Shadows Gray

by Melyssa Williams

  “There’s no way I’m wearing this. It’s too short anyway. My legs will freeze. Now give me a blanket; the big one.” He pulls it out from under me like a magician who yanks out a tablecloth and leaves all the place settings. I am left on the bed, trying to get my giggles under control.

  “What are you doing now?” I lean over and watch Israel as he is gingerly pulling back the dust ruffle on the bed and peering under. “Looking for bogey men?”

  “Spiders,” comes the muffled reply. “I despise spiders.”

  I start laughing again and only stop when my breath runs out.

  ********************

  The next couple of days are long and slow and dreadfully monotonous. I help Lu around the house as much as I can but it is obvious she is a loner and I am only in the way. I spy her with a basket of clothes and surprise her by speaking enough broken Chinese that we can get a sort of hobbled conversation going. The clothes, she says, are either forms of payments from patients of Dr. Smythe’s, or hand-me-downs. They are for Dad and Israel and I, and she apologizes for their condition. I thank her graciously (dear old Lady Halloway’s muslin is getting a bit of a funk to its smell so I am rather grateful). I am not so grateful when Lu informs me I need to be wearing a corset.

  “You’ll need it anyway to get into this one; it’s very small,” she holds up a yellow dress with a million tiny buttons. It looks like it would fit Emme, not me. Lu sees my doubtful air and presses it into my hands along with the blasted corset. “You’ll look very nice,” she says, and I see her smile for the first time in the three days I’ve known her.

  “Yes, I’ll make a very nice looking corpse,” I agree a few minutes later as Lu yanks on the laces of the corset. “Holy Moses, woman! I can’t breathe!”

  As a parting shot, she pulls them another centimeter tighter and pats my head in a mothering way. “You’ll live,” she replies, cheerfully. My, my, Lu just needed to see someone in pain for her mood to lighten. I must introduce her to Prue soon. Prue and Lu. They’ll be quite the vaudeville act in my sorry life.

  While standing in the yellow dress and instrument of torture that is my corset is painful enough, trying to sit in it, with the whale bones poking into each and every rib and my lungs collapsing in agony and surrender is even worse, and so I decide to walk for the afternoon and try to find Bea or Emme or Luke. I have seen Bea once the day before yesterday, along with Joe, but I can’t help worrying both for Emme, who is playing a dangerous game in a dirty city, and for Luke, who is attempting to live through his first travel as a Lost. He must be so bewildered.

  I retrace my steps as best I can, from the afternoon we left Luke and walked to Smythe’s place. I am sure I probably walk in circles and am getting myself hopelessly lost, but it seems right. I seem to think I remember this particular storefront, and that particular cranky looking man who barks at me to buy his fish. I am almost certain this is the neighborhood we woke up in and I believe I can see the blue doorway that Emme said she arrived near. There’s the store across the way that Luke said he found himself behind. I remember the smell of sweated cabbage that is the Thames and since my breath is coming in short shallow gasps now, I think I’d better stop and take a rest. Since sitting is too desperately uncomfortable, I choose to lean against the nearest building and stare out at the water. I hear the barking of the fish man from a block away and since the day is bright and sunny – somewhat of a rarity in England, especially in rainy December – the street is bustling with people. I hardly notice when someone slows their walking and stops a short distance from me. Out of my peripheral vision I see a figure in a charcoal gray cape but that is all I see until the person speaks and I spin to face the speaker.

  “Hello, sister,” says Rose. “I knew you would find me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I feel calm, shockingly so. I don’t feel as though my legs will collapse or that I can’t breathe, the way I felt the other times I saw Rose. Instead, my thoughts are collected and tranquil and I do not shake or feel faint. I do feel though, that my heart is beating exceedingly loudly and that my feeble ribs will not be able to contain it much longer. They may snap like dried kindling, allowing my heart to leap out like a wild, untamed thing.

  “I knew you’d come,” she says lightly. Her eyes avoid mine and she speaks evenly. The hood of her gray cape is low over her forehead, and I can see her blonde hair straggling out in wispy strands that blow softly around her face. She has a soft spoken voice that sounds nearly childlike.

