by Kellyn Roth
Chapter Twenty-Two
Claire’s heels echoed in the large foyer as she approached her brother. His eyes, questions swimming in them, met hers.
“The doctor will be here soon. Mrs. Knight’s resting.” Claire glanced down at her daughter, cowering behind Charlie’s legs. “I’m sure she’ll get better, Alice. Don’t worry. Uncle Charlie’s going to take you home, and I’ll come as soon as I can.”
Charlie blinked. “You’re not coming?”
Claire shook her head. “No … not yet.” She was the only woman in the house save the servants, and Mrs. Knight didn’t know them. If Claire were in her place, she would want another woman around—one she knew. Not that Mrs. Knight and she would ever be friends, but any woman was better than none at all.
“Very well.” Charlie sighed and placed a hand on Alice’s shoulder, nudging her toward the door. “Hurry home.”
“I’ll try to.” But she didn’t want to leave the Knights alone. Perhaps it was guilt—or perhaps it was pity—that compelled her to stay, but both were equally convincing.
The doctor arrived not half an hour later, and Claire did her best not to get in the way. However, even from the corner where she stood, she could see the worried look in his eyes. It wasn’t good. Of course it wasn’t good—it was consumption. The illness seldom allowed the bearer to not be, well, consumed.
At last, the doctor stepped toward the door and gestured for Mr. Knight to follow him. With glazed eyes and slumped shoulders, he looked like a man going to his death sentence.
Perhaps he’s going to hear his wife’s.
“Claire?” His monotone voice broke into her thoughts. “Would you come?”
She shifted from foot to foot. He wanted her to hear the probably grim news the doctor had to impart to him? It wasn’t her place. “I—”
“Please. Hazel is resting now, and it’ll only be a minute.” He turned to the door, and Claire followed.
“It’s not good.” The doctor shifted his black bag from hand to hand but met Mr. Knight’s eyes evenly. “She’s very ill. The consumption is in advanced stages, and she certainly should have sought treatment before.”
Mr. Knight’s fists clenched. Claire could feel the tension emanating from him. “I know. I tried to convince her to slow down, but she always insisted she was fine. I-I had no idea until these last weeks that it was bad at all. But she wouldn’t listen to the last doctor we spoke to …”
Claire knew guilt, and this man was swamped with it. He had reason to be. She stood there quietly, awaiting the rest of the doctor’s diagnosis.
“I understand that she believes she is well, but you can easily tell she’s fading fast.” The doctor cleared his throat. “Consumption can move quickly once it reaches this stage. It’s possible she only has a few days … or she could recover. It’s an unpredictable disease.”
Mr. Knight continued to open and close his hands. “Is there nothing you can do?”
“It’s beyond me.” The doctor sighed. “I’ll do all I can, but she must fight it herself. Her life rests in God’s hands, not mine and not yours. I’m very sorry.”
Mr. Knight remained where he was after the doctor left, head hanging, eyes closed, every inch of him defeated. The silence was thicker than his wife’s accent.
“We ought to go back in and sit with Hazel,” Claire said. Don’t let your grief cause you to waste what may be your last hours with her, Phil. You’re better than that. I know you are.
Like a stone giant coming to life, he shook and turned back to the door. His hand on the knob, he paused. “Thank you for standing with me.”
She had done and said nothing, but still, she nodded. “Never mind that. Go to her. I’ll come in a moment—she’ll want to be bathed, perhaps, but it’ll wait.”
Mr. Knight hurried through the door, and she waited in the hallway for ten minutes before rapping on the door.
“Come in.”
Claire slipped through the doorway and approached the bed, where Hazel lay propped up against several pillows. Claire focused her attention on the invalid, taking her hand and squeezing it. “What can I do for you? I thought you might want to clean up a bit.”
“No … not yet.” Hazel’s groggy voice rattled through her chest. “I think I’d like to sleep for a while.”
