by P. K. Tyler
Wiping sweat from his brow, Wolt worked the kinks out of his neck. He had been cooped up in his lab for most of the day. Guilt nibbled at him for neglecting Eleanor. She understood his work was important and never once complained about his late working hours, at least not out loud. Her dispproving look he sometimes glimpsed spoke volumes.
Passing the kitchen, Wolt saw Judith prepare some tea. The sweet scent of chamomile and honey drifted soothingly to his nose. “How is she today, Judith?”
The housekeeper—with her greying hair—turned to Wolt and smiled kindly. “She’s had a tough day, sir. Leg spasms kept her from leaving bed. More than once I had to use a cooling balm on her legs to keep the cramps at bay. She was nauseated for most of the day. Doctor Pennyworth came by and gave her something for it. She’s slightly better now and asked for tea and ginger cookies.”
“Thank you, Judith.”
“Just doing my work, sir. No need for thanks.”
“I’ll take the tea to her. And take tomorrow off. You deserve the rest.”
“Sir’s too kind.” Judith finished preparing the tea tray and handed it to Wolt. “She misses you, sir.”
“I know.” Wolt’s head sagged in guilt. Fixing his gaze on the teacups and ginger cookies, he did not lift his head when he felt the gentle pressure of Judith's hand on his shoulder.
“If I may be so bold, sir, to speak plainly this once… Don’t stay cooped up in your lab for too long. You are missing time with your wife and time’s running out for her, sir. There’s precious little of it left.”
“Judith—” Wolt’s grey eyes now rested firmly on her washed-out blue orbs. Wisdom sparkled in those blue pools.
“Please, sir, let me say my peace this once.” Her voice was soft and motherly, never once rebuking him for neglecting Eleanor. “Time won’t stand still until a cure can be found, sir. It’s the tragedy of living. Time runs out for all of us, regardless of our goals. She can live forever in your heart, sir. In your memories, you can visit her and relive the good times. If nothing else, sir, make more memories with her before it’s too late.”
Wolt nodded absently, swallowing the lump in his throat. Chewing his bottom lip, he looked much like a scolded teenager instead of the brilliant scientist that he was.
“The tea is getting cold, sir. I bid you a good night.”
“’Night, Judith. Thank you.”
The old woman smiled kindly at him before leaving. Wolt watched her stocky frame amble down the hallway. A hollow thud resounded where wood met wood. Pale, worn wood peeked discreetly under heavy black skirts. The mute surprise amused him. Of all the things Judith could have asked for when they visited the Netherlands so many years ago...clogs! The mind boggles when it comes to the mystery that is Judith.
* * *
With a heavy heart, Wolt walked slowly to their bedroom. Richly woven tapestries depicting ancient battles and knights lined the walls. The tapestry of Lancelot remained Eleanor's favourite: the knight in luminous white armour held out a rose to Guinevere. The tapestry stirred some mild annoyance in him. King Arthur was not captured in the weaved thread. It was as if the weaver thought him insignificant.
Insignificant.
The self-same word those archaic fools had used to describe his research and contributions to the college. Bitterness welled at his unfair dismissal. Years of sacrifice—years of neglecting Eleanor—all for nothing.
Wooden floors polished to a dull sheen and the scent of lemon oil gave the manse an exotic feel. Wolt shook his head at all the fine trappings of the superficial. Nothing mattered if he couldn’t find a way to save Eleanor.
Quietly opening the door, he was greeted by his wife’s wide emerald eyes. “Wolt, this is a nice surprise! I was expecting Judith to bring the tea.” Her voice was thin and hoarse.
Placing the tray on the bedside table, Wolt planted a light kiss on her forehead. The taste of her sweat on his lips fed his growing helplessness. Sitting on the bed beside her, Wolt held her hand, which seemed to have grown bonier from the last time he saw it. The knuckles definitely appeared more pronounced.
“How was your day, my love?” Wolt asked and tucked some brittle hair behind her ear.
“I’ve been worse, but today was not that bad. Doctor Pennyworth stopped by and gave me more awful medicine.” Eleanor pouted, her big green eyes pleading with Wolt for her tea.
