The fever ravaged her, and time lost all meaning. Her mother’s voice became a litany of worry. Her father came and went, moving about like a shadow. Doctors were vague shapes who probed and then softly spoke a variety of somber observations. Serafina lost the ability to focus, or perhaps simply the will. Occasionally she would weakly call for Luca, a dim echo of the keening cry in her heart. If her father was in the room, he would storm about. Sometimes her mother wept.
But Luca never answered.
One afternoon she awoke to discover a stranger in her room. Serafina knew it was not her mother because the hair spilling down the back of the stranger’s dress was dark. The stranger turned around. Serafina realized it was her half sister. Gabriella moved about the room on silent feet, studying everything with an intent and satisfied air.
Serafina must have made a small sound, because Gabriella turned toward the bed. “You’re awake. I’m so pleased.”
Serafina had been very young when she had first realized that Gabriella genuinely detested her. The other sisters had certainly been cold to her. But Gabriella’s taunts had held a different air even then. Now she wore the expression Serafina had come to fear as a little girl.
“I thought you should know,” Gabriella said. “Father is going away. And he is taking your mother with him when he goes.”
Serafina was so weak she could not move, nor did she care to. But her thoughts were clear for the first time in days, and she realized the fever had left her. But she had no interest in speaking.
“Away, yes. Far away,” Gabriella taunted. “To America. Father has some secret mission he must perform for the merchant council. They were supposed to have already departed. But they couldn’t, you see. Not with you causing this terrible stir. But now the merchant council has said Father cannot wait any longer. The work has become very urgent. Everyone would be so proud of him, were it not for you.”
Gabriella sat down on the side of the bed. Now that she was close, Serafina realized with a start that she wore a new comb in her hair. One of palest jade, carved into the form of two doves kissing.
“Oh, do you like my comb? I was so surprised to find Carla with it in her pocket. I had been watching her, you see. I was worried she might try something.” Gabriella smiled as she touched the comb. “Since you were careless enough to lose it, Father said I should have it. Your mother objected, of course. But Father said you did not deserve it anymore. Now it’s mine.” She touched the pearls around her neck, held in place by a ruby red brooch. “Just like these. All mine.”
As Gabriella leaned over the bed, Serafina noticed that no amount of corn-silk powder could mask the roughness of her skin nor any amount of jewelry soften the hard edge to her dark gaze.
Yet Gabriella’s voice remained as gentle as a silken noose. “Eugenia and her husband are moving back into the house.” Eugenia was the oldest half sister. Gabriella reached out as though to touch Serafina’s face but did not actually make contact. Her tone was almost musical. “Her husband is taking Father’s place as head of our trading business. It was deemed only right that they should live here and act as guardians of the estate.”
Gabriella smiled dreamily, her pleasure exquisite. “Eugenia has already said I could have this room until my wedding. After all, since you cannot be trusted to go out on the balcony, why should you remain here?”
Gabriella obviously savored each word. “You will be moved back into the downstairs parlor. Surely you remember your former bedroom. The one with bars on the narrow window. Eugenia and I have talked everything through. You will be placed in my charge. And I will make you behave. Of that you can be very certain, my beautiful sister. Once Mother and Father are away, I will make certain that you are the height of respectability.”
Gabriella rose to her feet with a very satisfied sigh. “And now you know everything.”
Slowly she walked to stand by Serafina’s desk. She paused there, examining something upon the wall. “Well, almost everything. There are two more items. Small matters. But you might find them of interest.”
Slowly, with her gaze steady upon her half sister, Gabriella plucked the sketch Serafina had done of her from the wall. “Father has discovered something about your precious Luca.” The name held such venom in Gabriella’s mouth that Serafina could not quite suppress a shudder. But the murky light must have masked it, for Gabriella continued blithely, “I don’t know what it is. But your mother cried and cried for hours when she heard the news. They both have been so very upset. Don’t you worry, though. As soon as I learn what it is, you can be sure I shall tell you.”
Gabriella gripped the drawing with both hands and slowly tore it in half. “Also you might want to know that Roberto’s family has broken off his engagement to you.” She then tore the half into quarters, and the quarters into eighths. All the while her focus was steady upon the figure lying in the bed. “Hardly a surprise. After all, why would anyone want to marry you? Especially now that the world has seen what I have always known.”
The door to the hall flung open. Serafina’s mother demanded sharply, “What are you doing in here?”
“Just having a little visit with my dear sister.” Gabriella smiled down at the bed. “Look. She’s finally awake.”
Serafina’s mother moved to the bed and peered down. Her eyes were haunted, as though she had somehow managed to seize hold of Serafina’s fever. “My child,” she murmured. “Are you better?”
“She will be soon,” Gabriella said, moving toward the door. “I am very certain of that.”
Their mother observed Gabriella’s departure with a worried frown. She saw the bits of paper dangling from Gabriella’s hand and turned to study the wall. When the door closed, she returned her attention to Serafina. “My baby, my heart, won’t you eat a little something? For me?”