She drifted to sleep moments later, and Claire took a chair a distance away, while Philip huddled by the bedside. Claire let her mind wander as the minutes ticked on. Should she leave? But what if Hazel was approaching a crisis—Claire didn’t want Philip to be alone in that case. She didn’t want Hazel to be alone, for that matter. Philip was anything but a nurse.
“I feel as if I’m being punished.” His words broke the silence like glass shattering.
Claire raised her eyes to look at him, but his were fastened on Hazel’s sleeping form. “It’s not your fault. You did what you could. About … about Hazel, I mean.”
Philip’s head swayed from side to side. “No. Not that. It’s … if I had done more, been a better man, not told her a lie, perhaps God would have taken pity on me. Perhaps He wouldn’t take her, too.”
Claire swallowed. She often felt that God punished her for faults not her own. But it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. If it were, then surely everyone would be continually punished, for Claire knew no perfect men or women.
“Nettie has always told me God doesn’t punish us in that way exactly.” She stood and went to the window, uncomfortable with sitting still as she spoke. “She says His ways are beyond comprehension. He has a plan—that’s what Nettie says.” And Nettie is almost always right.
She glanced over her shoulder to see a weak smile on his lips before he spoke. “Nettie seems to be a wise woman. I believe Hazel would say the same thing—that this is not my fault, or our fault, and that God has dealt graciously with us always. Perhaps there are some areas of my faith that need strengthened. It’s difficult to trust, in these circumstances.”
Claire raised her eyebrows to hear him speak so openly of God and faith. When she’d known him, he’d told her he was “barely a Christian”—and Claire willingly fell under that definition, too.
But who could live with Hazel Knight and not be at least a bit converted? Claire felt the same way about Nettie from time to time. Philip seemed sincere. Lost, yes, but he wasn’t lying. She was almost sure of it.
“In the end, I suppose God has dealt graciously with me. I have a son. I have Hazel still. Perhaps I can even become close to Alice and Ivy. And you are not mad at me.” He met her eyes. “I must believe Hazel will recover. Surely He wouldn’t take her.”
Claire didn’t respond. God had spared Ivy many times, though other people, other things had left her life. She now had a safe home, an adoring brother, a loving mother, and her precious children. She, in truth, had been blessed beyond measure.
But how did one reconcile such a loss, if it came to that? A child, a spouse, any loved one? Life would seem empty without those special people—and yet, those left behind must keep on living. How could one cope?
Hazel’s eyelashes fluttered. “Phil?”
“I’m here, darling.” He clutched her hand. “What can I do for you?”
Her chest shuddered. “I’m fine. I-I …” She broke off into another coughing fit, and Claire rushed forward to help hold her so she could breathe. After she seemed to struggle for breath, Philip rose.
“I’m going to fetch the doctor again. He might be able to clear your lungs.” He glanced back at the bed when he was halfway out the door. “You’ll be all right while I’m gone?”
Hazel nodded, and he rushed out.
A few minutes of silence passed. Claire fussed about the room, brought Hazel water, fluffed the pillows behind her back, and played with the curtains.
“Claire?” Hazel panted the words out rather than said them.
She rushed back to the bedside. “Yes?”
“I’m dying, aren’t I? I’m dying. That’s what the doctor said to you and Phil … th
at I’m dying.” She turned her face away.
“Oh, Hazel, we don’t know that.” Claire wrung her hands together. Likely as it was, deciding that one was going to die could only hasten the end. She wanted Hazel to have every chance. They weren’t exactly friends, but Hazel was the innocent in the mess Philip and Claire had made.
God, could you spare her?
She sighed at the prayer that once again escaped before she could stop it. But it was true—God ought to let Hazel live a happy life, at least.
“It’s all right,” Hazel rasped. “God … God won’t let anything happen to me unless it’s His will. But if He decides it’s time, I’m ready.”
Claire shuddered. Ready to die? How could anyone be ready for that? Claire certainly wasn’t. The idea of death was frightening—the ultimate end. She wasn’t sure what she believed exactly as far as Heaven or Hell, but she didn’t want to face either.
