How Dark the Night (36 page)

Two hours later Dr. Prescott found Richard Cutler in the parlor, slumped over in a chair with his head in his hands. “She is resting comfortably,” he said, sinking into the chair opposite Richard's. After a moment he added quietly, “I fear she cannot last much longer, Richard. She is of stout heart and mind, but the human body is not designed for immortality, not on this earth.”

Richard glared into the physician's somber gray eyes, as though his anger might spur the doctor to greater efforts. “Is there
nothing
that can be done?” he whispered.”

Prescott shook his head. “Nothing, I'm afraid. The cancer lies deep within her, and by now it has certainly infected vital organs. In point of fact, there was nothing that I or anyone else could have done for her after the surgery. She was in God's hands then, and she is in God's hands now. The miracle is that she has lived such a healthy life since then, and for so long. I frankly did not expect her to survive for three years. To judge by her outward appearance she seems to be in relatively good condition.
When I examined her today I found no dark color around her eyes or blotches on her skin, or any of the other signs of illness and deterioration that one would expect to find. She is thin, of course, because she has no appetite. But her skin still glows and her hair remains thick and healthy. That in itself is a miracle, I can assure you. I have never seen the like.”

“What of the pain? Can we treat that, at least?”

“I offered laudanum, but she refused to take it. She insists that she is experiencing no pain.”

Richard nodded knowingly. “She tells me the same thing, although I know she is lying to spare me. I have asked her many times about the pain, hoping that she would allow me to tell you that the cancer had returned. But each time I did, her answer was the same. Pressing the issue only made her angry—for a short while, anyway.” He smiled ruefully. “We could never remain at odds with each other.”

Prescott shook his head. “Of course she experienced pain; I knew that. I can only imagine its degree and extent. But she was determined not to let on. I have rarely witnessed such courage. Do you know why she refused help?”

“I do. It was for the same reason she didn't want to tell anyone the truth about her cancer. She wanted to live out the balance of her life as normally as possible, free of pity and sparing her family the suffering and sorrow that knowledge would have brought.”

“That's Katherine Cutler for you. Always thinking of others; never of herself. When did she tell you that she suspected the cancer had returned?”

“Last spring, a year ago.”

“My word. She confided in no one else? Just you?”

“Just me. And Reverend Ware. She called on him a number of times during the past year for spiritual guidance and counsel. Like you, he is a dear friend of our family and a man we trust completely.”

“But surely your children and others of your family must have realized that something was . . .
different
?”

“Our children have been away in recent months and very much involved in their own lives. Will has joined the Navy. Jamie is also away at sea, and Diana and Peter are living in Cambridge. We hardly ever see Joseph. Others here in Hingham may have had their suspicions—Katherine was losing weight, as you say, and she has not been out in town as often as she once was—but they rarely confronted either of us with their concerns. Agee tried once or twice, but I could not tell even him. Katherine had sworn me to secrecy, and I was determined to honor her request. Besides, it was hard even for me to think that anything was
seriously wrong with her, for the very reasons you just mentioned. And her disposition has remained as bright and cheerful as always.”

“I understand,” Prescott said as he removed his spectacles. He wiped the lenses with a handkerchief, held them up for inspection, and then tucked them into his coat pocket. “As I am sure Reverend Ware would agree,” he said devoutly, “God has blessed your family, Richard. He has blessed you all through her. I wish there was something more I could do for her.”

“I realize that, Doctor,” Richard said. “I know you care deeply for Katherine. More to the point, she knows it too.” He looked away, biting his lower lip, and then returned his gaze to Prescott. “How long does she have?”

“A week or two, I should think,” Prescott replied. “If pneumonia sets in, less; if she slips into a coma, it could be more. These are just estimates, of course. Each body responds in its own way, and no one can accurately predict what will happen and when. Because that is so, I urge you to gather your family together as soon as that can be arranged. I further urge you to say whatever you want to say to her now, while she remains lucid. I realize how terribly difficult all this is for you and your family. But in the future, none of you wants to regret lost opportunities to say your farewells. I will monitor her closely each day, and I will do my best to keep you and your family informed of where matters stand.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” His eyes bright with unshed tears, Richard asked, “Does Katherine know . . . all this?”

“She does. She asked me for the truth, and whenever a patient asks me for the truth, I tell the truth as I understand it to be. We talked awhile and I can tell you without equivocation that she is grateful to the Almighty for every day of her life. She accepts her fate, Richard, and it's imperative to her that you understand that. It's certainly not a fate she would have chosen, and certainly she has no desire to leave you and your children. But please understand that she is at peace with herself and with God. What she wants now is to be allowed to go quietly into the night without a lot of fuss and bother.”

Richard looked around the parlor as if seeking answers to unanswerable questions. “What can I do to make this easier for her?” he managed.

“Just be there. She is sleeping now. She'll likely sleep more and more as time goes by. That fall took the fight out of her, and she is no longer able or willing to defer the inevitable. But sleep is a blessing. Think of it as God's way of keeping her oblivious as her body gradually shuts down.
She will not want to eat much, if anything, but make certain she has as much water as she wants. And be sure to move her position on the bed every few hours. To avoid bedsores, you understand.

“I'll check back tomorrow morning. Perhaps we can convince her then to take some laudanum.” He rose to go. “Is there any other service I might perform for you?”