  She is close enough to touch, but something holds me back. Trepidation of some sort. Or a fear that she will disappear like a phantom or a spirit if I reach out. Will my hand pass right through her like an apparition? I won’t try it.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” I say softly, almost the way I would speak to a scared child or a wounded animal. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

  “Why would you think that?” she asks lightly, pulling her cape closer around her bird like frame and staring out at the river. “I’m your sister, aren’t I? Don’t we belong together, you and I?”

  “Yes,” I swallow hard. “We do. But we’ve been apart so long. Are you-” I don’t know how to finish my question: are you alright, are you happy, are you really here?

  “Oh, I’m fine, sister,” she still doesn’t look at me; though she turns her head to face me, her eyes stare blankly at a spot over my shoulder and she brings her hand to her mouth and begins to nibble at her nails. “You? You’ve been well all these years? Living with our father?”

  “Yes. He’ll be so anxious to see you and so happy too.” What a ridiculous understatement. “Will you,” I clear my throat. “Will you come and see him?”

  “Oh, not today. I’m very busy today. Perhaps another time.” She pulls her hand away from her mouth then and I wince at the sight of blood lining her cuticles. She has bitten them to the quick.

  “Another time? No, Rose, please. Please come with me.” I am confused by her attitude and it shows itself in my shaky voice. I finally reach out and touch her arm, just touch it lightly. She moves away with an apologetic smile.

  “No, no, I really mustn’t. I have to finish my walk and I have to meet my friend. I don’t like to upset my schedule. It’s not good for me to upset my schedule. The doctors say so. You understand.”

  “What doctors, Rose? Are you ill?” Is this my fate then; to find my sister and lose her so quickly to some dreadful disease? My heart begins its terrible thudding in my chest again and this time when I reach out, I grasp her arm more forcefully.

  She shakes me off with unanticipated strength and shakes her head at me. “No, no, don’t pull on me, I don’t like it.” She frowns and brushes the spot on her elbow where I had grabbed her as if the touch is implanted or seared on her cape. As if I’ve soiled it.

  “But what doctors, Rose?”

  “The ones at the hospital, silly.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Not now,” she narrows her eyes. “The doctors aren’t here because they are all dead. From before, they were here before, like I was here before. You travel like me so you must know.” She speaks impatiently, like she doesn’t like explaining and I am beginning to exasperate her.

  I don’t understand but I will change the subject if what I’m saying agitates her. “Where are you staying?”

  “Home, of course. I’m always home. Sometimes home is different but it’s alright because it isn’t the hospital. I don’t want to go back to the hospital but I always do.” She shakes her head vehemently and her hood falls back. Her hair is dirty and stringy yet she is impossibly beautiful.

  “I won’t make you go back to the hospital.” I promise. Again, I speak as I would to a cornered animal that I’m afraid would bolt if I were to scare it.

  “Were you there?” Rose cocks her head to the side and for the first time, stares directly into my eyes. It’s like looking into a looking glass: her pale eyes are the exact shade as mine. “You look familiar. Do
you know me?”

  “Of course I do. I’m Sonnet, your sister. Remember?” I want to cry but I swallow back the lump in my throat.

  “Oh yes. I forgot, but now I remember,” she laughs at herself. “Sometimes I can be so silly. We weren’t at the hospital together, we were babies together. Yes,” her voice slows, “We were babies but you left me behind. How could you, Sonnet?” She looks devastated.

  “No! We didn’t mean to! We didn’t want to travel without you. It just happened. We’ve been so worried all this time, but now you’re here and we can be a family again.” I must make her see. Why is she acting this way?

  “Families don’t leave their babies behind. I don’t like you. I have to go home.” She pulls her hood back up over her tousled hair. “I don’t like to be late for tea. It’s nice to be back where there’s tea, don’t you think? You can come for tea some day, but not today. You can come visit me even though I don’t like you because it’s important to have good manners. Doctor says so. I like to have lots of people over for tea. Lots of interesting people because they amuse me.”