“You must keep fighting.” She again shifted the pillows, as if making Hazel more comfortable would keep her from death. “Ned and Mr. Knight need you. If you truly believe God is merciful, surely you don’t believe He’ll allow you to die.”
Hazel struggled to sit up but couldn’t manage it. Still, her eyes bore into Claire’s. “That’s not how He works. He is merciful. He sent His Son to take our place on the cross, to die for our sins. No matter what happens, He has already paid the price for me, and I am as safe in His hands on earth as I am in Heaven.” She closed her eyes. “I don’t believe you are a Christian, Miss Chattoway, but I hope you will become one. I could not hope to bear any of this without God, nor would I want to.”
Claire sighed. She could hardly bear her life, but God couldn’t be the solution. How many times had she cried out and been unanswered? If God was there, if He loved her, then her life wouldn’t be like this.
God can take my pain but won’t. The thought, which had weaved in and out of her mind for years, came to the surface once again. She turned her face to the window.
“‘And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.’” Claire glanced over her shoulder to find Hazel smiling faintly at her. “Revelation 21:4. It’s a favorite. Also, Romans 5:3-5 and 2 Corinthians 4:17-18. My Bible’s in the drawer by the bed. Would you get it?”
Claire slid open the drawer, startled by the loud rattle of wood against wood. She reached in and withdrew the thick black book with a leather cover. “Hazel Leeanne Bailey” was written inside the cover in loopy but childish script. Below was a list of births and deaths and marriages, a record Claire’s own father had kept in his Bible, too.
However, she guessed Hazel’s Bible-keeping was a great deal less hypocritical than Claire’s father’s. More than that, she knew Hazel was a true Christian. Her behavior confirmed it in every minute Claire was with her.
“Romans 5:3-5,” Hazel prompted.
Claire slid her fingers through the delicate pages until she found the book and then the passage. Standing by the window to capture the last of the afternoon light—a servant would hopefully arrive soon to refresh the fire and light the lamps—she read aloud: “‘And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience; and patience, experience; and experience, hope: and hope maketh not ashamed; because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us.’ I don’t really want to learn anything, though. I just want to be happy.”
Hazel shrugged. “2 Corinthians 4:17-18.”
Again, she found the verses. “‘For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal.’”
Claire had no argument to that, so she pressed her lips together and sank back onto her chair. They remained quiet until Mr. Knight returned with the doctor, Hazel’s choppy breaths the only sound in the room.
Chapter Twenty-Three
December 31, 1871
Claire slumped against the wall outside the Knights’ bedchamber and pressed both hands to her abdomen, eyes closed, breath ragged. A feeling of emptiness took over her soul from her heart to her mind to her stomach. The numbness was welcome but also fortunate. It kept her from feeling too strongly.
When she arrived that afternoon to check in on Hazel, the doctor was there looking grim. With the crisis approaching, she couldn’t leave. The next several hours had been agonizing. Hazel’s breathing caused an echoing ache in Claire’s chest. It got to the point where she just wanted it to be over for the other woman’s sake. Her suffering was painful to watch. At last, her breathing had stopped, and Claire had slipped out of the room to leave Philip by himself.
She now ran her hands over her face and sighed. Hazel was so young, and she had so much to live for.
Poor Ned! He’d have to be raised without a mother. She pitied the little chap.
God, how could You let this happen to such a good woman? A woman who trusted in You?
There were no answers in the dark hallway. She leaned against the door and listened. Mr. Knight’s sobs broke through the solid wood, corroding her ears like acid. She couldn’t go to him. Anyone else in this world was more qualified to comfort him than she, so she must remain silent.
Claire stepped away from the door and walked down the hallway. The desire to go home, hold her child, and perhaps weep overwhelmed her, and she made haste to do so.
