P N Elrod - Barrett 1 - Red Death

by Red Death(Lit)

  I started to speak, found my voice had gone all thick, and tried swallowing again. This time it worked out a bit better. "It's just that this is still incredible to me, Father. I've doubts of my own, so many that I can hardly bear them. Sometimes I seem all right and then it overwhelms me and I don't know what to do."

  "I think you've been alone too much with yourself. It's time to come home."

  "But I'm afraid."

  He looked at me and seemed to see right into my heart. "I know you are, Jonathan," he said gently.

  That helped. With my eyes closed I could almost feel his love and understanding beating upon me. I welcomed it like the soft warmth of a fire against the bitterness of a winter night.

  "You've been through all the worst things already," he said. "Don't you think it's time to give up your fear?"

  He was right and I was being foolish. I opened my eyes, nodded shyly, then he reached down and helped me to my feet. A very bad twinge like the touch of a hot poker shot up through the top of my skull with the movement.

  "What's the matter?" he demanded, steadying me.

  "It's better than it was," I gasped. "But there's still some work here for Beldon." I cradled my injured arm in its sling. God, but that had hurt. It had been all right until I'd tried to unbend it.

  Elizabeth took up her lantern to see better. "What has happened to you?"

  "Didn't Lieutenant Nash send anyone over to give you the news?"

  "He did not. What news?"

  "I caught him. I caught Roddy Finch."

  In the looks exchanged I marked an astonishing degree of family resemblance between them.

  "That's how I was hurt," I added, which did not really explain anything.

  This, of course, inspired many, many more questions from both of them about my most recent activities. Our slow walk back to the house fully occupied me with the effort to provide answers. It helped to keep my mind off the pain.

  "They'll hang him, you know," Father said thoughtfully when I'd finished.

  "Yes. I'm sure they will."

  He said nothing more after that.

  While Father and I waited near the stables, Elizabeth went ahead with the lantern to make sure that the way was clear. By that, her task was to get any servants out of the hall leading from the side door to the library. The other members of the household, Beldon, his sister, Mother, had forsworn social activities for the time being and could be counted upon to be in their rooms at this hour of the evening.

  Beldon, I knew, had been especially hard struck with grief over what had happened to me. I asked after him and was told he was as well as could be expected.

  "He loves you, you know," Father told me as we waited.

  I nodded. "Yes, I'm aware of it, and I'm sorry for him that he does since I cannot return it as he would wish."

  "He understands that, I'm sure."

  "He's quite a decent fellow, though."

  "He is. It was very bad for him being a doctor and yet unable to help you."

  "He did what he could," I said. "I remember that much."

  Father went all still. "Did it... was it... ?"

  I instantly guessed what he was getting at and constructed a hasty lie, the only one I'd ever told him, but one he needed to hear. "I felt no pain, sir. It was very quick. Be at ease on that."

  He relaxed. "Thank God."

  "What about poor Beldon?" I coaxed, hoping to shift his mind down a different path.

  He shook himself. "Perhaps Elizabeth can tell you more. My memory fails me. It was the worst day of my life and I never want to see its like again. I fear even now that this may be a dream."

  "Elizabeth said something like that last night, but I am still here."

  "Yes," he whispered. "It is a miracle, it must be. God has been merciful to all of us."

  I shrugged uneasily, feeling myself to be the one person least able to offer an opinion on the subject. Once again I thought of Lazarus. Had he suffered this sort of confusion of heart? I was not inclined to think so. Doubtless his faith was greater than

  mine; besides, there had been people around to explain exactly what had happened to him. His resurrection had been a miracle. Mine, I wasn't so sure about.

  Elizabeth's figure appeared in the side door and motioned for us to come inside.

  The hall was dark-to them, merely dim for me. We hurried to the library and Elizabeth swept the door shut behind us. Father guided me to the settee near the dormant fireplace and made me lie upon it.

  "Some brandy?" he offered.

  I found myself stammering. "No... that is... I mean... I can't."

  He swiftly and correctly interpreted the reason behind my distress and shrugged it off. Elizabeth had, indeed, told him everything. "Light some more candles," he told her. "I'm going to get Beldon." Before leaving, he paused by the cabinet that held his liquor and poured a good quantity of brandy into a glass and placed it ready on a table.

  "The doctor will need it," Elizabeth explained when he'd gone.

  I laughed a little, but with small humor. By God, he certainly would. I felt the need of it myself, but the scent of it, faint as it was, turned my stomach. "When did he finally come home?" I asked, to distract myself from the smell.

  "Late this afternoon. He was in an awful state. He'd been out since the... services looking for the..."

  "The rebels," I said, hoping that would help her.

