by Joyce Alec
She opened the door slowly and felt a cold seep into her bones as she saw him lying on the bed, still as pale as the sheets he was wrapped in.
It felt as if it took her a lifetime to cross the floor to where he lay, and with each step, her fear grew more and more. There was still a part of her that denied that this was William in this bed, that wanted her to believe this was all some sort of horrible nightmare that she had brought upon herself by her actions, and that soon she would wake and leave for home to make it all right with him again.
But no, this was her reality now. Her husband, lying on what could very well be his death bed, and the only evidence of life was the slight rise and fall of his chest and the ragged, rasping sound of his breath.
She looked into his face, and was glad that the gash across his forehead had been dressed and the blood was gone. She saw his chest wrapped in a linen cloth, just as the doctor had said, and she noticed more bandages over his shoulders and on his arms.
She had never imagined that she would ever see anyone like this in her whole life, so broken and bruised. And never would she have imagined that it was her husband.
We have not been married five months yet…
The thought passed through her mind like a whisper and caused tears to spring to her eyes. As the tears flowed down her cheeks, they splashed onto the bed, right beside where his arm lay, still and bandaged.
“Who did this to you?” she whispered quietly, and she took his hand in her own. She knew it would be dangerous to move him very much, and so she only held onto him gently, and her tears continued to fall. “What have I done, William? What did I do to you?”
She could not see him through the tears in her eyes. She looked down, and put both of her hands around the one hand of his she held.
“Why did I do what I did? I was so foolish, so ridiculous to have behaved the way I did…”
There was no response in his face. He had not acknowledged anyone that she had seen, but somehow, she had hoped that her presence would have been enough to rouse him. Perhaps her voice, or the smell of her, or even simply her being there.
Love is supposed to do things like that, right? Cause miracles to happen?
“William, I am so very sorry,” she said, the guilt that had filled her before coming back in a growing tide. “This is all my fault, isn’t it? If I had just stayed at home and given you the chance to speak, then none of this would have happened…”
She felt her knees tremble beneath her, and she groaned angrily, forcing herself to stay upright. She pulled a chair next to his bed.
He needs you, now more than he ever has. You must not leave his side.
“What have I done?” she repeated. “What have I done?”
She was not sure how long she stood there, at his side, wondering and waiting, hoping and fearing for his life. It may have been moments, or perhaps hours. But she knew that if she left him and he died, she would never forgive herself.
My life will end after today, she realized. Everything I have known and everything I will know will now be centered around this moment. And it is all because of my own foolishness.
She grimaced, the sneer a mocking gesture to herself, and a hoarse laugh escaped her mouth.
So much for my own sensibilities and cleverness. Look where all of that got me. Here, in a room with my dying husband, awaiting the outcome.
She wondered if she would ever have any more tears to cry.
7
Truth
The room was quiet apart from the crackling fire in the fireplace. Beatrice was only partially aware of all the murmured voices in the room across the hall, but they were only muffled tones. The fire still burned bright in the fireplace, but she felt no warmth from it.
She adjusted the blankets around William, hoping to keep him warm. His body would shiver occasionally, and she assumed it was from the cold. Beads of sweat were scattered across his forehead, and his skin was clammy to the touch.
She passed a wet, cool cloth over his face, placing it into the bowl of water on the table beside her, wringing it out and then wiping the sweat from his brow. Her heart clenched as she realized that it took him lying there for her to be so tender and affectionate with him.
I have never stroked his face like this before…
She noticed, for the first time, a scar just below his left ear. It was thin and not very wide, but she wondered about the story behind it. She did not remember him ever mentioning it, but perhaps he had it for so long that he had forgotten about it.
She also discovered that his face was growing stubble, and it was coming in very dark. She had always seen him clean shaven, and seeing him with a beard drew a strange longing in her.
If only I knew he would survive long enough for me to see if I found him handsome with a beard… but perhaps I will never know…
She placed the cloth back in the wash basin, and she noticed a black book on the table beside it.
One of Robert’s Bibles…
She wondered who had brought it into the room, and realized immediately it must have been John. He did not go far without it.
She hesitantly reached for it, and found the softness of the cover comforting.
I do not remember the last time I opened my Bible…
She picked it up and drew it up to herself, holding it tightly in her hands. She had no desire to open it, because she did not know where she would even begin to look for comfort at that moment. She had spent much of her life studying it, especially when she was younger, and so she knew it well. Or, at least, she thought she did. Her brother Robert often proved her wrong, but she enjoyed engaging him in conversation for understanding.
I haven’t spent much time praying lately, either…
And somehow, in that moment, it felt almost impossible to try. It was the time when she would need the Lord’s help the most, but she was not even sure how she could begin.
She held the Bible close to her heart and found that just having it near her was comforting. She knew all of the wisdom in the entire world was in that small book, and yet, she felt entirely helpless to seek it out.
