The Blind in Darkness

by Stephen Lewis

  “Master Worthington will not let you in, either,” Catherine said. “He knows you as my servant, does he not?”

  Phyllis shrugged.

  “He may, I warrant, or he may not. But I am not so silly as to go in the front door.”

  Catherine understood, and began a smile that was interrupted by her teeth’s chattering.

  “Elizabeth?” she asked.

  “Aye, Elizabeth,” Phyllis said, “and through the back door, if you please.”

  * * * *

  Catherine sat before the fire, rubbing her hands, watching Edward stoop over and poke the bottom log until it cracked, releasing a tongue of flame. The flame shot up in bands of red and yellow and she imagined the warmth she should feel, and yet the chill in her bones remained. Edward looked over his shoulder at her, saw her continuing shiver, and knelt again to his task, attacking the flaming log with greater vigor.

  “Leave off, Edward,” Catherine said. “The fire does well enough.”

  He stood up slowly, allowing his back to straighten at its own pace, and then he walked out of the kitchen to occupy himself in another place in the house. Catherine knew that he used words as though the effort of producing the sounds far outweighed any possible advantages speech might offer, while Phyllis spoke whenever possible, as though words brought her into communion with the human race, a feeling Edward neither experienced nor valued.

  She watched him struggle to straighten his spine, and then amble out with hardly a look at her, not interested in questioning why his mistress had beseeched him to build the fire when she came in from the cold, and now seem indifferent to the effects of his labor. To him, apparently, it was all one. He did as he was told without judgment or concern, and was happiest most when he had finished a chore and could amuse himself with an activity, such as whittling a piece of wood, of his own choice.

  Catherine’s mind, though, did not stay long on the different verbal habits of her two servants. In fact, she permitted herself this distraction only because she could not stop herself from remembering the frail babe she had delivered from its impossibly fragile mother. She could not long comfort herself with the illusion that Phyllis would return with the news that all was well. She tried, but could not convince herself, that Goody Blodgett would be equal to the task of helping Felicity and her infant through these crucial first hours. She had thought of asking Joseph Woolsey to intervene so that she could return to her proper place at Felicity’s side, but had stopped at her house to warm herself first and to think of how she could approach her old friend with a request he would want to honor but would also bring him into conflict, once again, with Samuel Worthington on her behalf. She did not want to put him in that position if she could help it. And so she sat, warming her flesh while her heart remained chilled, waiting for good news she had no reason to think would be forthcoming.

  After a few more minutes of staring into the fire, she could no longer sit still, so she got up and walked to the shelves in the corner of the kitchen where she kept jars, boxes, and bottles of her various remedies. She knew that the birth had gone well, that Felicity had not experienced any obvious problem, but that the babe was undersized and therefore in danger. Of course, Felicity might turn dangerously feverish at any time, but Catherine recalled how Felicity had shuddered against the light pressure of her shift driven against her body by the wind, and she guessed that the young woman was going to have difficulty nursing her babe. Once she knew she was right about that, she would summon Sara Dunwood as a wet nurse. For now, she ran her fingers over the containers of her remedies and settled on the powdered rhizome of yellow lily with which she could make a poultice. She took down the small jar and unstopped it. She held it to her nose and assured herself that it was still fresh enough to be of use. She then set it on the table and made herself sit down to wait with what patience she could muster.

  In an effort to shut down her mind, she lay her head on the table, so she did not immediately hear the steps coming into the kitchen until they were almost upon her. She looked up at Phyllis, whose face was red from the cold and whose chest heaved from the exertion of her hurried return from Felicity Rowlands’ bedside.

  “Well, then, how do they?” Catherine asked without pausing for other greeting. Phyllis was equally direct in her reply.

  “Very poorly, I am afraid,” she said.” The babe cries from hunger, and Felicity cannot give it suck. She says it pains her too much. Goody Blodgett has painted her breast with honey, but it does no good. She knows not what else to do. Master Worthington mutters and paces about, and then he left to say he had business to attend to at his dock. And after that he will seek the advice of Minister Davis.”