  “Alright,” I falter. “I’ll come for tea another day. Will you tell me where your home is?”

  Rose waves her hand down the street. “I don’t want to tell you the exact house, because I don’t know you, you see and it wouldn’t be safe, now would it? That’s not sensible. There are bad people in the world, bad people here too. I met a bad man yesterday. He won’t hurt me though, he told me so. He said I was a good girl. He might hurt you though.”

  “Why would he hurt me?”

  “Because you are a bad girl! He wants to hurt the bad girls. You left behind a baby. Bad girl. You shouldn’t leave babies behind. It makes them sad.” Rose turns again and begins to walk away.

  “Wait! Did Old Babba find you? Did she raise you?” I can’t leave without at least that question being answered.

  “Old Babba hated me and I hated her. I remember that. I was very happy when she died. So happy. I danced and danced.” Rose closes her eyes, remembering, and begins to sway. “I like dancing. They let me dance in the hospital when I was good. We had balls every month with music and dancing and everything. Did they put you in the hospital too, when you told them you could travel through time?”

  “No, they didn’t put me there. What hospital, Rose?”

  “Why, Bedlam, of course,” she stops swaying and looks surprised that I don’t know. “I grew up in Bedlam. Well, I must be off, sister. You know what they say, don’t you?”

  “No,” I whisper. “What do they say, Rose?”

  “’Go thy way! Let me go mine. I to rage, you to dine.’”

  ********************

  I am still standing there several minutes later. A half hour, an hour, a day, I don’t know. Rose had walked away, in the opposite direction of where I came from and where I will return eventually, once I find my center of gravity again. I feel sick; sick with sorrow, sick with dread.

  My sweet sister is mad. If she wasn’t mad before Bedlam, she was after they were through with her. I know some history; I am familiar with some of the famous hospital’s reputation as a freak show for people to gawk at, for their crude experiments and half baked rehabilitation attempts. If Rose had any sanity at all when they found her, they probably strapped that sanity down to a gurney and operated on it, or medicated it with horrible things. Didn’t they open their doors to the public and let them come and poke fun and fingers at all the lunatics, all for the price of a ticket? What had Rose endured? And could she ever recover from such a thing?

  London seems to pull the Lost in like a magnet, or like a moth to a flame. This is Prue’s second travel here, as well as Emme’s, and evidently the second for Rose. What is it about this place that draws us here, unwillingly and accidently? Is there a fate that awaits us in London?

  ********************

  Eventually, I grow cold enough that I feel as though I must move my bones or lose them to the beginnings of frostbite. I walk home as if on auto pilot, my feet trudging obediently through the puddles and over the cobblestones, until I reach the three steps that descend down to the door of Dr. Smythe’s house. Our house. I let myself in and hang my cloak up near the fire to dry as it had rained on me at some point, though I hardly noticed. I do not see Dad anywhere, and am glad for it: I have not figured out what to say to him or anyone, concerning Rose. Of course I don’t intend to just leave her, I will not abandon her to a life without us any longer, but I am unsure how to describe her. ‘Simple’ will hardly prepare Dad and Prue and Israel for the shell that is Rose.

  I wander into Lu’s kitchen and prepare myself a cup of tea. A week in old England and I’m officially addicted to the strong, boiling hot brew. I barely even miss toffee cream breves anymore. I am adaptable…like a small puppy drug around on a leash, I go where my unseen handler leads, helpless to object and so I simply acclimatize.

  I finish my tea and still have not decided what to do about Rose. Part of me wants to find her immediately and bring her here, by force if necessary. Could Dr. Smythe help her? Are there medications or procedures that would help her fragile mind? Or could it be that today was simply a bad day and maybe, just maybe, she isn’t really the way she seemed to me: broken and empty?

  Who was the friend she spoke of? Did she really dance when Old Babba died? Who was the bad man she spoke of?

  Tired and desperate to turn my brain off, I go to bed before anyone in the house even comes home for supper. I wait until I hear them before I will myself to sleep and even in my dreams, I have no peace.