  Her mouth twitched with self-mockery. "For the rebels, then. He'd been with a group of soldiers led by Nash's sergeant for most of the time. They went right into Suffolk County, turning out every farm and hayloft along the way. They never found anyone, of course."

  "That's hardly surprising. Those uniforms make people very nervous. I should think any rebels ran the moment they clapped eyes on 'em."

  "So they did. Beldon came to realize it and decided to strike out on his own."

  I was dumbfounded. "But that's terribly dangerous."

  "He seemed not to care. It didn't do him much good, anyway, and in the end he came to no harm. When he gave up and dragged home at last, he was all done in. He must have slept

  the day through. Jericho took a tray up to him earlier, but Beldon sent him away."

  "Have you talked to Jericho about me?"

  "No."

  It was to be expected. She would have been occupied enough talking to Father. "After I sort things out with Beldon, I must see him next."

  "It'll be all right, Jonathan." She'd heard the weariness creeping back into my voice.

  I managed a smile for her. "How were you received when you arrived at Mrs. Montagu's?"

  Her manner stiffened. "I understood why you had to go off, but I'm not sure I'm ready to forgive you for leaving me like that."

  I started to protest or apologize, whichever was required most, but she waved it away.

  "Never mind, little brother." She'd been lighting candles all the while, and placing them throughout the room, filling it with their soft golden light. Though the curtains were drawn, cutting off any outside illumination I might have taken advantage of, this was a token return to normal sight for me and I relished it. No wonder Nora had been so fond of candles.

  "How did it go for you?"

  "It was not easy. Father was frightfully annoyed and the soldiers alarmed him. Under those circumstances I couldn't just blurt out my news to him. Thank God for Mrs. Montagu. She sort of tucked me under one wing and took me away while Father tried to talk with the soldiers. They didn't make much headway as I think his German isn't much better than yours. By the time he'd finished, I had some tea in me, which was a great help."

  "What did you say?"

  She sighed, remembering the exasperation. "I really couldn't say anything. Not about you. I just wasn't ready for it. I was still trying to take it all in myself."

  "Elizabeth, I'm sorry. I should not have asked this of you."

  Another wave. "It would have been the same whether you'd been there or not. Anyway, I told him that I couldn't stand to st
ay in our house alone and decided to walk over to be with them. He was very angry for a time."

  Considering the reputation of the Hessians and their comman-

  ders with unprotected womenfolk I could see why.

  "Then he asked me why I'd really come."

  Father wouldn't have taken her story as given. He knew she was too intelligent to leave the house unescorted unless she had an excellent reason to do so.

  "I asked Mrs. Montagu to give us some time alone and did my best." Finished with the candles, she took the chair next to the desk. "He tried not to show it, but I'm sure he thought I'd gone quite mad."

  "No, I was the mad one, to leave you to do all that by yourself."

  "Mad and selfish and inconsiderate," she added agreeably. "Perhaps someday I shall laugh about it. I'm much too tired to make the effort right now. It's all done, though. What really helped was when we got home and I took him up to your room to show him the clothes you'd left there. That was a shock, but I could see he was beginning to allow himself to believe me. It was then that he had us sit down and bade me tell him everything all over again."

  "How did he take it?"

  "He was very quiet. Told me to get some sleep, then he went out. He rode over to the churchyard."

  "Dear God, he didn't."

  "He most assuredly did. He looked so strange when he came back."

  "What? Don't tell me he went to dig up the grave."

  That idea horrified her as much as it did me. "No, he did not."

  "Then what did he want there?"

  "More proof."

  "Proof? But what could be there that-"

  "Your shroud."

  That took all the wind out of me.

  "He said it was all wadded up where you'd left it."

  I dropped my head and groaned.

  "So you should, little brother. You've been a blister and a boil for doing this to him, you should have stayed with me and not put him through it."

  She was right, right, right. "I'm sorry."

  "On the other hand..."

  I looked up. "What?"

  "He did understand why you had to go off last night. But please God, don't you ever put him through this kind of situation again."

  To be honest, I didn't see how I possibly could, considering the uniqueness of the circumstances, but I made no sport of her feelings and gave her my solemn word to behave myself in the future.

  "After showing me that thing he wanted to go straight out to the old barn, but Mother was being difficult about something and Beldon wasn't here to give her any laudanum so he had to stay with her."

  Poor Father.

  "But the moment he was free he got me and we left. I wasn't sure what to expect when we walked in. You'd told me what Nora had been like, but you were so still. It was hard not to think that..."

  "That I was really dead?"

  "Yes, that you were really dead. That some cruel mind was at play to give you back to us for a few hours only to take you away again. It was a very bad time for both of us, standing there, waiting and watching you. Father said that you had no heartbeat, that you were not breathing."

