“Well, that’s what my mother thought, too. It didn’t quite turn out to be the case, though – now did it?”
At this argument, I sighed in concession to her fear, and swam back to the bank. I propped my elbows up on the grass.
“Don’t you realise what kinds of things are swimming in there with you?” she asked me, squinting warily into the dark water.
“Like what?” I asked. “A crocodile?”
She glowered for a moment at my sarcasm; but the look dissolved quickly, and was replaced with rather a studious expression. “You’re in a wonderfully good mood today,” she said.
“And is that so unusual?”
“Lately it has been.”
I frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Perhaps it’s nothing,” she said, sitting herself down upon the bank. She offered me a hand, and I hopped up beside her.
“It is nothing,” I said. “Nothing worth talking about.”
She did not look at me; but kept her eyes fixed on the river as she said, “It’s worth it to me.”
I took a deep breath, and told her somewhat reluctantly of the dream I had had, the night before my birthday. Even I understood the ridiculousness of such feelings, caused by a mere dream; but even as I did understand, I could not say that they did not still haunt me. That darkness in Thea’s eyes, which I could imagine easily as anything, still sometimes disturbed my sleep.
I tried to tell her of the fear it had inspired in me; but I could not seem to find the proper words to justify it. So I floundered hopelessly with a few false starts, and then said:
“I wake up every morning, afraid that you’ll hate me again. The first thing I do is look in your eyes, to make sure that you’re still you.”
It sounded incredibly ridiculous, even to my own ears.
“It’s not your fault,” I said quickly. “I don’t even know why I had that dream. Sometimes, though, I see your eyes go dark, and suddenly you’re not you anymore.”
She kissed my cheek, perhaps as a quick gesture meant to conceal the uneasiness in her countenance. But I saw it just the same.
“No more of this dreaming business,” she said. “I would never hurt you – I thought you knew that?”
“I do,” I said – and though I meant it, I think that both of us were, for the time, rather dissatisfied.
***
“So I missed your birthday?” she asked, as we walked back to the house.
I nodded.
“Can I make you a cake anyway?”
“You don’t have to.”
“I don’t have to do anything. But I want to. So you’ll shut up about it and eat it, even if it’s the worst cake you’ve ever had in all your life.”
But I knew it would be perfect. It was, and I thanked her; but then a question came to mind.
“Thea?”
“Hmmm?”
“When is your birthday?”
“Next month.”
“What’s the date?”
“September ninth.”
“Oh, then I can make you a cake, too!”
She frowned. “No offence, my love, but maybe it would be best if I made it.”
“That was a very mean thing to say.”
“Oh, I’m only joking with you!”
“It’s all right. I know I’m not a very good cook.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“You don’t have to lie. I’ve had my own pork roast.”
She made a face. “It was a little dry.”
“I know. But look at it this way – now I never have to cook again, for the rest of my life!”
“I think that I’ve just stuck myself with a lot of work,” she said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Maybe not.”
I took another bite of my cake, and felt (as seemed so often to happen, when a thing had gone askew) a gradual descent back into the organisation of my thoughts. It had been a slow process, from the riverbank to the cake; but I once again began to feel at home within myself.
***
There came a day at the end of August that made me wish I had hidden my journal much more carefully.
I had been out in the meadow, picking an assortment of brightly coloured flowers for the kitchen table. I was only gone for about half an hour – but it was long enough.
“Thea!” I called, searching for a vase. “Come and look at these!”
I heard her enter the room; but did not look up, busy as I was arranging my flowers. “You have to see these,” I said. “I found some of every colour. They’re brilliant, aren’t they?”
“They’re beautiful, Katie.”
There was something in her voice that made me abandon my task. I held the flowers against my chest; and began to crush them, as I searched her face.
“Are you all right?” I asked hesitantly.
She seemed at a loss, but still answered, “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure about that?”
She leant back against the wall, and looked at me sadly.
“You’re making me nervous, Thea.”
A myriad of expressions flowed over her face – disappeared, and then repeated themselves, before she burst out:
“Oh, Katie, why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“Tell you – tell you what?”
“What did you think I would do? Turn you in?”
I felt my blood slow in my veins, thickening and pressing against its delicate casings. She couldn’t know . . .
“It all makes sense now. All those times you seemed so far away – all those times I wondered what was making you so miserable! Not just a dream after all, it seems. Why did you keep it all to yourself?”
Knowing for certain what she meant caused a dam of anger, somewhere in my chest, to break itself down in an instant. The flood was enormous, and nearly knocked me off my feet.
I threw the flowers to the floor, stamped upon their vibrant petals, and derived some amount of comfort from the darkness and death which I inflicted upon them. I ground my heel over them; and then began to shout.
“What should I have done? Should I have told you, all about the worst thing I’ve ever done? Would you really have wanted to hear? Should I have told you, Thea, that I killed my father?”
Her face fell. “Oh, Katie, I didn’t mean –”
“What did you mean, Thea?”
I was hollering hoarsely, lost to myself and in a frenzied state. I had no idea what I would do next.