  Catherine waved her hand briskly in front of her as though in so doing she could remove Worthington not only from the conversation, but more importantly, from the situation he had helped to create through his stubbornness, a situation that now threatened the life of his daughter and grandchild.

  “Aye, business first, then God, and then perhaps his daughter’s well-being. Speak not of that man to me,” Catherine said. “Honey, you say, on her breasts?”

  Phyllis nodded.

  “She says she learned that remedy from you.”

  “Aye, that she did. But is it right in this instance? Honey can soothe soreness, but perhaps Felicity’s problem is graver than that.”

  “Goody Blodgett does not profess to know.”

  “I do not doubt it,” Catherine said, permitting just a trace of satisfaction to color her words.

  “She says,” Phyllis continued, with an answering smile, “that as soon as Master Worthington leaves, she will make her way here to seek your counsel, for she cares more for that poor babe than his shillings.”

  “Has she come to that, then?”

  Phyllis frowned.

  “I do not entirely trust her.”

  “We need not,” Catherine replied. “But we do need her assistance in working around Master Samuel Worthington.” She fairly spat out the syllables of the name. She pointed to the bottle of powdered lily rhizomes on the table. “And when we do, perhaps we can try a poultice of that.” Phyllis nodded, but looked a little distracted, and Catherine realized she had more to tell. “How came you into the house?”

  Phyllis’s face relaxed and she took a deep breath.

  “The shorter version of your story, if you please,” Catherine said.

  “I tell only the essentials, as well you know,” Phyllis said. “The rest I share with Edward betimes, but as for that I could be talking to a stone.”

  “Go on, then.”

  “I went around to the back of the house, through snow as high as me, but when I arrived at the door, who was there but Elizabeth and she said she saw me though the window and understood where I was going. We understand our place, we do, and she was happy to see me, for she said her young mistress was ailing very much and the babe even more, while Goody Blodgett just stared from one to the other, sometimes saying something under her breath that sounded like a prayer, but Elizabeth, heathen that she is, cannot be taken serious on that. And we was sitting in the kitchen talking when Mistress Worthington herself comes in and her face is dark as shadows. She said Felicity will not let trying to give the babe her breast even though she cannot stop herself from screaming when she does, it hurts her so. Mistress Worthington said she knew not what to do, and then she asked after you, she did, and said she cared not what her husband said. Just then Goody Blodgett joined us, and we all sat around the table, nice as can be, never mind the poor girl and her babe not ten feet away. Her husband came in, too, but seeing all us women gathered got afraid and went back to sit with his wife. And then Goody Blodgett asked Mistress Worthington if you could be called in for your advice, and Mistress Worthington said that was exactly what she intended to do, and would I be so kind as to tell you all of this, which I have just done, so you could make your best haste there.”

  Phyllis stopped abruptly as though she had reached the bottom of her barrel of
words. Catherine waited a moment, to be sure her servant had no more to say.

  “That I will do. You must rest a bit, and then make your way to Sara Dunwood’s house and bring her to Felicity. I expect the babe has not had suck today. ”

  “I think not,” Phyllis said.

  “It must, then, and promptly. If Felicity cannot manage, Sara can.”

  “You could send Edward,” Phyllis said.

  Catherine rose to her feet and took her cloak from the peg. She placed the vial of powder into a midwife’s bag.

  “He cannot deliver the message to Sara as you can. You know how his tongue stumbles when he as to talk of things he knows nothing of, and it has been too long since he had anything to do with nursing mothers and their babes.

  “He never . . .” Phyllis began.

  “And that is why you must go.”

  Phyllis brightened.

  “Right,” she said. “You cannot trust such a mission to Edward.”

  Catherine was already moving toward the front door.

  “I knew you would understand.”

  Phyllis’s face darkened and she strode past Catherine. She stopped before the door.

  “He has not been buried yet, has he?”

