by Sam Ferguson
“It’s all right mother, the physician is coming,” Eleanor said. Her thin hand reached out and stroked her mother’s leg over the thickest, best blanket they owned. Her mother was barely lucid. Sweat dripped down her forehead, and her hands shook even when she wasn’t coughing. Small circles of blood soaked into the rag she held in her hand.
Eleanor had gone hours ago for the physician. He said he would be there soon, but no one had come. The young girl of fourteen watched as her mother slipped back into a fitful sleep. Once she was sure the coughing fit had ended, Eleanor stood up and crossed the room in four steps, nearly tripping over the chamber pot as she went to the doorway. She pulled back the blankets and poked her head outside. It was still raining. Gray and black clouds filled the sky above, and mud ran through the streets below.
Across the street, a young boy played in the mud, shaping clumps into balls and stacking them together. Down to the right, a pair of young girls splashed in the puddles along with their dog, a mangy, wire-haired mutt. Up to the left, the street was empty, save for the rainwater rushing down the sides of the street and threatening to overflow into the houses. No matter which way she looked, there was no physician.
“I paid you already,” Eleanor mumbled under her breath as she continued to look up and down the street. Indeed, she had given the man four coppers, the last bit of money she knew of.
He kept it and never arrived.
Eleanor left the doorway when the last bit of light left the sky. There were no lamps in this part of the town. As the shadows crept through the street, so too did the mice and the stray cats, among other things that were much worse. The young girl went back inside and grabbed the rough cloth in her right hand, stretching it back across the doorway and hooking it over a large nail that acted as an anchor for the covering. Then she turned and grabbed the large, hollow crate and pulled it into the doorway behind the blanket. It wasn’t a complete door, but it helped keep some of the animals out.
The burglars and miscreants wouldn’t come into the shelter, so there was no fear from them. They would set in the shadows outside, waiting to pounce upon any fortunate enough to be returning from a day’s labor in the fields or the mines to the east. It wasn’t uncommon for such muggings to end with a body in the street the next day either, and the blankets over the doorway did little to keep her sheltered from the screams in the night.
Still, none of that worried her tonight.
Eleanor looked back to her mother’s pale face, matted with hair stuck to her scalp with sweat. Even in the most peaceful times of sleep now, her mother’s breathing came in short, struggling spurts. She tried to rouse her mother just enough for dinner.
“I made soup, mum,” Eleanor said with a cheery voice as she brought a clay bowl over to her mother. In truth, it was barely more than tepid water with a couple of cubed carrots and a third of an onion, but it was more than they had had the day before.
Normally it wasn’t as bad as all of this. Eleanor’s mother had a friend who sent them money each week. It was never much, but it had been enough to buy food and clothes through the years. Unfortunately, Eleanor’s mother had taken ill in late spring, coughing up blood and riddled with fevers. That ate up the money they had been saving. Eleanor’s mother had always said there would be a special surprise on Eleanor’s fourteenth birthday.
That day had come and gone over a month ago, but her mother was too sick to disclose what the surprise was.
Then, two weeks ago, the money stopped. Eleanor stretched it as best she could, but she wasn’t old enough to earn money with the day laborers, nor could she leave her mother alone for long.
“Mum, come on, we have to keep your strength up,” Eleanor said as she settled in at her mother’s bedside with the soup.
Her mother opened her green eyes and smiled lucidly for the first time that day.
“My little bumblebee,” she said softly. “You made dinner?”
Eleanor beamed proudly. “I did,” she said. She raised the bowl to her mother and helped her drink the broth.
“It’s good,” her mother said. “But, where is yours?”
“I already ate, while you were sleeping,” Eleanor lied.
Her mother nodded and continued drinking the soup from the bowl, stopping to chew the bits of carrot and onion as they came into her mouth. Then, once it was gone, she pushed herself up on shaking elbows.
“Mum, you should rest,” Eleanor said as she moved to block her mother.
“I’m all right. Listen to me for a bit.”
