Against the Tide (33 page)

The admiral set his cue down and straightened to look her in the face. “Miss Pallas, it occurs to me that I was overly hasty in my actions last November. If you won’t accept my apology, would you at least consider returning to the Navy Yard? I’m sure the research wing would be happy to have your services again. And if it stops the daily rendition of ‘Oh My Darling, Clementine,’ I would be eternally grateful.”

Wasn’t this what she had been praying for? She could tell by the hopeful expression on his face that the admiral’s offer was genuine, but she remembered the young man with the thinning black hair sitting at her desk the day she visited the office. “You already have another translator for southern Europe.”

The admiral leaned over the cue ball and lined up another shot. “I’m sure we can find an alternate position at the Navy Yard for Mr. Trivoni.”

With two thousand people employed in the Navy Yard, that was probably true. Lydia paced around the billiard table, trying to pretend her skin didn’t feel as if she had been rolling in stinging nettles. She had been happy at the Navy Yard. Would it be possible to turn back the clock and recapture those years? She loved the work and would have the camaraderie with Karl and Jacob once again. She would once again be helping rebuild the American navy into one of the best maritime fleets in the world.

But that was the admiral’s dream, not hers. Not anymore.

She looked across the billiard table to see Admiral Fontaine awaiting her answer. “I can’t go back,” she said. “I want to keep working with Bane to reform the opium laws. Now that I know what a seductive, horrible drug it can be, I want to make sure other people don’t slip into the problem I have. I’ll do
anything
to save another child from what I am going through.”

A hint of humor tugged at the side of the admiral’s mouth. “You’re not going to help me out with Jacob, then? Get him to quit torturing me with that wretched tune?”

She wanted to laugh, but the tremors were getting worse, so she gritted her teeth as she kept pacing around the billiard table. “Sir, you are on your own.”

At two o’clock in the morning, someone roused Dr. Tilden to take over for the admiral. It had been almost two days since Lydia had slept, and she was exhausted.

“What did you do in the Professor’s house when you could not sleep?” Dr. Tilden asked her.

“I would go outside and walk. For hours and hours, I would walk through those woods.”

“Did it help?”

“A little.” Until she had heard the maple trees creaking, and her paranoid imagination told her the trees were whispering about her.

“Then let’s head outside.” It had stopped raining an hour ago, and Lydia welcomed the chance to get outside. It was a blustery night, and the moment Lydia set foot outside she breathed deeply of the sea wind.

“That scent,”
she moaned, all the longing in the world in her voice. “How I have missed the smell of the ocean.” Lydia set off at
a brisk pace through the manicured lawn and toward the craggy outcropping that dropped off toward the ocean. The roar of the waves carried on the night air, and Lydia leaned into the wind. The crashing of the waves against the beach and the soothing rush of the water’s retreat were timeless, comforting sounds.

She turned to look at the doctor in the waning light of the crescent moon. “What do other people do to take their minds off things when they are going through this?”

“Some walk. Or try to write down their feelings in a journal. Some pray.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Does that work?”

The doctor took an inordinate amount of time before he responded. “I find that prayer works better than any other cure known to medical science. But you must have faith for it to work.”

She had been reading the books of the New Testament, just like Karl had told her, but none of those stories seemed to help her battle the fantasies of Mrs. Winslow’s Syrup and how good it would feel sliding down her throat.

“Just tell me what to do,” she said. “I’m a smart girl. I’ll do whatever you tell me until I beat this thing. If I have to walk to California and back, that’s what I will do.”

Dr. Tilden took a few steps toward a rugged outcropping of granite and sat down. “Lydia, you told me of your efforts to save your apartment, to work for the navy. You studied and learned languages and worked two and sometimes three jobs at a time. All of this is very admirable, but if you try to carry all these burdens on your own, eventually you will exhaust yourself. Neither our bodies nor our minds were built to endure endless rounds of stress without support. If your soul had nothing to lean on in times of struggle, it is little wonder you turned to a crutch such as opium.”

Dr. Tilden was not wearing his glasses, and his youthful face was
open and gentle as he smiled at her. “Lydia, you are fearfully and wonderfully made. The Lord has designed our bodies and psyches to perform amazing acts of heroism, but we are not machines. Both our bodies and our spirits must be tended and nurtured so they may be strong in times of need. You haven’t been so good about that second part. I am here to help show you how.”

He held his arm out to her, and they began walking again. “As a doctor, I can explain how your body is ridding itself of toxins, which is shutting down your ability to digest food properly. I can explain how the nerves in your body are in an overly excited state, which is causing your insomnia. All of these things have a scientific explanation and can be treated. But once your body is in good working order, it will require a change in your
spirit
to sustain the cure. You are a woman of awesome talents. It is in your nature to strive and achieve and conquer. I fear that even after your body is cured, if you do not find a source of spiritual support, you may slip back into the use of a crutch to sustain yourself.”

All she had ever known was work, but Bane had tried to show her a spiritual side of life. He had made a jest of it . . . but that was his way, always navigating beneath a façade of humor.