Wolt understood and poured her tea, placing the plate of cookies on her lap. It was torment to see how her playful spirit was held back by a decaying body. Candlelight did little to hide her deathly pallor. Purple bruises were a permanent feature beneath her baggy eyes. Today, they seemed more black than purple. This worried Wolt.
“Tomorrow, I’m all yours—for the whole day. We can do whatever you want.”
Eleanor dropped the ginger cookie she was nibbling. Her green eyes filled with mischief and the smile on her thinning face was nothing short of heartbreaking. Like a child who had been told to get anything she wanted from the candy store, Eleanor clapped her hands in glee, nearly spilling the tea.
“Oh, thank you! It’s such a rare treat to have you for myself… but won’t your work suffer?”
“Work is not as important as you, my love,” Wolt replied and kissed her hand. Eleanor blushed.
“After years of marriage, you still manage to make me feel like a shy teenager.” A cough racked her frail body, sending the cookies and tea all over the bed. Flecks of blood appeared all over the patterned quilt. Blood painted her lips bright crimson. Cradling her in his arms, Wolt rubbed her back until the coughing fit passed. Her thin shoulders shook as her coughs dissolved into tears.
“I hate this!” she sobbed and weakly pounded her fist against Wolt’s chest. “I hate being so weak! Being a nuisance to everyone!”
Wolt gripped her shoulders firmly and forced her to look into his eyes. “You are not a nuisance. Don’t you ever say that again!”
“I want to die...” she muttered in a barely audible voice. The knife of helplessness stabbed deeper into his heart. Stemming the flow from his bleeding heart would be impossible now.
Tears streaked both their faces and Wolt embraced his wife desperately. Burying his face in her dull hair, they both wept.
Eleanor seemed so fragile in his arms, her tear-streaked face and red puffy eyes making his heart ache to find a cure for her condition. She had cried herself to sleep. Gently laying her down on the bed, Wolt carefully picked the cookies, plates, and cups off the blanket. Lying down next to her, he held her like a fragile and cracked piece of expensive crystal throughout the night.
Sleep did not come to him.
I want to die...
Eleanor had muttered those words so softly, most probably thinking he did not hear her. His mind drifted to the rats. All of them had died feeling crippling pain. Their insides slowly decaying...
Outing
Sunlight gently filtered through the thick drapes of Wolt and Eleanor’s bedroom. Wolt lazily cracked an eye open. Sometime during the night, he had managed to doze off fitfully. Eleanor was still sleeping peacefully in his arms. Her breath came in shallow gasps, but at least the coughing fits that had kept her up through most of the night had subsided. Dried blood stained the corners of her mouth. Making a rueful face, Wolt licked his index finger and gently smudged the dried blood away.
Wolt gazed at his sleeping wife and wanted nothing more than to freeze time in that moment. His grey eyes travelled from her sweat-beaded forehead, to her snub little nose, her hollow cheeks and chapped lips, to rest finally on her closed eyes. The purple bags seemed a more acceptable shade of bruised blue today. All he wanted was to restore her to the vibrant, mischievous woman she had been before this horrible condition started to eat her, stealing her from him little by little. His arms tightened around her fragile body. Her frame was bonier than he remembered, her skin rough and dry against the soft sheets. The thing that Wolt most wanted to remove was the constant stench of sickness and sweat. His ladylove used to smell lik
e roses before her condition progressed to where it was now. The rueful smile tugged at his mouth. This fragile, sickly being was a mere mockery of the vibrant goddess his ladylove used to be. How he missed her!
Presently, Judith came in bearing a tray with fruits, juice, and porridge, as well as Eleanor’s medicine. Her sharp eyes observed the tea and blood stains on the quilt, the scattered cookies, and Eleanor’s tear-streaked face. Wolt looked at the housekeeper enquiringly, but she only smiled with gentle understanding and silently placed the breakfast tray on the bedside table. Eleanor's present condition was clearly no cause for worry to her. Taking the previous night’s tea tray with her, Judith silently exited the room. Absently, Wolt wondered if Judith ever rested a day in her life, though he was mildly grateful for the breakfast. These days, Wolt felt so drained he was only capable of perceiving different emotions in “mild” states. He had not the strength to deal with strong, gripping emotional states.