Eleanor scooted in close and her mother stroked her hair. “I never got to give you your present,” she said as she reached under her pillow for a white comb and moved to separate the tangles in Eleanor’s sandy hair. “I have it ready now, but before I give it to you, I want you to promise me something.”
“Anything, mum,” Eleanor said. She winced as her mother pulled at a knot in her hair with the comb that yanked on her scalp.
“I want you to promise to do whatever Horace Bagman tells you to do tomorrow.”
Eleanor’s brow drew into a knot above the bridge of her narrow nose and she pulled away to look at her mother. “Why should I do that, mum?”
“Uh-uh, you promised to do something for me. You can’t go back on it now.”
“I had my fingers crossed, you know, in case I didn’t like it.” Eleanor hurried to cross her fingers and then triumphantly display them to her mother. “So, I can change my mind now if I want to.”
Eleanor’s mother sighed and shook her head. She opened her mouth to speak, but was cut short by a fit of four coughs, each one more intense than the last until the woman was nearly doubled over.
“Are you okay?” Eleanor asked.
Her mother nodded her head and wiped her mouth. Eleanor didn’t miss the new, bright spots of blood on the rag.
“Promise me you will do what Horace says.”
“All right, mum, if it means that much to you. I will do what he wants me to do.”
Her mother nodded appreciatively. “That is as it should be. Now, take this to him tomorrow in the morning, and he will give you your present.”
“Your comb?” Eleanor asked as she looked at her mother’s comb. “But you said this was a gift from my father.”
Her mother winced at the mention of her father, and tried to hide the oncoming tears in a cough as she looked away before replying.
“It’s made of ivory,” she said. “This comb is going to Horace Bagman so that your father and I can give you one last birthday gift. You are fourteen now, and you deserve a proper gift. Something fitting a young lady. You be a good girl and do whatever Horace tells you, you hear?”
Eleanor nodded and took the comb when her mother pressed it into her chest. “All right, mum, I’ll do as he says.”
Her mother reached out and caressed her cheek with her hand. A single tear dripped down her bony cheek and she smiled once more before lying down upon the bed. “I love you, Eleanor, my little bumblebee. Remember to keep your chin up.”
“I will mum,” Eleanor said.
Her mother closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.
Eleanor slid off the bed and pulled a smaller blanket out from under the bed. She curled up on the floor next to her mother. She reached out and extinguished the candle, casting the room into near-total darkness, and went to sleep.
The next morning, Eleanor woke to the sound of a crowing rooster. Unfortunately, imagining the rooster made her stomach growl angrily. As she pressed up from the dirt floor, she rubbed her tummy and thought whether it was worth chancing Farmer McKnought’s wrath to try and steal a chicken, or maybe just an egg or two.
“Mum, what would you do if I stole an egg for us today?” Eleanor asked aloud. “Would you mind much if your little bumblebee turned to a life of crime?” An impish smile crept across her face and she turned to see if her mother had woken and heard her joke.
Her mother was very still, and very quiet.
“Mum? You awak
e?” Eleanor asked. No answer. She thought it was perhaps better to let her sleep. It was rare these days that her mother could sleep without waking up and coughing every few minutes.
Eleanor got up and went to the doorway. She poked her head outside. The rain was gone and the sun was out. The mud was still thick in the streets, but at least the day would be bright and warm. She moved the crate out of the doorway and then peeled back the wet blanket to let the light in.
It’s going to be a good day today. Eleanor let her hand wrap around the comb that she had tucked into her one pocket on the side of her trousers. She pulled it out and looked at it in the sunlight. She had heard of ivory before, but had never seen it. Or, at least she never realized that she had seen it. She just thought her mother’s comb was a nice trinket from her father. She had no idea that it was such an expensive item. She smiled as she ran her fingers over the fine teeth.
She was definitely going to take it with her today, but she was not trading it to Horace Bagman for any silly presents. No, she was going to find a real physician, and buy medicine too. She would probably even have enough left over to buy food. Maybe they could buy a chicken from Farmer McKnought!
