He shook his head, then recalled she could not see him. Her clear blue eyes in her bandaged face regarded him as steadily as if nothing had changed. “I don’t know, Lady Mariel. What I do know is that you must rest.” His hands pressed against the tattered material of her dress. “Lie down and don’t move. Mrs. Reed shall wait in here to tend to you until Miss Phipps arrives with your things from the Cloister. I don’t want you to do anything but lie there until I check you tomorrow morning.”
“But, doctor—”
“No buts. If you cooperate, you might regain your vision. Whether it will all come back, I cannot tell you. Be as stubborn as the rest of your family, and you will throw away any chance you may have.”
The stern timbre of his voice terrified her. She was familiar with Dr. Sawyer’s honesty. He had tended her during her childhood illnesses. All the confidence she had learned to place in his judgment was put to the test as she hesitated. She did not need to see him to know his basset hound face was longer than usual.
She closed her eyes as she leaned back on the pillows. The covers were drawn over her, and she turned her head. “Ian?”
“Over here, honey.” His sorrowful voice came from the opposite direction. It showed blatantly how helpless she was without her eyes. He felt his own burn with the frustrated tears he could not shed. “Mrs. Reed will sit with you now. Rest. I must let your other rescuers know you are awake. I will be back in a short while.”
She nodded, but wondered if resting would be all she could do in the future. This blindness might be permanent. Even Dr. Sawyer admitted that. Everything she loved to do required her eyes. She could not read the reports from the school board. She would be unable to be independent, to run about the countryside as she wished. Never would she see the glories of the sunset dipping into the western sea beyond the Cloister.
Until Mrs. Reed murmured, “Don’t weep, lamb,” she did not realize she was crying. She pressed her hands over her face, but drew them away when she felt the bandages on her cheeks. She had not equated the tightness of her skin with anything but the scratches she knew must be there. Now she discovered her eyes were not the only part of her affected by the accident.
When she found it impossible to stop sobbing, an arm slipped under her to raise her to drink from a cup. The bitterness of the potion could not be hidden beneath the honeyed tea. It worked quickly to soothe her fears into a dreamless sleep.
Mariel opened her eyes to the unchanging darkness. A spark of light at the far left of her field of vision brought a gasp from her lips. When she turned her head to follow it and savor the welcome glow, it disappeared.
“How do you feel, honey?” came a voice as a hand caressed her hair.
A smile creased her lips and painfully pulled the tight skin beneath the bandages. “Ian! When is it?”
“About three o’clock in the morning.”
“What morning?”
“Sunday.”
Instantly, she gasped, “Sunday? What are you doing up so late with me? You have to preach in less than six hours. You—” She laughed weakly as she heard his welcome rumble of amusement. When his hand settled over hers, she asked, “Who else is here?”
“Just you and me. Phipps has gone back to the Cloister to spend some time with Rosie. Mrs. Reed is asleep in her own room. They are exhausted. You are the only one who has had much sleep in the past few days.”
“I’m so scared.”
Soothingly, he said, “I know. If it helps at all, I know. I have been sitting here and looking at you and remembering the hours I lay in a bed waiting for them to tell me they would have to amputate my leg.”
“I would rather that than being blind,” she stated bitterly.
“Enough!”
The sharpness of his voice broke into her sorrow to release all her fears. “Is it?” she cried. “I’m not brave like you, Ian. Look at me.”
“I am, my love, and it is wondrous to see you alive.”
“Alive? Maybe, but how can it be like it was before? I don’t want to be dependent on someone all my life. What else is there for me? To sit in the Cloister and listen to the walls molder around me? I can’t read. I can’t go anywhere.” She gave a sob of her desperate fear. “You might as well shut me away as they did my cousin Georgie.”
“Georgie?”
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you about Gregory Wythe? I thought you knew.” Astonishment softened the edge of her anger. “I’m surprised, but I guess such old news doesn’t interest anyone any longer.”