Eleanor stirred and slowly opened her eyes. She was greeted with a kiss on the cheek by Wolt. “Morning, love.”
“Morning,” came her sleep-drugged reply as she snuggled deeper into his gentle embrace. It had been too long since her husband held her as they slept and she wanted to savour every second of it. Usually he holed himself up in his cottage, playing mad-scientist.
“Breakfast?” Wolt asked softly in her ear.
“Not hungry,” she grumbled, burying her face in his chest. His scent drugged her. She had forgotten his pleasurable, masculine scent. It was nice to have a reminder again.
“You have to eat, my love. Even if it’s just a few bites.”
Grumbling something inaudible in his chest, Eleanor pulled the sheet over her head. She didn’t want to eat. She wanted this moment to last and he was ruining her moment.
“I’ll feed you.”
“Really?” Eleanor’s head snapped up, instantly awake, eyes gleaming with mischief. This tugged at Wolt's heart. He could not recall when he saw her this animated.
There was a time when her smile was not a rarity. How he longed for those days.
He smiled fondly at his wife and helped her to sit, supporting her back with pillows. Feeding her proved easy. Persuading her to take the medicine was a different story, but in the end, after a series of pouts and half-hearted protests, she relented.
“Can we go to the museum today?”
“Of course, if you feel up to the trip,” Wolt replied carefully, not wanting to upset her. Her eyes brightened and her smile was reminiscent of an excited child’s. Wolt knew Eleanor would force herself to go, even if her body protested.
* * *
The carriage ride was bumpy and more than once the dust of the road made Eleanor cough. Wolt feared that she would burst into tears again, but she remained resolute in keeping a brave face on, choosing to focus instead on the world outside the carriage window. Robust ladies dressed in lace and silk accompanied by well-dressed gentlemen were the object of Eleanor's envy. How she wished she could join them. She resented her fragile body. The silence was only disturbed by the clip-clop of the horses' hooves on cobblestone.
When they arrived at the Wales Museum, the sun shone devilishly hot, but Eleanor, armed with a lacy parasol, stepped from the carriage as bravely as she could. She did not want Wolt to worry about her and felt ashamed for breaking down the previous night. Gazing at the museum, she took in the majestic architecture and curving marble pillars. Stone gargoyles leered from their lofty rooftop perches, their carved bodies seemed ready to move at any moment.
“Easy there, my love,” Wolt cooed and helped her down. “Are you still feeling well?”
Taking a deep breath, Eleanor looked around her. It was the first time in months that she had ventured so far from the manse. Despite the hot weather, women wore their Victorian dresses and corsets, silky gloves covered their hands, and lacy ruffles peeked at their elbows. Eleanor looked at her cream dress with pink ruffles and felt good. “I’m feeling better than I have in a long time.”
Inside the museum, the air was much cooler. Stone floors were polished to a high sheen. Mercifully, only a few people were present inside, none of whom felt obliged to make conversation with the couple. Wolt feared that he might run into former colleagues from the college, but his fears proved unfounded.
The curator, a short stub of a man with a receding hairline, greeted them warmly. “Always a pleasure to see new faces in the Wales Museum! Too few visit us nowadays. Would you like a tour or prefer to wander through the exhibitions unaided? I highly recommend the tour, though.”
Glancing at his wife, the answer was obvious. “We will call if we need assistance, thank you.”
With that, the curator nodded and retreated behind his desk.
Wolt and Eleanor took their time to thoroughly explore and see all the museum had to offer. Dinosaur skeletons and pottery shards particularly interested Eleanor. She found the prehistoric beasts fascinating. Once or twice she stumbled, her legs growing weary from supporting her featherweight. Sweat beaded on her brow and the heavy Victorian dress she wore quickly drained her stamina. Resting on a nearby bench, Wolt held her hand and dabbed the sweat from her brow.
“Don’t overdo it, my love. You’ll tire yourself badly.”