  “She’s not right, Caroline. She’s unholy, that’s what she is. She killed that cat.”

  I listen from under the table again. I have stilled my hands from playing with my doll and my ears itch from straining to listen. Who killed a cat?

  “It was an accident, Babba. Rose is a good girl. Don’t speak about her like that.”

  “She’s unhinged. She’s not right, you know it, and the whole village knows it! She bit that woman in the square and laughed when she bled. What child does that? You have to take her far from here! If you won’t do it for everyone else’s safety, do it for the girl. You still have another child, Caroline…what will happen to Sonnet if you leave Rose to her own devices?”

  “Rose loves Sonnet. Nothing bad is going to happen. You’ll see.”

  “It’s you that will see, mark my words. You’ll see that nothing good comes from offering solace to Satan.”

  I wake, cold and shivering and in the dark. It is the middle of the night and pitch black. I know from the sound of breathing from the floor by my bed that Israel has returned and is sleeping. I almost wished he snored; the silence is menacing and threatening and causes me to brood on the meaning of my strange nightmare.

  I lean over the bed and adjust myself so that I am comfortable on my pillow and yet can keep my hand just touching Israel’s chest. Just a touch.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  It’s Christmas Day and our celebration is half hearted. Lu, being Chinese, doesn’t celebrate the holiday and Dr. Smythe tells us apologetically that since he never liked Christmas much he doesn’t feel the need to impose it on his wife. It’s any other day to them and since it is their house, any objections seem crass and impolite.

  So, it’s off to Bea’s new house we go; simple hand make gifts tucked under our arms as Israel, Dad and I leave the Smythe’s. We will collect Prue on the way and take her for dinner with us and return her afterwards. Emme and Joe will of course be there. All we are missing is Luke, and of course, Rose.

  It’s been two days since my conversation with my sister and I have told no one. Several times I have rehearsed a dialogue with Israel in my head, but each time I open my lips nothing comes out. It’s as though I need to speak with her again, feel her out, see if things are as bad as I fear, and then come to a decision.

  Also, I don’t know where exactly to find her again. And my family has been through me and my madcap searches for Rose before. They have
n’t exactly ended well up to now.

  Dad has collected enough shillings and Israel has earned a tiny salary this week so that we can take an omnibus to pick up Prue and get back home again. Prue had sent a message boy to let us know that she had secured a position with Sir Halloway three days ago and is comfortably situated. Whether or not she is close enough in proximity to us to travel with us again remains to be seen, but hopefully time is on our side and eventually we can all find homes nearer to one another. Dad has kept tabs on Bea and Joe and they are content enough in a small room in a rundown neighborhood where Bea is attempting to do enough laundry to eke out a living. Emme is living with some other girls; I try not to think of it as a brothel.

  “Prue!” I give in to a rare display of courage and pounce on her as she enters our tiny carriage, enfolding her in my embrace. “I’ve missed you!”

  “Good Lord, child, don’t smother an old woman,” Prue brushes off her old coat and smoothes out imaginary wrinkles, but I can tell she’s pleased enough to see me. “Well, look at you. You look like a woman, now don’t you?”

  I look down at my blue dress. It’s a new one from Lu. I spent yesterday letting out the hem to accommodate my height and it does look rather nice I think. It’s a sapphire kind of color, and the jewel tone sets off my hair and skin tone. At least that’s what I think Lu told me.

  “Thanks for noticing,” I respond, dryly. “These two wouldn’t notice if I was wearing a potato sack.” I gesture to Dad and Is.

  Dad looks offended. “Didn’t I say you looked nice? I thought I said so. You look very pretty, Sonny, dear.” He pats my knee, absentmindedly as ever and goes back to staring out the omnibus window. He always acts absentminded when he isn’t intoxicated.

  Israel doesn’t take the bait. “What?”

  “You didn’t notice my dress. Just like you didn’t notice the last time I got dressed up.” I may as well back him into a corner, I think. See if a cornered mouse will take the bait.