She wondered where Bane was at this very moment. How desperately she wanted to please him and prove she was capable of conquering this demon. “Bane should be back in two days. Is it possible I could be through the worst of this business when he returns?”

Dr. Tilden’s smile was terribly sad. “My dear, at that point you will be entering the worst phase of it.”

35

L
ess than three days after setting off for Vermont, Bane came careening toward the Fontaine estate, driving his horse hard as his destination came into view. He had the plans. They were in good condition, telling him in crisp black ink
exactly
where the Professor intended to flee and how his organization would take root in a new home a few miles outside of San Francisco. The Professor would first go to the small town of Scranton in Pennsylvania, where his books had been shipped for safekeeping. Once the Professor had been reunited with his precious books, he would lease three railway cars and ride with them out west.

Mrs. Rokotov and her son were supposed to meet the Professor in Scranton, but apparently there was no loyalty among thieves. A little investigation at the train station revealed that although the Rokotovs had sent the Professor’s books to Scranton according to plan, rather than joining in his exile, they had fled to New York instead. Bane was betting that when Mrs. Rokotov discovered Lydia had escaped with the evacuation papers, she decided to make a run for it without the Professor, knowing they had all been found out.
Hadn’t they covered up Jack’s burned book because they feared the Professor? Now that same fear was sending them on the run rather than facing the Professor’s rage over what Lydia had accomplished beneath their very noses.

All to the good. Bane was already forming a plan to intercept the Professor and his books in Scranton and deliver him directly into the hands of the law.

He tied his horse to a post and took the steps two at a time as he raced up to the house. He burst through the door and went room to room, looking for someone with whom to share the news.

Eric and Mrs. Fontaine were in the library. “I’ve got the plans!” he said, his breath coming in short gasps.

Eric rose from his chair. “The documents are still legible?”

“Perfect condition.” Excitement surged through his blood. If he was right and the Rokotovs were saving their own skin, the Professor would be left holding the bag in Scranton. With Fontaine’s money and connections, they could put the Professor out of commission forever. Then he noticed the exhaustion on Eric’s face, and his heart skipped a beat.

“How is Lydia?”

Mrs. Fontaine moved to stand beside Eric, looking equally weary. “Dr. Tilden is with her upstairs. It has been difficult.”

The strength drained from Bane’s legs, and he sank into a chair. “Tell me.”

“I don’t think she has slept at all since she woke up four days ago,” Eric said. “The cook tried to make things she could tolerate, but nothing stays down. The nausea comes upon her so suddenly that she won’t step foot outside the washroom. I hear her crying in there, sometimes for hours. I’ve tried to offer comfort, but she won’t see anyone but Dr. Tilden.”

Bane dropped his head into his hands, guilt washing through
him. Mrs. Fontaine put her hand on his shoulder. “Alex, she has been amazing. She has not asked for any drugs and has followed all of Dr. Tilden’s orders to the letter. You should be very proud of her.”

He should have been here with her. While he was out fighting another battle in his private war against the Professor, Lydia was facing an even deadlier demon. He would not leave her again. As much as he wanted to be the one to drive the stake through the Professor’s twisted empire, he had something more important to do here.

He reached inside his jacket and withdrew the fragile pages. “Here,” he said as he turned the papers over to Eric. “You deserve to be in on bringing the Professor down. I’ll help you devise the plan, but I can’t be the one to put it into action.”

A gleam lit Eric’s pale gray eyes. “I can do it.”

Lydia was in agony. The towels strewn across the washroom floor did little to soften the cold tile beneath her bottom. She laid her head against the side of the washtub, her arms dangling limply on the floor. Dr. Tilden had pulled a chair into the room and sat ready to help her whenever the next wave of vomiting wracked her body.

“It is time for another glass of milk,” he said softly.

Her belly clenched at the prospect of more milk. Every hour the doctor watched her sip until she had drained the glass. Inevitably, she would vomit most of it back up, but it had to be done. The more milk she could get her body to accept, the stronger she would be to keep fighting the battle.

She took a deep breath. “Okay.” It was an effort to lift her aching head from the side of the tub. She twisted on the towels so she could face the doctor and accept another glass of the warmed milk. Her
hand shook so badly the liquid threatened to slosh over the side of the glass, but she reached her mouth in time and got it down.

“Excellent,” Dr. Tilden said as he took the glass from her. He noted the time in a little journal he was using to track how long she could hold the milk down before it came back up. She laid her head back down against the side of the tub and closed her eyes. It was easier to be in the dark. The doctor had drawn the shade over the single window in the washroom, but some light still leaked through and bounced off the glaring white tile. Nighttime was always the easiest for her.

“Hello, Lydia.”

Bane! Her eyes snapped open and she raised her head. He looked awful, terrible. There were shadows carved into his face, and his eyes looked haunted. Her heart plummeted. He must have failed in Vermont.

“The documents?” she asked weakly.

“Perfect condition.”

She sat straighter, and for the first time in days a genuine smile filled her face. “Then why do you look so sad?”

He stepped into the washroom and knelt beside her. “Because you are in less than perfect condition, love.”