Serafina studied her mother’s face. She saw the fatigue and the stress and the pain, and she knew it was her fault. A tear burned its way from the corner of her eye. She nodded. Of course she could do this much, for her mother.
Everything else could wait until her parents were gone.
But Serafina’s fever did not give up that easily. The next morning it was back again, renewed in strength. To Serafina’s scattered mind it was as if she were being ravaged by a creature only she could see.
Several nights later, although Serafina was never certain how many, she woke to find herself being lifted by very strong hands. Whoever was carrying her smelled vaguely of tobacco and something acrid, perhaps tar. She was being carried inside her own blankets and bed linen, bundled up like an infant. She started to call out, but then she heard her mother’s voice beside her and felt her cool touch. Serafina wanted to speak with her, to apologize for all the trouble she had caused. But the words were too much of an effort, and she drifted off again.
Her dreams that night were scattered fragments of smells and sounds. She dreamed that she was lowered into a gondola and it was poled down a canal. Serafina knew this was impossible. After all, hadn’t her parents done their utmost to keep her imprisoned? She smelled the sweet fragrance of Venice’s watery lanes and drifted away once more.
She awoke again, but only partly, when she was lifted a second time. Or perhaps again it was a dream. This time she found herself unable even to open her eyes.
She next awoke to daylight. But not the illumination through her wooden blinds. Instead, there was a single round hole in a wooden wall.
Serafina rubbed her eyes. She studied her surroundings. The room was indeed wooden, as was the narrow bed in which she lay. The walls were curved and heavily beamed. Sunlight poured through the round window to her right. The room was filled with the smell of salt and the sound of rushing water.
She was on a ship. She could feel the faint motion now, a gentle rocking in time to the sound of splashing waves.
The door bolt slid back, and her mother entered the cabin. “Good morning, my precious daughter.” She bore a tray, which she set down gingerly upon the little table bene
ath the porthole. “I feel as though I must learn to walk all over again. Your father is dreadfully ill from the ship’s motions. Now I have two to care for.”
Serafina realized her mother thought she was still in the throes of the fever and spoke to her in the manner of one who did not expect to be heard. She licked dry lips and whispered, “Where am I?”
Her mother stiffened in amazement. She rushed to the bedside. “You truly are awake! My dearest one, how do you feel?”
Serafina again licked her lips. Her mother responded by pouring water from a pitcher into a pewter mug, then lifting Serafina’s head to hold it to her lips. Some of the liquid dribbled down the side of her face, and she coughed.
“Slowly, my dearest one. Slowly. The water is not going anywhere.”
She lay back, her chest heaving from the effort. “Where am I?”
“On a ship. Will you eat something?”
Serafina nodded, meaning she knew this was a vessel. But her mother took it as a signal that she would eat. Serafina accepted the food because she had no strength for an argument. But the food was tasteless. She swallowed and again asked, “Where am I?”
“I will only answer your questions if you finish your entire bowl. There. You see? I can be difficult as well. No, don’t bother asking anything more, my daughter. I shall not answer you until the spoon clanks upon the porcelain.”
So she allowed her mother to spoon in the gruel as if she were a little child, unable to feed herself. She found comfort in the simple act of lying there and being fed. But a sorrow as well. For with the meal came a growing clarity. Serafina knew the fever still lurked about. But for the moment her mind was clear enough to see once more the pain and suffering etched upon her mother’s face. Serafina wept in her heart for the distress caused to the one person she loved most in all the world. Except, of course, for Luca.
She heard the rushing water more clearly now and knew with dreadful certainty that every second took her farther away from her beloved.
She could remain silent no longer. “Why wouldn’t you let me go to him?”
The spoonful of gruel hesitated midway between the bowl and her mouth. This time her mother answered, in a voice turned deep with gravity. “Because he was not right for you.”
“He was, though. If only you would see that, none of this would have happened.”
The spoon remained poised in midair. “My dearest, I have something to tell . . . Are you strong enough to hear what I have to say?”
Serafina knew there were all sorts of arguments her mother could frame. Logical statements about how Luca was not this or not that. None of which mattered. “Why couldn’t you make them see? Couldn’t you let me have what they kept from you, Mother?”
“Make them . . .” She looked askance at her daughter. “My dearest child, I would have done anything to have protected you from this.”
“But you couldn’t. Don’t you see? I do love him. But you treated me just like your parents did you. And you let them.” She struggled to keep her voice from breaking. “They took your true love from you. Just like you took Luca from me.”
Her mother dropped both spoon and bowl with a clatter. “You still remember what I told you that day? You were only a tiny child—”
“I remember everything.”
“For years I regretted saying anything to you. I prayed you had forgotten. When you said nothing more, I thought my prayers had been answered.”
“I said nothing because you told me not to. Never.” The gruel filled her with a languid tiredness, such that the words poured out in a gentle stream. It was the most she had spoken since being recaptured. “You asked me to promise and I did. But I remember.”
“It was a terrible, terrible mistake to say what I did.” Her mother raised a fist to her forehead. “Why am I tormented like this? What did I do wrong?”
“You did nothing wrong, don’t you see? Nothing except keep Luca from me.”