“I’m fine, Wolt,” she replied between coughs. Mercifully, no blood emerged from her lungs. “I’m not used to this cumbersome attire. I’m just a bit light-headed.” Resting her head on his shoulder, she added, “I’m having so much fun. Thank you, darling.”
Despite her tired state, Eleanor looked better than usual. A rueful smile tugged at Wolt’s lips as Doctor Pennyworth’s words came unbidden into his mind.
“There will be days where she will look well… like a candle she will sometimes flicker and other times burn brightly before the final fade.”
Wolt knew that Eleanor could pass on very suddenly, even if it seemed like she was doing better. If only he could find a cure! He needed time to create a serum and test it on his rats, and even more time to make sure the serum would not harm Eleanor.
Time was the one thing he did not have.
“What’s that?” Eleanor asked suddenly, pointing to a yellow gem in the display case opposite their bench.
Wolt needed a few moments to snap back to the present. “Did you say something, love?”
“What’s that in the case over there?”
Scooping his wife into his arms, Wolt walked over to the display case. In the case were several yellowish stones. They were translucent, some of them revealing trapped insects on the inside.
“It’s amber, my love. Fossilized tree sap. See the ones with the bugs in it? The poor blighters got trapped in the sap as it oozed from a tree.”
“It’s still pretty. So the bugs are still the same as they were before they got trapped?”
“Yes, time could not touch them, my love.”
Wolt’s eyes grew wide in sudden realization.
Time could not touch them...
Finally, he had the answer. Kissing his wife promptly on the cheek earned him a quizzical gaze.
“And that?” she asked shyly. Wolt was not known to display his affection publicly.
“Because you never stop amazing me, my love.”
Breakthrough
After the museum trip, Wolt holed up in his laboratory for the better part of six weeks. He would often check in on his wife, but would promptly return to his experiments. Her delicate condition demanded that he make a success of this experiment.
In his lab, he gazed at the small, white rat body that was trapped in a viscous liquid, surrounded by a hard shell. To the untrained eye, it would seem like the rat was trapped in a glass bubble, looking like a grim mockery of snow globes.
A few times, the snow globe rats had rolled off his worktable and smashed to pieces on the stone floor. More than once, Wolt was surprised to see the shell smash, yet the rat's body remained unharmed. These were some of the less grisly errors that Wolt had made.
Trial and err
or lead Wolt to formulate this specific casing with the fluid. Previous attempts had resulted in the rats dying. Some asphyxiated; other rats had a bad reaction to the viscous liquid, their skin boiling from their bodies.
But this rat, the one Wolt was now carefully examining, was alive. Its body slowly entered a state of hibernation. The special formulation of the clear, viscous liquid nourished the rat and prevented it from dying. At the same time, the liquid inhibited metabolic activity. The liquid did everything for the rat’s body. It was alive, even though it no longer had a heartbeat or breathed. It no longer required sustenance as long as it remained in the shell.
Wolt nodded in satisfaction. He had managed the impossible. He could freeze time for Eleanor!
All because of her interest in the amber.
Elated that his experiment was successful, Wolt rushed across the lawn and into the manse. He just had to see his wife and tell her he could save her.
He could buy time!
Rushing to the sunny library where Eleanor usually spent her time when she wasn’t bedridden, Wolt could barely contain his excitement.
Eleanor could be saved!
Upon entering the library, he found that she was not there. “In the bedroom, perhaps,” he stated and rushed towards their bedroom.
Stopping in front of the door, Wolt composed himself and smoothed back his wild hair. Gently opening the door, he saw his wife sleeping peacefully in the bed. She looked radiant. Wolt could not explain why, but it seemed like the very hand of serenity had come and brushed her pain away. Eleanor was completely at ease. Gentleness flickered in Wolt’s grey eyes and a genuine smile graced his lips. It did him good to see his love so tranquil. Today was a day of double success, he decided. His experiment was successful and his ladylove was without pain for a change.
Quietly, he walked toward her and sat carefully beside her. Her hair seemed so much shinier today. Taking her hand in his, he spoke softly to her. “My love, I have wonderful news. I found a way to save you, my love.”
