’t accompanied Silas, Truth hurried below and greeted him while she m
ade herself comfortable on one of the lower steps.

  He returned her greeting and then dipped his brush into the neat’s-foot mixture. As Silas brushed the leather, he told Truth he’d received his comeuppance from Daisy for eating the final remains of the noonday meal without permission.With a mischievous grin, he spoke of the pork roast and large helping of fried potatoes he’d devoured.

  However, the gleam faded from his eyes only moments later. “ ’Bout the time I finished eatin’, I heard angry voices come into da kitchen. Then someone said your name.”

  “My name?” Truth startled to attention and prodded Silas on.

  “He say you ain’t nothing but trouble. Too smart for your own good—and that things need to be taken care of right away.”

  “What things?” Truth squeaked. She rocked back against the unyielding step. The hardness of the wood pressed through her thin dress. She wanted to lean forward but fear held her body tight against the splintered tread.

  Silas stopped his paintbrush in midswipe. “You! You need to be taken care of right away is what they was saying. Mr. Laird said he been puttin’ something in your tea but now that you’s taken to your bed, he gonna have to start all over. Something ’bout the effects wearing off. Then Mrs. Rutledge got all upset and said she didn’t wanna hear no talk ’bout what he been doing to none of the girls. Next thing I knows they’s arguing ’bout getting money on account of papers the girls signed.”

  The information was far more than Truth had expected to hear. There was now little doubt that Mr. Laird and the Rutledges were up to no good. Guessing at reality was one thing, but knowing Mr. Laird had actually spoken of putting something into the tea caused Truth’s pulse to quicken.

  Truth mentally attempted to sift through the information, still uncertain what all of it might mean. Silas picked up a piece of the well-oiled leather and rubbed it with a soft cloth while he repeated additional snatches of conversation as they came to mind. “I think these papers they’s havin’ the girls sign has somethin’ to do with all of this.”