  "How did you stand it, then?"

  "He noticed that you were warm. He picked up your hand and held it, then made me take it to be sure. After that, the waiting was a little easier, but I don't think he fully believed until you stirred and opened your eyes."

  "And your belief, sister?"

  "Tested," she said archly. "I'm like you, still trying to make sense of it, to take it all in. I hope I shall get over it soon as I am damned tired of feeling this way."

  We looked somberly at one another, then the dark mood vanished. She was the one to break first and I followed, the two of us suddenly seized by a fit of laughter. It was soft and firmly restrained by smothering hands. Necessary, for had we really let ourselves go, we'd have raised the whole house. It passed quickly, though. Elizabeth was half dropping from exhaustion and the movement aggravated the pain in my arm.

  She drowsed now and I wondered what was taking Father so long. Perhaps he was trying to somehow prepare Beldon. Perhaps Beldon had taken a dose of his own laudanum. I hoped not.

  If drink had interfered with Nora's influence over Warburton, one could logically conclude that a drug might have the same effect. If I could not use my own power of influence to ease Beldon over those first few moments of terror, things might become very much more difficult, indeed.

  Some lengthy minutes passed. Elizabeth's eyes were shut, though I could hear by her breathing that she was not quite asleep. I was very alert and filled the time listening to the normal sounds of the household. They were distant but strangely clear: the clatter of a pot in the far-off kitchen, the footfall of a passing servant. I found a secret delight in being able to identify each noise, picking it out or discarding it as I chose. I'd adapted rather quickly to this heightened ability; part of me enjoyed it, part shrank away out of the fear for the uncanny we all share.

  Then I heard them descending the stairs together and the murmur of Father's voice. Beldon was silent as Father invited him to go on to the library. "Elizabeth." She jerked fully awake.

  "They're coming. Stand ready with that brandy." She rose and moved to the table. "You know what I'll have to do?"

  "Yes. What you did to calm Lieutenant Nash." Her tone indicated she still disapproved. "I told Father about it."

  Good, for then he shouldn't be too surprised by what was to come. I nodded my gratitude and we waited. The back of the settee was toward the door. Beldon would not see me right away, which was just as well. I wasn't sure what to expect of him and found myself feeling the same dread and disquiet I'd come to associate with this experience. The reward was great, but the actual passage to that reward arduous.

  Father played the servant and held the door for him, firmly closing it as soon as they were inside.

  "Your patient's over there, Doctor. Just talk to him and all will be explained," he was saying.

  Beldon put down his case of medicines and came around. He breathed out a quiet greeting to Elizabeth, then turned to confront his patient. His mouth open, he halted in mid-turn to stare, blink, and shake his head once, then stare again. "I don't... oh, my God. Oh, my..."

  "Beldon," I began, "there's nothing to be afraid of; please listen to me."

  But Beldon was incapable of hearing anything. His already protuberant eyes bulged out that much more and his skin went so pasty as to make a ghastly match in color to his ever-present wig. Lamenting within that I should be the cause of this, I reached out to him with my good hand, offering words of comfort, while trying to fix upon his mind.

  A vain effort. Overcome with the shock, Beldon turned drama into farce by pitching fiat onto his face in a dead faint.

  Elizabeth said "Oh," Father vented a ripe curse, and as one they dived for the boneless form heaped on the floor. Father turned him over and saw to it that there were no obvious injuries from the fall. Elizabeth gave Father a look of moderate disappointment and straightened Beldon's limbs.

  Father was rather sheepish. "I suppose I might have found some better way to ready him for this, but for the life of me I couldn't think of one."

  Elizabeth found a cushion and they put it under Beldon's bead. When he began to show signs of reviving, the brandy was brought into play.

  "Not too much," I cautioned. I lurched from the settee and knelt next to him. It seemed important that I be the first one he saw upon awakening.

  "Yes," said Father, missing my real motive, which was to keep the man sober. "Don't want to choke the fellow."

  Beldon's eyes fluttered. He was calm now, disoriented by his swoon. This was a great help to me, though. I took whole and heartless advantage of his confusion and fixed my gaze and mind fall upon him. Taken so unawares, Beldon had no further chance to give in to his fear. His expression went slack and dull. The results-if disturbing to Elizabeth and a wonderment to Father- were gratifying to me. But the moment was brief, for yet again I was about to
take on the task of giving lengthy and complicated explanations for my return from the grave.

  And in the pause between taking away Beldon's conscious will and the drawing of my next breath, I realized I simply could not do it again.

  In that instant I knew that if I imparted the least portion of the truth to him and the others who followed there would be absolutely no going back to even an illusion of the life I'd known