When she arrived, Charlie met her inside the door; he must have been waiting in his office, which sat off the foyer of his London house.
“Is it over, then?”
“Yes.” She removed her gloves and clasped and unclasped her hands, stretching them. “It took so long, Charlie. She suffered much toward the end, and those there had, of course, to suffer with her.”
Charlie nodded. “I’m sorry. She seemed to be a kind and noble woman. But she is in a much better place now, at least.”
Claire supposed she was. “She’s deserving of Heaven.” A woman who loved her husband, her child, and her God. Kind, unopinionated, a good hostess, and sweeter than sugar. “I don’t understand why God took her, but I do know that she deserves some sort of paradise after death.”
Charlie gestured to the door of his office. “Tea before bed? Cook’s still up, or was fifteen minutes ago.”
Claire followed him into his private room and took a seat by the fireplace. The flickering flames allowed warmth to seep into her bones, and she relaxed against the leather of the chair. A servant came with a tray, and Charlie slipped a warm cup of tea into her fingers.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “I appreciate it. Sorry if I’m not very talkative tonight.”
“Don’t mention it. I have something to say, though, actually.” Charlie lowered himself onto the chair opposite her and smiled. “You mentioned Hazel Knight was, in your eyes, worthy of Heaven. But I want to tell you that none of us are. None of us are without sin. It is only the blood of Jesus Christ that gives us passage to eternity, that keeps us from Hell.”
So, somehow Nettie’s faith had reached her brother. Not that, she supposed, she had ever asked about his spiritual state before.
“I’ve heard that said. But I’m not sure I believe.” Yet, her faith in her lack of faith had been so thoroughly shaken that she wanted to believe. She desired the peace and poise Nettie possessed. She longed for Hazel’s positivity and kind heart. And she wanted to be strong and sure of herself like her brother. Even her mother’s loving attitude and her daughter’s persistency were attractive to her.
Christianity had ceased to be mindless and begun to make sense. God must exist. He must play into mortals’ lives. And He must care about Claire’s life.
“I can see you’re close, Claire. I wish I could be the one to shove you over the proverbial cl
iff, but that lies in God’s hands. Still, I would encourage you to seek Him. He’s there. He loves you. And He will give you comfort and strength beyond anything you can imagine.” Charlie took a sip of his tea, wrinkled his nose, and set it on the table between them. “Well. That’s lukewarm. Is yours hot?”
“Barely.” She placed her cup beside his, her mind churning over his words. “It’s late. I imagine whoever poured it wasn’t thinking, and I don’t mind.”
“Mm.” Charlie leaned back on his chair and scratched his chin. “I’m trying to think what else I ought to say to you. I’m not as good about talking about my faith as I’d like. But I do believe, and I want to share it with you. Only through God can you find true joy.”
Joy.
She’d often heard Nettie say the word instead of happiness as a way of indicating true contentment, true well-being. Joy, Nettie said, was something no one could ever take away from her, something that not even the greatest tragedy could remove from her soul. Joy was more than happiness in that it was interior and did not depend on what happened to you or how people treated you. Joy belonged only to God. Joy was the only way to be truly happy.
“I want joy,” Claire whispered. “I want to experience joy in this horrible world. But, Charlie, how can I trust a God Who—?”
“Who gave you two beautiful children, a brother who adores you, a mother who wants to make you happy at the cost of her reputation, even if it means social isolation, and, of course, Who sent His Son to die on the cross for your sins? I know. It’s hard for me to trust a God Who would be so generous, too. What does He want from us?” Charlie grinned at her. “You’ll be shocked to find that in exchange for making the ultimate sacrifice, all He wants is your heart.”
“Hardly worth winning.” Claire rolled her eyes. “It’s been cracked too many times and, I fear, is rather bitter.”
“God doesn’t see you that way. He’s offering you a new life.” Charlie rose and moved to her side. His hands covered hers. “Sister, it is such an incredible gift. Forgiveness, purity, His Spirit, eternity …”