Ian leaned forward to stroke her forehead above the small bandage there. It seemed ironic that her crystal blue eyes were the most unchanged part of her face. The doctor had assured them the cuts would leave no scars once they healed, but most of her face had vanished under the salve lathered coverings. When she turned toward him, he could see her eyes searching to find him. He took her hand and raised it to his cheek.
“Tell me,” he ordered quietly. “Why did they shut Gregory Wythe away?”
“My cousin was insane. Uncle Wilford tried to keep him home by hiring guards and a nurse. Georgie was smart. Most of the time he acted normal. Then he would explode.” Her voice quivered as she continued, “He exploded the night he killed Lorraine. He almost killed me except that his guards found us in the attic room where he had dragged me. I did not think he would do that to me. He hated Lorraine because she taunted him, but he knew I loved him. Every time he came near she teased him with the ‘Georgie Porgie’ rhyme. When he broke away from the guards and would have hurt me, I used it as she had. He cried. They took him away, and I never saw him again.”
Ian watched her face while she told the tale. Suddenly, he understood what she had never wanted him to know. Though modern medicine tried to teach that insanity was a disease, not a curse, Mariel feared to involve him with a family who bore this horrid taint. He longed to draw her into his arms and show her he did not care what had happened to the Wythes of the past. He wanted only to love this one and share his life with her.
Very explicit orders from Dr. Sawyer kept him from doing as he wished. The doctor continued to insist that she not be moved. Forcing his longing back in his heart, he asked gently, “Where is he now?”
“He’s dead,” she said with a lack of acceptance of the past. Her voice rose steadily as she added, “He died in the asylum in a horrible fire one of the inmates set. His funeral was the last time the old chapel in the Cloister was used. Now he rests next to the other crazy Wythes in the cemetery behind the Cloister. I never had a chance to tell Georgie how sorry I was that I taunted him that night. I know he could not help being the way he was.”
“I’m sure he has forgiven you, Mariel.”
The venom returned to her tone. “Don’t play the pastor with me, Ian. If you do that, the next thing you will be saying is that my automobile accident is the result of God’s wrath for luring you into my arms.”
“Mariel!” he snapped. “That is enough. Being angry will not help anything now. The doctor has made it clear that you must rest. He is contacting a colleague in London to find you a specialist.”
She pulled her hand out of his. “London? How am I to get to London? Look at me! Even if I was allowed out of bed, I couldn’t find my way across this room.”
“I was going to say I would take you, but if you are going to act so petulant, I doubt if I will offer.”
When she heard him rise, she feared he would leave the room. She could not tolerate the thought of being alone. After all they had shared, she thought he would have guessed her sharpness covered her frustration at being unable to fix this situation, as she had so many other things in the past. She was used to being the sensible one in the family. Never had she been unable to do what she wanted once she set her mind on it.
“Ian!” she cried. “Don’t go away.”
“I won’t.” His voice was surprisingly close. When the bed moved, she turned to feel his arms around her. Fearfully, she broke away. Her head ached violently at the sharp mo
vement.
“Honey?”
For the first time since she had met him, she lied intentionally, “I am sorry. I just don’t feel well.”
“I understand.”
His kindness hurt as much as the pain within her. She could not tell him the truth. She did not want him to touch her. If he did, she might not be able to deny herself his loving. He did not need to be burdened with her. Between his ministerial duties and his work in the community, he could not spare the time she would require. Now, she was grateful she had another reason to tell him she could not marry him. She did not want to think of how it would be if he refused to break their betrothal simply because he pitied her.
Hot tears burned her useless eyes. She did not want anyone to feel sorry for her. She wanted nothing but to find a hole and bury herself in it. There was no hope for her. Dr. Sawyer had all but admitted that.
“Do you want to rest, honey?” Ian’s voice intruded on her thoughts.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Do you want me to hold you?”
A pang cut into her more sharply than any injury from the accident. Although her heart demanded that she agree so she could feel safe in his love, she murmured, “No, Ian. Just let me rest here, please.”