  “No. You know well the snow is too deep and the ground frozen beneath it.”

  “I fear him.”

  “He is in a coffin, in his barn, where he will keep until the weather warms. He is not up and about.”

  “Not him, but his ghost. Especially, seeing that the body is lying there cold and alone.”

  Catherine took Phyllis’s arm gently but firmly, and pushed aside so she could open the door.

  “Make haste then,” she said, “and the ghost will not catch you.”

  “You shouldn’t mock me,” Phyllis said, but Catherine was already out of the door, and did not turn back.

  * * * *

  Alice Worthington and Goody Blodgett were standing in the doorway stamping their numb feet as they peered up the road, their eyes tearing from the cold wind, as Catherine arrived. Alice stepped forward and opened her arms in an embrace.

  “My daughter, Catherine, she is in your hands and God’s.” She held her tight and then stepped back. “You know that Samuel has gone to the dock, why I cannot say as his ship is stuck fast in the ice, and he has taken Daniel with him. The boy follows him about as a puppy. I thought his place is here with his wife and child, but Samuel would not hear of it.”

  “It is no matter,” Catherine said, “and perhaps better that they are not here to trip over.”

  Felicity lay very still in the bed. Her face was flushed, and perspiration beaded her forehead in spite of the draft. Catherine put her hand on her the young woman’s cheek, and it was very warm. She sensed Goody Blodgett standing behind her.

  “What think you?” Goody Blodgett asked.

  Catherine turned to see the conflicting emotions of injured pride, humiliation, and need fighting for dominance in the other woman’s countenance. She did not immediately answer, but instead opened Felicity’s shift. She could not restrain the half gasp that forced itself through her lips. The underside of Felicity’s left breast was swollen red. The swelling caused it to look like a deformed sack, bulging on the bottom from a heavy weight. The nipple above the swelling was still covered with the dried and cracking layer of honey that Goody Blodgett had applied.

  “I tried the honey, as you once told me,” she said.

  Catherine nodded.

  “Aye, that you did, and that is to ease her pain when the babe sucks.” She ran her fingers over the breast, which felt warmer than her cheek, working her way from the top down to the angrily inflamed area. That spot pulsed. She then palpated the other breast. The nipple was cracked beneath the honey coating, but the flesh was cool and it otherwise appeared normal.

  “She has been able to give the babe suck a little from that one,” Mistress Worthington, said. She was standing behind Goody Blodgett and peering over her shoulder. “But she has not much milk, and she cannot endure the touch.”

  A cry came from across the way, and a moment later Elizabeth entered the room rocking the babe in her arms. The infant’s tiny fist grabbed at her breasts and its mouth worked in a sucking motion between cries that started as weak whimpers but soon grew into howls.

  “I cannot give him what he needs. I can only rock him to sleep, but then he rouses, and you see he is hungry.”

  “I have sent for Sara Dunwood,” Catherine said. “She is nursing her own babe and can wet nurse this one.” She placed the tip of her forefinger on the abscess. Felicity writhed and bit down hard on her lips until she drew a drop of blood. She ran her tongue over her lip and swallowed the blood. She moved her head back and forth, and trying to focus her eyes. “She is in danger,” Catherine said in a hushed whisper. “The fever rages in her and will consume her. This must be lanced or she dies.” What she did not say out loud in deference to the others, particularly Alice, was that she feared the young woman might die no matter what she did, and for a moment she indulged the anger that rose in her again at having been prevented from attending Felicity sooner. Goody Blodgett seemed to read her thoughts.

  “I sent for you as soon as I could. You know how it was. I need the fee, and . . .”

  “You thought you could manage as well as I.”

  Goody Blodgett lowered her head for a moment, and when she raised it her jaw was thrust forward although her eyes were wide with fear.

  “I did. And Master Worthington said he would have no-one but me attend his daughter.”

  “That he did,” Alice said, “for he was set against you, Catherine.”