She laid her head back down on the tub. “Oh, Bane. There you go again with all that flattery.”

That made him smile, but she knew she looked awful. Her nightgown was stained, her hair straggled down her back, and she could feel the hollows beneath her eyes. How pathetic she must look, sitting on the floor of the washroom. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I should not have left you.”

“Bane, hearing that you have those papers is the first thing that has made me feel good in days.”

He pivoted to sit on the floor beside her, holding her hand between his. “How is she doing?” he asked Dr. Tilden.

“As well as can be expected. She has a way to go before she comes out on the other side.”

“You probably need a rest. I’ll stay with Lydia for a while.”

Dr. Tilden nodded gratefully, and he handed his watch and a little notebook over to Bane. “Lydia knows how to keep track of the time. Just note how long she keeps that milk down and give her a glass at the top of every hour.”

As the door closed behind the doctor, she leaned against Bane, grateful for the human contact. The doctor had been wonderful, but he could not provide her with the comfort of Bane’s arms.

“Now tell me how you are really doing,” he said softly.

How could she find the words to describe days of nervous exhaustion and crawling sensations that made her want to scrape the skin from her body? Even her bones itched, but she couldn’t get to them, so she tried not to think about it. “Better, now that you are here.”

“Eric said he could hear you crying from behind the door.”

The breath left her in a rush, and her eyes drifted closed. Would she ever stop embarrassing herself in front of the admiral? “I didn’t realize I was that loud.” She drew her knees up to rest her forehead against them. She was mortified to have the perfect Fontaines witness her total collapse. “I should have gone back to Boston to do this,” she mumbled on a shaky breath.

“Why do you think Boston would have been a better place?”

“Because I would rather be alone than have all these people witness this. You can’t imagine how embarrassed I feel.” Even Bane’s cool, archangel beauty was mildly annoying when she felt like a half-drowned mutt.

His fingers grasped her chin and tilted her face toward him. “Lydia, I love you.
I love you.
Trust me, you stand head and shoulders above the Fontaines. From the time Eric was in the cradle, he
was showered with riches and tutors and opportunity. You and I were both thrust out into the world with
nothing.
Lydia, I am in awe of you. I would lay down my life for you. Every day since I found you again I have thanked God you were willing to give me a second chance.”

The mention of God made Lydia feel like an even bigger failure. She had been in search of God for months and had gotten nowhere. “I have been praying and reading the Bible and waiting for God to come into my life,” she said quietly. “I started reading the Bible at the book of John, just like Karl said, but why hasn’t it happened? Why is it so easy for you and others to believe, but I feel like I’m lost at sea, without an anchor and without hope.”

Her stomach shifted, but she forced it down. She fought the tears threatening to spill again; this conversation was too important to stop. “I have been looking for a lighthouse, some sort of guidance, but there is nothing. I just keep getting smashed against the rocks and dragged back out to sea again.” Her stomach turned again, and she knew there was no more time.

She launched herself to the toilet, and her stomach lurched. Bane was right behind her, holding her hair out of the way as cramps forced her stomach to heave up the milk. Every muscle in her body hurt, and her throat felt as if it had been bathed in acid.

She sat back on her haunches and tried to catch her breath as she clung to the toilet. “It’s not that I doubt there is a loving God, I just don’t believe He loves
me.
”

Bane handed her a glass of water, and she rinsed her mouth, spitting the water back into the toilet. “Finished?” Bane asked.

She waited for another round of cramps, but nothing came. “I think so.”

He stepped around her and pulled the chain on the water tank. Lydia wiped her face with the dampened towel Bane handed her,
then slid back to her position leaning against the bathtub. She was so exhausted she could barely hold herself up. She would give every dollar she owned to only get a single, blessed hour of sleep.

“Why haven’t I found God, Bane? I’ve read the Bible. I read the part that says if you knock, the door will be opened. If you seek, you shall find. For months I’ve been looking, but I have not found Him. Why is it so easy for some people, while others flounder in the dark?”

Bane sat opposite her. “If you think God has neglected you, then what am I?”

“A nuisance sent to disrupt my ink bottles?”

Bane shook his head, a mysterious little half-smile on his face. “Lydia, I am your lighthouse. Right now, my purpose in this world is to hold you up and guide you back into port. I won’t ever abandon you.”

She choked back a bitter laugh. “You said you would never marry a drug addict.” The words had hurt when he first said them, and they hurt even more now.

“I won’t, but that does not mean that I will give up on you.” He sat opposite her and pulled her bare feet onto his lap to rub them with his warm, firm hands. “You are at the beginning of a long process of building a relationship with God. He may not answer according to your timetable. But isn’t the thirst you have for God an indication that He is already working in your life? Someone with no belief would not have your curiosity or desire. You may
never
have some earthshaking revelation, but don’t be like the person who tears the scab off a wound every morning to see if it has healed. Just keep seeking and trusting. I don’t know how long your journey will be, but you are on the right path. Don’t give up. Don’t stop the quest. Have faith, and
you will find Him.
”