“I only meant – oh, hell, I don’t know what I meant.”
“What do you want?” I cried. “Do you want to hear me say it? Do you want me to say it again? I did it! I took up a rock, and I beat him with it, again and again . . . he kept trying to stand, he kept on coming, but I just kept bashing him with it . . . until he didn’t get back up . . .”
My agitation began to dissipate, and my eyes brimmed over with tears. I sank down to my knees, face in my hands.
Thea was beside me in an instant. She held me tightly, rocking me back and forth, waiting for my wretchedness to pass.
“I hated him! I hated him so much, but I never wanted to do it . . .”
“Shhh, now. I know you didn’t want to. It wasn’t your fault, you know that. Come now, hush . . .”
***
“Why did you read that?” I asked calmly.
It was some hours later. I felt as if I had drunk a bottle of whiskey, fallen off a horse, taken a nap – and then woken up with a splitting headache.
Thea looked almost sheepish. “Well, I was looking for that dress you tore. I was going to sew it for you. I didn’t meant to, Katie – it just fell out of your drawer.”
I looked down at my hands. I felt no more anger, no more madness; I was completely and utterly sobre.
I was only ashamed.
“I saw your mother,” Thea said, obviously trying to change the subject; “in that photograph.”
I nodded without looking up.
“She was beautif
ul, Katie. You look just like her.”
“Do you really think so?”
“You could have been twins.”
“My father seemed to think so, too. He wasn’t very pleased about it.”
She took my hands in hers, trying to make me look at her. “Don’t do this to yourself,” she pleaded. “It won’t change anything, and you don’t deserve it.”
“Don’t I?”
“Of course you don’t.”
“It’s not that I miss him,” I said. “I despised him. But it wasn’t my place to do away with him.”
“You think it would be better if you were dead? You think you should have left it up to fate – and let him do away with you?”
I closed my eyes. “I don’t know.”
She shook me by the shoulders. “I’m sorry to say this, my love – but you’re being ridiculous.”
I watched her face with great interest. She looked desperate, and outraged.
“Maybe you’re right,” I said softly.
“Damn right I am.”
“Can we go to sleep now?”
“Damn right we can.”
***
I will recount one more thing that happened that summer. To anyone else, it may not have seemed very exciting; but for me, it was a very grand thing.
It was one of those hot and sticky days, when it was much more pleasant to exist in the cool water of the pond, rather than atop the steaming, muddy earth. I had finally persuaded Thea to let me teach her how to swim; and she was really doing quite splendidly, paddling back and forth in all directions. I, of course, preferred bathing in the rushing water of the river, where I could float along on the current and watch as all the trees passed by overhead. But Thea was still deathly afraid of the river – and would not agree to the lessons, unless they took place in the pond.
“I do say,” said she, “this is much better than I thought it would be. I suppose I was always a little prejudiced against the idea, even before my mother died – ever since that day my father threw me into the ocean.”
“Threw you into the ocean?”
“Aye! On a picnic, we were, he and Mother and I – and he told me he would take me for a swim. I said no, oh no, I didn’t want to do that. ‘You have to learn sometime,’ he said. He stood up on the rock we were all sitting on, picked me up, and tossed me out into the water. He jumped in after me, of course – but by that time I was out of his reach, swept off on the tide. I nearly drowned that day.” She frowned, and added, “It would have been fitting, I suppose – for then all three of us would have gone the same way.” A moment more, and then: “But no, I suppose not. My mother wouldn’t have been teaching me to swim, then, and she wouldn’t have died after all.”
“Ah,” I said, shaking my head, “that’s no way to think of things.”
“I suppose not.”
We floated on our backs for a while under the sun, each thinking our own separate, darkish thoughts. But I was eager to dispel them; for in their wake, the water seemed to grow chilly, and the clouds seemed to turn to grey.
So I asked, “What was the ocean like? I mean, you know, apart from the being tossed in and all.”
“What do you mean? Have you never seen it?”
“No.”
“But you’ve been so close!”
“I know that,” I said, a little snappishly. “I’ve just never been there.”
“Then I shall have to take you.”
I stood up in the water. “Really?”
“Of course really. We’ll go tomorrow, if it doesn’t rain.”
I could hardly sleep that night, I was so very excited. I lay still on my side of the bed, trying not to move about too much; but no matter how long I closed my eyes, I simply could not fall asleep. When morning came, and Thea began to stir, I sat up straightaway and asked, “What time will we go?”
She looked at me with fuzzy eyes. “Were you even sleeping?”
“Of course I was.”
She yawned, and rolled out of bed. “Right after breakfast, I suppose,” she said. “And after we pack –”
I was out the door three seconds after she said it. I looked back and asked, “Pack what?”
“Oh, you know, food and blankets, something to drink – and we shall have to bring a little money, for it’s much nicer to sleep at the little inn and to ride back the next day . . .”
I did not eat; but I had everything ready, by the time Thea finished her own breakfast.