  “There is no time for any of that,” Catherine said, “and it is of no matter.” She reached into her midwife’s bag and removed a small, sharp knife. “Alice comfort your daughter. Elizabeth put the babe in its cradle and set yourself on one side, with Goody Blodgett on the other.”

  The women arranged themselves as directed: Mistress Worthington at the back of the bed, her arms cradling Felicity’s head, Elizabeth on one side and Goody Blodgett on the other, each holding one of Felicity’s hand while stroking her bare arm. Catherine clambered onto the bed. Felicity stirred, and opened her eyes, which at first started with fear but then relaxed into a relief.

  “Mistress Williams,” she said, her voice no more than a hoarse whisper. “I am so weak.”

  “Aye, that you are surely, for you have the fever caused by a bad humor.”

  Felicity’s eyes widened again in fear.

  “If I, who will take care of . . .”

  “Tush,” Catherine said, “you will tend your babe, as soon as we tend to you.” She put the fingers of her left hand over Felicity’s eyes while she kept her right hand, holding the sharp little knife out of sight behind her back. “Now, then, you just lie back in your mother’s arms. It won’t be but a moment.”

  Felicity’s body tensed as though she expected to be assaulted, but she let herself fall back into Mistress Worthington’s embrace. Catherine brought the knife from behind her back toward Felicity’s breast. The abscess was centered on the underside. Catherine placed the fingers of her left hand beneath the breast where it lay against the rib cage. Ever so slowly, with the least possible pressure, she lifted the breast to position it for her knife. But as soon as she raised the breast Felicity stiffened partly in response to the pain caused even by the gentle pressure of Catherine’s fingers, but as much or more by anticipation of the pain that was to follow.

  “Steady,” Catherine said. “You must help me Felicity if I am going to help you.” She looked at the three women surrounding Felicity. “Steady her, now, anyway you can. She must not move.”

  Mistress Worthington, who had been stroking Felicity’s cheeks while cradling her head, now moved her strong hands to her daughter’s shoulders while Elizabeth and Goody Blodgett each seized the arm she had been caressing. Catherine crouched over Felicity’s mid-section and lowered herself until she was just touching the young woman’
s belly. If she began to buck, Catherine would let herself come down on her with her full weight. She lifted the breast again, and Felicity struggled against the hands constraining her. Catherine watched the spasm and knowing it would soon subside and when it did she jabbed the knife into the abscess with a quick, certain motion. Felicity screamed in full voice, and thick yellow pus flowed from her opened breast. She tried to bring up her knees to dislodge Catherine, but Catherine settled her considerable weight on her thighs. She then probed a little further, as Felicity now offered a steady, low humming moan. A little blood joined the pus, so Catherine withdrew the knife. She waited until nothing else flowed from the abscess. The breast deflated as the pus oozed until it was of a size and shape more nearly like the other.

  Catherine swung herself off the bed and retrieved her midwife’s bag, from which she removed the jar of powdered lily rhizome. She looked at Elizabeth.

  “You can let her go now, and bring us a wet and warm cloth.”

  Elizabeth nodded and whispered something in Felicity’s ear that caused a weak smile to form on the young woman’s lips. Catherine took Elizabeth’s place at Felicity’s side and stroked her arm with long, slow movements.

  “It is over, now,” she said. “We have expelled the bad humor and you will start to recover. I have a special poultice with me that will give you ease.”

  Elizabeth returned with a warm, damp cloth, and Catherine sprinkled powder from her jar onto the wound on Felicity’s breast, She wrapped the cloth around the breast.

  “Alice,” she said, “can you sit with Felicity and see that the cloth remains in place?”

  “Surely, I can.”

  Catherine rose to her feet, feeling both relief and weariness. She had every hope that Felicity’s youth would enable her to recover quickly. There was still, however, the problem of the babe whose cries now reached them from across the hall.

  “I will walk with the babe,” Catherine said, “until Sara arrives to give it what I cannot.”

  “Nor I these many years,” Alice replied with a smile.