As she peered into her husband’s still, pale face, she felt a tugging in her heart.
Is there a better time than now to pray?
She could not think of one, and so, she reached out and took William’s hand in her own again.
Her heart skipped a beat when she felt how cold it was.
She closed her eyes.
Lord, I…
Thousands of feelings washed over her as she opened her heart. Fear, hope, love, anger, guilt, frustration, sorrow, joy, and peace. She could not make sense of any of them, and for a moment, she was lost among them.
When she was able to see past them all, she took a deep breath and pressed on.
Lord, there is so much happening right now, and at the same time, nothing at all. I feel as if I am waiting and running away screaming all at the same time. None of this makes any sense, and I feel responsible for it all…
She opened her eyes and looked into William’s face again. She wondered if she saw a flicker in his eyelids, but she knew it was only what she hoped to see.
If I had not left home in such a state, William would not have tried to come look for me, and then… then he would not be here, like this.
She blinked away some tears and squeezed his hand harder.
I do not feel like I have any right to approach you like this, but I know that Your Word tells me otherwise. I am sorry that I have been so distant, so troubled. I am sorry if my actions disappointed you and made me forget all of Your goodness and mercies.
Her thoughts flooded her mind once more, things that she had known were good and right, and all those things that she had known were wrong.
She cried not only for William, but also for herself now.
I know not what Your plan is, Father in heaven, but I do know that Your Word promises that You work out everything for those who love You. I ask You—no, beg You—to heal my W
illiam. He did not deserve to suffer for my actions, and I do not think I could live with myself knowing that he died because of my actions. I know it is indirect, but it never would have happened if I…
She collapsed beside the bed, and sobbed into the mattress and blankets, still grasping William’s hand and the Bible pressed tightly to her chest.
Please heal him. I know that vows or promises do not convince You or change Your mind, for Your will is good and perfect, but this is the deepest desire of my heart. And I feel so ashamed that it took something this extreme for me to realize how foolish I was, and how shallow and fragile my own thoughts were.
She felt empty, spent, and exhausted. She laid her head against the side of the mattress, her knees aching beneath her.
But… if Your will is to take him home to Yourself today, then…
She squeezed her eyes shut tight, the pain almost unbearable.
Then please give me the peace and the strength to endure the loss, and his absence.
There was the sound of a gentle tapping from somewhere. Dazed, she looked up, wondering if somehow, in some wild way, William was making the sound.
It came again, and she realized it was coming from the door.
Slowly, and with much more effort than she would have believed, she rose to her feet.
She never released William’s hand.
“Come in,” she said.
John appeared in the doorframe, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open, as if seeing William had made it all real to him. His handsome face was pale, and his dark blue eyes looked intently at Beatrice.
“May I?” he asked.
Beatrice nodded.
John stepped inside and gently closed the door behind him.
“The doctor said that he is resting, but that he wasn’t sure what else he could do,” John said cautiously, walking to the other side of the bed.
He looked down at William, and his jaw tightened.
“Oh, Beatrice… I am so sorry this all happened.”
“I am too,” she replied quietly. She still felt hollow, like an empty chrysalis after a butterfly had left.
She wondered if she would ever be whole again.
“You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about,” John said, shaking his head. “You did nothing wrong here.”
“I did, though,” she said before she was able to stop herself.
John’s brow furrowed. “Beatrice, you must need to rest. All this stress has caused you pain. You are not making sense. Come,” he said, and he started to walk toward her, his arm outstretched.
Beatrice took a step away from the bed. “No, John. This is my fault. Perhaps not directly, but…”
“Beatrice,” he began, cautiously.
Beatrice sighed heavily. Well, I already told him too much…
She explained to him that she and William had had an argument back at their manor the day before.
“I started it,” Beatrice went on. “I was being unreasonable, questioning my own humility and my pride was getting in the way. I… unfairly took it out on him. I thought it was his fault.”
She stroked William’s forehead, and brushed a sweat soaked strand of hair from the bandage there.
“I fled here because I was too childish to face him or my feelings again, thinking that some time away from him would be good for me, and allow me to decide if…”
She did not feel the need to tell her brother that she had wondered if her choice in marriage was a good one, because looking back on it, she saw it was foolish, regardless of how upset she was.
“Allow me to decide how to cope with my feelings about my marriage. William did not feel this way at all, and seemed confused that I did,” she murmured, her breath coming in shutters. “It was all in my own heart.”
“And so what happened?” John asked, his gaze not moving from her face.
She shrugged her shoulders. “I assume that he attempted to follow me here, to try and make things right between us.” Her eyes welled with tears. “The wonderful man, trying to make me feel better and work with me instead of running away like I did.”