Eleanor didn’t want to disappoint her mother, but she also didn’t need any silly toys. She was a young woman now, after all. She turned back to give her mother a goodbye kiss. She stepped across the room in four steps and started to bend down, but then noticed that her mother’s face was much paler than ever before. It was a ghastly grayish-white.
Eleanor sucked in a quick breath and shook her head as she bent low to her mother. She couldn’t hear her mother’s breath.
“Mum?” Eleanor said as she dropped her ear down to rest upon her mother’s breast. There was no breath, nor was there any heartbeat.
Eleanor dropped to her knees. Her mouth fell open and tears filled her eyes. If only she had known that last night was going to be the last. She would have stayed awake and rested beside her mother. She would have held her hand. She would have kissed her on the cheek and told her goodnight.
She looked down through her tears and studied the comb in her hand.
Why hadn’t her mother let her sell it long ago? Maybe it could have saved her. Now there was nothing the young woman could do. Her mother was gone, and was never going to wake.
She sat there, in a silent stupor, staring at her mother’s body. She reached up and slipped her hand in her mother’s and then rested her head upon her mother’s shoulder. She didn’t want to move, ever.
There was no way for her to know how long it was. Perhaps an hour or two had passed. Then, a tap came at the doorway.
“Hello to the house,” an old man said.
Eleanor turned and saw the physician she had hired the day before. He used his cane to keep the blanket moved to the side as he ducked low to enter. His black over cloak was caked with mud along the bottom, and water was soaking up past his ankles.
“Terribly sorry, young lady, but the Shiftens had their baby yesterday. It took some time, but they had a nice, healthy baby boy. He and mother are doing just fine, but by the time it was over…” he looked up and saw Eleanor. His eyes flicked to her mother and his pleasant smile faded. “Oh, I see.” He reached up and removed his hat, revealing a head of snow-white hair neatly combed to the side. “I’m terribly sorry.”
Maybe it was the insult that the physician had arrived after it was too late to do anything for her mother. Perhaps it was the cruel joke played by the gods that another family should have life brought into their family on the same night her mother died. Whatever it was, it put her over the edge. The tears fell and the anger rose. Before she even knew what happened she was up, crossing the room, and kicking the physician directly in the groin.
“You should have come!” she screamed as she kicked the man again.
Somehow, she ended up in his arms. The physician hugged her close, holding her tightly and leaning in with his head. She tried to wrestle free, but it was no use.
“Shh, quiet now, child.” The physician held her tighter as he spoke. “It’s all right, you go on and let it out.”
“I hate you!” Eleanor shouted through tears. Then she broke down into sobs and melted into the man. He continued to hold her, loosening his grip just slightly and turning the embrace into a more comforting one.
“That’s all right,” he said softly. “That’s all right.”
After a while, she pushed away and wiped her eyes. Somewhere deep inside herself she knew she should apologize, but the words never found their way to her mouth. She just glared at the man and crossed her arms.
The physician fished in his pocket and pulled out a few coins.
“I don’t have any copper on me, but I have some silver pieces. Take these, it’s the least I can do.”
“Take them and eat them for all I care, they won’t do me any good,” Eleanor spat.
The physician sighed. “All right. I’ll just set them on the crate over here.” He moved to the crate and dropped all of the silver coins onto the crate. Then he turned and offered a smile. “If you need someone to talk to, my door is always open.”
“Just go,” Eleanor shouted. She knew it wasn’t his fault. The physician had told her days before that there wasn’t much he could do anymore. Consumption was not an easy disease to fight. Still, he was the closest object onto which she could project her sadness and anger, so that is what she did.
She stared at the doorway for at least an hour before she finally was able to calm down enough to think. She looked back to her mother and thought of the last conversation they had had together. Eleanor moved to her mother and kissed her cold forehead, and then she left, taking the six silver coins with her.