“Luca was wrong for you!”
“I love him.” The tears had come without her realizing it. Both mother and daughter were weeping and yet fighting to keep the sobs from tearing their words apart. “Why can’t you see that?”
“Not see it? Not see it? Daughter, the entire world sees you have been poisoned by this man! I have news for you, my darling. But your father has spoken and I agree. You are not well enough to hear what we have learned!”
“You are the one making me ill!”
“Enough! This has gone far enough!” Her mother leaped up from the bed, stumbling over the bowl. She picked it up and flung it onto the tray. “You will not speak with me that way.”
“Why won’t you see—”
“I see perfectly. I see a child who will not accept that her parents know what is best for her! I see a child who must be protected!”
“I am not a child!” Serafina said the words as if there were a breath between each one.
“Are you not?” Her mother could not pace. The room was too small. “Then rise from this bed!”
“I love—”
“Do not speak to me of love. Would an adult love her parents and cause them such grief? Would an adult lie abed all these weeks, refusing to eat until she grew ill and close to death?” The room seemed to vibrate with the force of her mother’s words. “You say you are an adult? Then stand up and show me!”
But the fever was creeping up again. Serafina could feel its power overtaking her once more.
“There, you see? A child I said, because a child you are.” Her mother quivered with rage. “A child who is not strong enough to hear the truth about this man she claims she loves!”
Her mother opened the cabin door, picked up the tray, and slammed the door shut. Serafina lay still as death. The center of her chest was a hollow cavity, filled with a pain she knew would never go away.
Yet Serafina’s health did improve. The fever finally abated. One day for an hour or so. Then for three, then an entire morning, and eventually for a full day. She woke sometimes in the darkness of her little cabin and could sense it in the distance. Just waiting for a chance to return.
But she could not allow it to consume her any longer. For every day that passed took her farther from her love.
Serafina would never have thought herself capable of such determination. She had always been called willful. But this was something else entirely. She saw the world through a single lens. She needed strength and cunning to return to Luca. She had to make herself both well and strong.
She ate everything that was presented to her. As soon as she was able, she began exercising upon the deck. Because her father remained ill from the ship’s motion, Serafina was spared the necessity to dine with the ship’s officers and the other cabin passengers. Instead, she ate in her room. Often her mother joined her. But their conversations remained strained after the argument. Even her mother’s pleasure over Serafina’s recovery was muted by all that was left unsaid.
Serafina wished for some way to broach the distance and share her heart. But something in her mother’s dark-rimmed eyes said there was nothing to be gained from even trying.
They sailed the length of the Mediterranean. But once they passed the Gibraltar Straits, instead of aiming for America they turned north and east. Like most ships destined for a North Atlantic crossing, the ship was owned by British merchants. Serafina’s mother spoke of these matters to make conversation over a meal. The American ports charged higher tariffs to all European vessels not flying the British flag. Half of this vessel’s cargo was bound for England. They would stop briefly in Portsmouth, only long enough to unload Italian goods and take on a shipment of English wool. Serafina made a tight mask of her face when her mother divulged this information. But that night and several after she lay awake and planned.
Her mother had an aunt who now lived west of London, she recalled. Agatha had also been her mother’s closest childhood companion—more like an older sister. Agatha’s family were skilled craftsmen and woodworkers. Agatha was also Serafin
a’s godmother, but Serafina had not seen her in more than ten years. Agatha’s husband had journeyed from Italy to England and taken over a furniture business in a place called Bath. But Agatha sent her a letter and a gift every birthday. The letter was always warm and cheerful and signed “With love from your aunt Agatha.” The gift was normally a beautifully bound volume of English literature. Serafina always wrote her thanks in English, taking pride in her ability with this difficult language. And she had made her way slowly through several of the books, improving her English skills.
Now Serafina clung to the vague image of a woman she had last seen as a child. Agatha was Serafina’s final hope.
Serafina began taking her turns on the deck when she was certain her mother would not be around. She came to know several of the seamen by name. They would doff their caps or touch a knuckle to their forelocks as she passed, observing her movements in furtive glances. One of the midshipmen tried several times to strike up a conversation. Danny was a cheerful lad who became utterly tongue-tied whenever she approached. But Serafina had years of experience dealing with stammering young men. She pretended not to notice as he struggled to shape the simplest comment. She smiled prettily and ignored how his face blushed crimson at whatever remark she made.
From time to time she entered her parents’ cabin and sat with her father. The gentleman scarcely noticed her presence. He lay supine upon his bunk and groaned softly at each motion of the ship. The ship’s doctor came once while she was there, explaining that most people recovered in a week or so. As was her custom, Serafina’s mother had gone topside for a breath of air while her daughter sat with her ailing husband. The doctor was pleased with his ability to administer a tincture of laudanum. This was a new remedy for seasickness, the doctor explained, the first discovered to have a positive effect. The patient was able to hold down small meals if the first bite was taken with a spoonful of the potion. Sleep came before the meal was finished.
Heirs of Acadia - 03 - The Noble Fugitive Page 9