She hung her head, and more tears splashed onto the front of her nightgown. “I am a fool, John, and I do not know if I will ever have the chance to tell William how sorry I am for leaving.”
She heard John shift uncomfortably.
“I am sure he knows that you did not intend to harm him in any way,” John finally said, his tone low and soft.
“I feel as if it is my fault that he is lying there in this bed,” Beatrice said, as if he had not spoken. “If I had not argued with him, I would not have left, and then none of this would have happened.”
“There is no use feeling sorry for yourself, Beatrice. Accidents happen,” John said. “William would never want for you to feel this way.”
Beatrice exclaimed, gesturing down to him. “He may never feel anything ever again! And it is all because of my own stupid pride.”
She felt arms around her shoulder and knew that they belonged to John. He pulled her into a hug, and she allowed it. She did not feel as if she could cry anymore, and so she just let him hold her close.
His presence was comforting, but she felt unsatisfied. Nothing that anyone could say or do would change how she felt about everything that was happening around her.
“I’m sorry that I lied to you,” Beatrice said.
“Lied to me? How?” John asked.
“William was not on a hunting trip. I just did not want to admit that anything was wrong, and so I made it all up.”
“Why did you not want to tell us?” John asked.
“Because I did not want to admit that I had made a bad choice, or had fought with him. Then I would have had to explain that I was frustrated because I had not been right about how I thought that you, Jane, and Robert had—”
She looked at John, whose face had not changed.
“I am sorry,” she said. “I always told myself that I thought that you, Robert, and Jane had put yourself through needless suffering before you were married. I felt you had made it too hard on yourselves and were too cautious. I could not understand why any of you did not jump at the first good opportunity that came to you. So when William showed interest again, I meant to prove that my theory was right. We had been friends, and he had always been in love with me, and I just… accepted.”
John’s face was still unmoving.
“I felt he would be a good husband, attentive and kind, and I knew I would be a good wife for him. I had learned all the necessary skills, and the manor has the most extensive gardens. I knew there was nothing to surprise me of his character… it just seemed to make sense.”
“And you doubt that now?”
Beatrice stared at him. “You aren’t furious with me for thinking such things about you and the others?”
John shrugged his shoulders. “I was unwise; Agnes will be the first to tell you. But that does not mean that we were wrong. The tone of your voice tells me that you believe that now as well.”
Beatrice hung her head.
“But you avoided my question,” John went on. “Do you doubt that he is a good husband? Or that you are a good wife?”
“That was partially what led to our argument, and now I realize how wrong I was.”
She looked back down at William. “I cannot lose him now, John. And I despise the fact that it took something like this for me to see what he truly means to me.”
John pursed his lips, and she saw his face tighten. “I understand,” he replied simply.
He glanced at the door. “I should go and tell everyone how he is doing. There has not been any change, and that could be a good thing, Beatrice.”
She did not look up at her brother.
“Or it could mean that we are just waiting for him to pass, and all of this hoping will be for naught.”
“Well, I know that regardless of what is going to happen, the doctor will want to see him again soon. Shall I go and retrieve him?”
B
eatrice shrugged her shoulders. “I do not see what good it will do. He told me that he does not know how long William has left.”
She could not believe that those words were coming out of her own mouth.
She saw John leave the room out of the corner of her eye, and she heard the door latch quietly.
“Oh, William,” she said, stroking his cheek with the tips of her fingers. “Please wake up. You are strong, you can fight this. I know that you can.”
She felt her hands start to tremble again, wishing that she could somehow give him her own strength and will.
More than anything, I want to know if he can hear me, if he is still in there somewhere. Does he know that I am out here, praying for him? Does he know that I even care, and that I know what has happened?
She could not imagine a life where his handsome face was not the first thing that she saw each morning. She could not imagine a life where she would not walk with him through the gardens again, hearing his heartfelt compliments at the state of her roses and flowers, impressed by her knowledge of botany.
She could not imagine a place where Arnold would be alone, without William, and how sad he would be if he never came home.
All of this sorrow was pointing her to one thought, and it was a new thought, something that had never filled her as much as it had now.
I love you, she thought.
“I love you,” she repeated out loud. She stroked his cheek again. “William, I love you more than I have ever loved anyone in my entire life.”
She leaned closer to him, her voice becoming more urgent.
She had to let him know. She could not go on any longer without him knowing, even if it was just to get it out of her own head.
“I love you, William. I do not know if I have ever meant it as fully as I do now, but you must know. I loved you when we were married, and I think I even loved you before you showed interest. There has never been another man who has made me feel as safe and comfortable as you do. And your affection and care for me is so strong that I should have never doubted your intentions.”
She smiled.
“I adore your laugh, and you always know what to say to make me smile. You are never cross, and that in and of itself is almost infuriating. But your level head and calm demeanor has kept me grounded, and taught me to look at things in an entirely new light. I…”