Before she made her way to Horace Bagman’s house, she found Mr. Gib, the local mortician.
He was a short, fat man who lived just on the outskirts of the slums where the dirt road met the cobblestone and the shanties became proper, small houses. He was outside, nailing a new coffin together as she approached.
“’Ello, Eleanor. What can I do for you?” he asked with his bright hazel eyes beaming over his round, bearded cheeks.
“How much does it cost for a burial and a proper coffin?”
Mr. Gib’s smile changed to an expression of confusion and the man wiped his hands and set his hammer down. “Now, why should that question cross your mind?” he asked.
“My mother passed away last night,” Eleanor said, choking back the tears and doing her best to hold her head high.
Mr. Gib sighed and shook his head. “I heard she was sick,” he said. “I’m sorry to hear she’s gone.” He turned around and put a hand on his head while he sighed again, this time it went out through his teeth and made a slight, sad whistle. “Eleanor, I’ll tell you what, I can give her a proper burial. I won’t charge for the coffin, deary, okay?”
Eleanor shook her head. “I don’t want her in a pauper’s grave,” Eleanor said. “She deserves better than that.”
Mr. Gib nodded. “Most people do, your mother especially.”
“How much for a proper grave and a proper burial?” Eleanor pressed.
Mr. Gib pursed his lips and scratched his chin. “How much do you have?” he asked after a moment.
Eleanor held up the six silver coins and the ivory comb. “This is all I have.”
Mr. Gib shook his head. “No, no, that comb is for you. Your mother was firm on that.”
Eleanor scrunched up her face. “What do you know about it?”
Mr. Gib pointed down the road. “Mr. Tavers, the merchant who deals with fine jewelry, tried to buy it a year or two ago. I know, because I was there when he made the offer. That was back when your mother worked in the inn serving coffee and such to travelers. Well, your mother told him in no uncertain terms that it belonged to you and was going to be the one thing she would leave to you no matter what.”
Eleanor looked down to the comb, confused why it should matter so much to her mother.
Mr. Gib put on
a friendly smile and knelt in front of her. He gently took the comb and then slipped it into her pants pocket. “You don’t show this to anybody, you understand? This is yours, from your mother.”
“She told me to give it to Horace Bagman last night,” Eleanor said without thinking.
Mr. Gib’s left brow shot up and he cocked his head to the side. “Well then, I suppose you should do as your mother told you, but don’t flash it around, not in this town, you hear? You keep it safe and hidden in your pocket. You give it to Horace then, but no one else.”
Eleanor nodded.
“Also,” he continued, “I only need three silver coins to take care of your mother.”
Eleanor’s eyes went up to the two display coffins outside the house. The sign on the simple pine coffin said five silver. Even at fourteen, she knew the man was cutting her a deal he couldn’t afford. She held her hand out, with all six coins.
“I want her buried right,” Eleanor said.
Mr. Gib plucked three coins out of her small hand and smiled. “For your mother, I’ll get it done right for three silver. Now you get on over to Horace’s house. I bet your mother had something special planned for you.”
Eleanor nodded her thanks and watched the man move back to the coffins. His wife came out from the house just then and talked to him. Eleanor watched as they talked for a minute and then Mrs. Gib put her hand over her mouth and closed her eyes, dropping her head and shaking it slightly as Mr. Gib pulled her into an embrace.
Seeing the grief in another person was too much for her. She turned and made her way down the cobblestone street, headed for Horace Bagman’s house.
She turned twice to the left, and once to the right. When she came to the corner of Mercer and Beauregard streets, Eleanor turned to face a tall, skinny building made of brown brick. She went to the door and pushed it inward. A small brass bell jangled above her, bouncing on a type of spring and swinging back and forth. The room was well appointed, a fine woven tapestry hanging on each of the two side walls, both depicting large dragons entangled in battle. Upon the floor was a blue and silver rug with a floral pattern woven into it. Alongside the rug were two long cases of glass that displayed fine pieces of jewelry.