“Of course.” The pain he felt could not be hidden. The bed moved as he sat again on the chair next to the bed.
She turned her back on him. The tears dampened the many bandages on her face. At first a trickle, the weeping became a cascade of anguish as she realized how much she had lost in the accident.
Ian did not move from the chair through the long hours of the night. Even when Mariel fell asleep, her breath still ragged from her sobs, he sat silently in the darkness. He wanted to pray, but the words froze within him as he watched the broken woman. Never had he expected to see Mariel Wythe give up any fight.
And this one has just begun, he thought. Dr. Sawyer had told him nothing different from what Mariel had demanded to know. The slim chances of her recovering her sight faded with each passing day.
She would have to accept that and rearrange her life to meet the challenges ahead of her. He could help her, if only she would let him. No one else understood as he did the pain dwelling in her, cutting into the sensitive edges of her dreams.
As the first pink glow of dawn began to sneak into the room, he rose and walked quietly from the bedroom. He tried to keep his steps soundless as he walked down the stairs, but was not surprised to see Mrs. Reed waiting for him in the front hall.
“Reverend?”
“I am going to the church for a few minutes. I am sure Mr. Stadley has it prepared for this morning’s services, but I want to be sure.”
Mrs. Reed wrung her hands in her apron. “You are preaching this morning?” When he looked at her in surprise, she added, “I thought you would have asked for a substitute. No one expects you to be there this morning.”
For the first time in days, he offered her the wry grin that signaled his thoughts of Lady Mariel. Pointing toward the ceiling, he said, “There is one who would be astounded if I did not do as I should.” His smile faded. “Or she would if she was herself.”
“Do you think—?”
He interrupted hastily. “I don’t know what to think. I will be back soon, Mrs. Reed. If Mariel wakes, please send across the green for me.”
“Yes, sir.” She added nothing else. The man could not hide his pain. To augment it now by asking unanswerable questions would be too cruel.
Tears spilled from her eyes to course along her hollow cheeks as she went to the door to watch his slow steps across the empty village green. Before this tragedy, there had been talk of a match between Reverend Beckwith-Carter and Lady Mariel. She wondered how this accident would change that. Wiping her nose inelegantly on her sleeve, she went back to the kitchen.
The soft hush of the church comforted Ian as he opened the door. The sun-heated wood stank within the closed building. With the warmth rushing past him, he strode toward the empty sanctuary. Dropping into the closest pew, he placed his folded hands on the back of the one in front of him. His knuckles bleached with the fierce emotions boiling within him.
He had come here to reach out to all he believed in most fervently to work a miracle for Mariel. Now he found he did not feel the least like petitioning for her recovery. He wanted to rage at the indiscriminate hand of fate, which had chosen her as its latest victim.
His eyes swept the church. Inordinate pride had filled him each time he entered this room. This was his domain, where he could heal the concerns of those hurting in the rapidly changing world. Here he had found something that had been missing from the hubbub of his life in London. His rage erased all that.
“It’s not fair!” he groaned. He leaned his forehead against his clenched fists. Knowing that he should be singing with joy that she had not been killed, he thought only of the wraithlike Mariel who refused to fight. Such dependence was so out of character for her, it scared him. If she stopped fighting, he feared she would lose that part of Mariel Wythe that delighted him most.
Footsteps sounded behind him. Irritated that someone would dare to interrupt his mourning, he swung to confront the interloper. His harsh words died unspoken as he saw the tear-streaked face of Miss Phipps. Silently, he stood and watched as she walked toward him with her stiff, uncompromising grace.
She whispered, “I came to relieve Mrs. Reed this morning, but first …” She looked at the bare altar and away. “I thought you might be here.”
“I am looking for an answer,” he said, finally voicing the truth.