“Won’t you be hungry?” she asked. “You should at least –”
“I’m fine!” I said cheerfully. I planted a kiss on her cheek, and then ran out the door to ready the horses. She came out behind me a few minutes later; and then we started off.
We were much closer to the ocean, then, than I had been on Wimple Street. “We only have to ride down into Waterford,” said Thea, using a hand to shade her eyes from the sun.
I would tell you just how long it took; but I really can’t recall, for it seemed to take much longer than it must really have done, I was so sorely eager to get there. First I smelled the salt upon the air; and then I heard the cries of the gulls overhead; and then I saw it.
We were in a desolate area, surrounded by trees. There was not another person in sight.
And I really could not have asked for anything more perfect.
I urged Charlie into a canter, and shouted with joy as his hooves made the transition from green earth to brown sand. Then I leapt off his back, and ran the rest of the way down the beach.
I stood there for a very long time, just staring out into that endless expanse of dark blue water. The rim of the ocean rose up to meet the sky, where the sun burned in all its brilliant glory, shining down upon the far reaches of the waves and transforming them into diamond-strewn, mirror-like surfaces.
I started at the sound of Thea’s voice; for I had been so entranced, I had not even seen her come up beside me.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“It’s brilliant!” I exclaimed. “Is it the Atlantic?”
“The Celtic Sea.”
The sand was strewn with little round pebbles, which I took up in my hand and threw out into the water, quite as far as I could. There was a long jetty of black rock about a half-mile to the East; and I ran towards it, and then all the way out to its tip, where I sat down upon the edge of the last rock and dangled my feet down into the water.
I am fairly sure that that was one of the best days of my life.
Chapter 14
Joseph Craton came to us in mid-November. I skip over months to recount this, because it was the first contribution to the changing of my own tides. Joseph was a ten-year-old boy from Dublin, with a dirty coat and a blue wool cap; he had empty pockets and a little pony named Isis.
I remember the night of his coming quite clearly.
I sat at the table with Thea, while she worked on a new draught. She was trying to come up with something that would cure both a cough and a sneeze, for the benefit of one of her most loyal customers, Mrs Binney, who suffered from year-long allergies. She had hinted, more than once, at how very convenient it would be – to have a single remedy for all of her symptoms. And so, although Mrs Binney could honestly afford to pay for the two bottles each month, Thea was now determined to find a way to do what had been put into her head to do – perhaps not for Mrs Binney, exactly, but only to prove to herself that she could.
I started when the knock came at the door.
“Would you get that, Katie?” Thea asked, not looking up.
I went to the door, pulled it open, and found a particularly small boy standing out on the stoop, dressed all in brown (save of course for his cap).
He looked up at me with the most innocent eyes I had ever seen. “Hullo, miss,” he said. “Would you be Theodora Alaster?”
“No,” I said. “She’s inside.”
“May I speak with her, miss?”
I nodded, opening the door wider for him to enter. He stepped in right under m
y arm. He looked all about him, unbuttoning his coat and adjusting his cap.
“Ain’t it warm in here!” he said.
Thea looked up at him, her face blank. Then she looked at me. “Who is this?”
“I – well, I don’t –”
The boy straightened his frayed lapels, and flashed Thea a brilliant smile. “The name’s Joseph Craton, miss, pleased to make your acquaintance. And would you be Theodora Alaster?”
Thea nodded, still looking confused.
The boy went to the table, pulling up a seat across from Thea. “I’ve come a-ways to see you,” he said. “I’ve heard great things about you, Miss Alaster, and I’ve come for your help.”
She said nothing.
“You see, I have a great friend named Mr McAlbee. He’s back in Dublin – that’s where I’m from, by the way. He’s like a father to me, Mr McAlbee is. My own da’s passed on, you see, as has my ma. Rather unfortunate, a’course, but at least I have Mr McAlbee – and all the Warners, too, you know.”
Thea obviously didn’t know what to make of Joseph Craton. She was silent – her ingredients spread out in a messy array on the table before her, and a blue smudge on her left cheek.
“Well, I should tell you now that Mr McAlbee is very sick. There’s a shortage of doctors in Dublin ever since all the fighting started – you know, betwixt them honourable rebels and them most disreputable Englishmen – and we can’t seem to find anyone who’ll come in to have a look at him. Seems impossible, doesn’t it? Well, it’s true. But I’ve been told, Miss Alaster, that you’re a skilled physician – in your own right, naturally. I’d appreciate it only too much if you’d consider coming to Dublin with me, to have a look at old Mr McAlbee. You’ll be paid for your troubles, a’course. I can think of no one else.”
“I – how old are you?”
“Ten years old, miss. Eleven in December.”
“Surely you’re joking.”
“No, miss – I am, really.”
She shook her head in frustration. “No, no, not about that. This – this McAlbee fellow. What do you mean by asking me to come to Dublin?”
“Well, I just thought, miss –”
“How do you even know who I am? Where I live?”
“Well, miss, I’ll be glad to explain, if you’ll only give me the chance.”
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