“But there is none.” She sat on the opposite side of the aisle. Removing her broad-brimmed hat, she placed it next to her. “I have sought within myself for an explanation of why Lady Mariel must be the one to suffer. Of all the Wythes I have known, she is the most giving and caring. Her uncle thinks foremost of himself, although he dotes on Lady Mariel. Lady Lorraine was nothing like her sister. Sometimes I thought Lady Mariel received all the compassion the two were meant to share.”
“She told me how her sister taunted Georgie.” He was anxious to learn more about this person, whom Mariel had conspired to keep a secret.
Miss Phipps sighed. “Ah, Georgie. Such a haunted soul he had. A brilliant child he was, but it turned within him to destroy that mind. He could not help himself. This family has had so much sorrow. I thought it was over when Georgie died. I was wrong.”
Ian was not sure how to console the usually controlled Miss Phipps as she bent her head to weep. Tenderly he put his hand on her shoulder. Sitting next to her, he patted her back awkwardly until she wiped her eyes on a lace handkerchief and waved him away.
“What worries me most,” she continued as if she had not started crying, “is her refusal to see Rosie. She adores the child. Rosie is pining for her.”
“She is ashamed.”
“Ashamed?” The idea was so at odds with what she had thought, Miss Phipps gasped, “What does she have to be ashamed of?”
Ian smiled sadly. If only Mariel would let him help her. He had struggled alone through all the darkness she experienced now. She could be spared some of the sorrow if she would accept what had happened and learn that she could be as she had been despite the changes in her life.
“Mariel is ashamed of being less than perfect.” He surprised himself as much as Miss Phipps when he chuckled. “She could allow herself such faults as obsession, inflexibility, and bullheaded determination, but she cannot tolerate being less than perfect physically.”
“She must see the child. Rosie is having nightmares. She doesn’t believe me when I tell her Lady Mariel is alive. She does not understand why she cannot see her if she is simply resting at your house.”
“Have you told Mariel this?”
She shook her head. “She will not let me speak of Rosie. I think she fears the child will despise her.” Her pale eyes sought an answer in his. “Should I tell her the truth?”
“No. She will only refuse again to see
Rosie. Here is what I think we should do.” He bent his head to conspire with her to help the woman they both loved. Something had to be done to help Mariel. If this failed, he feared they would lose her forever to the grip of the despair controlling her.
After services that afternoon, Ian sat on the edge of the bed and watched as Mariel unevenly moved about the room. Although the doctor had not given her permission to leave her bed, he had come upstairs to find her dressed in her robe and attempting to decipher the labyrinth of this unknown room. He said nothing of his pride at her attempt to escape from the prison of the bed. Such words of encouragement might cause more damage.
His eyes followed her intensely. She did not release one piece of furniture while she sought another. Her steps were as tentative as if she walked along the edge of a cliff.
“Mariel, how much longer are you going to delay seeing Rosie?”
“I don’t know!” she cried. “Why are you tormenting me like this, Ian? Don’t I have enough to feel miserable about without you harping on this?”
Anger burst from him. He had been patient and generally ignored her sharp comments, but he could not do that any longer. Grasping her by the shoulders, he swung her to face him. Her terrified expression showed him how fearful she had become of any spontaneous movement.
“Why do you act as if you are the only one to have suffered? I never thought I would see Mariel Wythe give up so easily.”
“Well, you are seeing it now!” She laughed bitterly. “‘Seeing it’? I never realized how much a part of our language such words are.”
“Sit!” he snarled. Shoving her into the overstuffed chair, he hobbled to the door. He swung it open and went out into the hall. He called over the banister to Miss Phipps.
Mariel clenched her hands on the arms of the chair. “No,” she moaned when she heard what he ordered. The eager footsteps on the stairs brought fear to her face. She could not do this. Not now.
Short arms were flung around her neck as curls scented with her favorite perfumed soap pressed to her face. Soft tears dripped on her as Rosie climbed into her lap without releasing her grip around her neck. Awkwardly, as if they were made of the same straight wood as Ian’s cane, her arms moved to enfold the child.
Mariel Page 21