Richard fought through the daze settling over him. “Yes, Doctor, there is,” he said. “If you would, please drop by Caleb's house and ask Joan to come over as soon as she can. And Phoebe, if she's there. You might also check in on Edna. She hasn't been feeling herself this past week.”

“I will see to it immediately,” Prescott said, adding, with a touch of a smile, “although I doubt Edna will want anything to do with me and my medicine. She is the orneriest woman I know—and one I admire very much.” He offered Richard his hand and then picked up his black leather medical bag and left the house, closing the door softly behind him.

J
OAN
C
UTLER
and Phoebe Hardcastle arrived within the half hour. To Richard's surprise, neither woman seemed overwrought by his news. They sat quietly, watching him pace like a caged lion and listening to his agonized announcement. They nodded as though they had long ago accepted as fact what he had expected them to hear as a surprising revelation.

“I must contact everyone,” Richard concluded in the same firm tone he had once used on a quarterdeck, as if taking decisive action and issuing commands might blunt or defer the pain: “Anne and Frederick, and Lavinia and Stephen, and Diana and Peter, of course. Let's see: Mindy is living here, with her parents, and Caleb—when is Caleb planning to return from Boston, Joan?”

“On Friday, Richard,” Joan said.

“Very well. We'll arrange for a packet boat to be standing by on Long Wharf on Friday morning. Shall we say at ten o'clock? That leaves Adele, who is here in Hingham with her mother, and Agee and Lizzy and—oh my dear Lord, Will and Jamie.” At the harsh realization that their two sons would have no chance to say their good-byes, or even know that their mother was dying, he gave an anguished sob.

Phoebe was up in an instant and took him in her arms, clasping him tightly to her.

“I'm sorry,” he rasped.

“Don't be,” Phoebe soothed.

“I mustn't do that,” he insisted. “I cannot break down. I need to be strong—for her and for our family.”

“You will be,” Joan said, coming up and wrapping her arms around Richard and Phoebe. “You will find the strength you need. Phoebe and I will see to everything,” she added firmly. “And I mean
everything
. We'll enlist Agee and Lizzy's help too. Knowing them, they'll want to come right over, if that suits.”

“Of course it suits.”

“Good. I'll tell them that. At least one of us will be here to help at all hours. We have plenty of room for houseguests, so don't worry about that. Edna hopes to be over later today to help with meals. She wants to be here for you and Katherine. If it turns out she is unable to come, we'll take care of meals as well. You are not to concern yourself with such things.”

“You have but
one
concern, Richard,” Phoebe seconded, “and that is to give your full attention to your wife.”

“Thank you,” Richard said quietly. “Thank you and bless you both.”

A
FTER
J
OAN AND
P
HOEBE LEFT
, promising to return shortly, Richard went upstairs to the bedroom he had shared with Katherine since their earliest days in Hingham. She lay supine with pillows propping her up in a half-sitting position. A bedsheet was drawn up to her waist, and a light cotton blanket to her knees. The heavy dark blue drapes that covered the two east-facing windows had been drawn apart and tied off; the two windows were open, and a warm summer breeze stirred the white lace inner curtains. Richard heard the gleeful chatter of children at play and dogs barking excitedly in the distance. The sounds belonged to another world.

He sat down on a chair pulled close to the edge of the bed on Katherine's right side and took her hand in his, gently massaging the palm with his thumb, his gaze fixed on her beautiful face. A hundred memories spanning thirty-four years swept through his mind, each brush of memory combining with the others to create a portrait of a marriage well lived and well loved. He dared not, could not, consider the future. His context was in terms of yesterday and today, never of tomorrow. Since he had first met Katherine Hardcastle in England as a boy of fourteen, his life had been inexorably tied to that of the dear soul who lay dying three thousand miles away from her birthplace and birthright. He could not imagine, let alone accept, what his life would be like without her.

At length she opened her eyes. For several moments she stared vacantly at the ceiling, as if to get her bearings, perhaps to cross the gap between dream and reality. She looked to the left and then down at her right hand.
When her gaze rose to meet Richard's, she smiled weakly. “Hello, my darling,” she whispered.

In reply, Richard raised her hand to his lips and kissed the cool, silken flesh.

“What time is it?” she asked, sounding a little stronger.

“Coming on four o'clock.”

“I've been asleep for a while.”

“For a while.” He noticed her wetting her lips with her tongue. “Are you thirsty? Let me give you some water.”

“In a minute, perhaps.” She knitted her brow. “Dr. Prescott was here, wasn't he?”

“Yes, he was. Seven hours ago. He'll check back tomorrow morning. He told me that you two had quite the talk.”

“We did. I admire him so much. He's such a kind and caring man.” She gave Richard's hand a light squeeze. “Very much like my husband.”

“Katherine . . .” He looked down, battling his emotions.

She gave his hand another gentle squeeze. “It's all right, Richard. It's really all right, my love. Everything is going to be all right, I promise you.”

Richard's laugh came out more as a sob. “Good Lord, Katherine,
I'm
the one who should be telling
you
that.”

She smiled faintly and then lifted her gaze back to the ceiling. “I do so wish,” she said longingly, “that I might have the opportunity to say good-bye to the many people who are dear to me. I have said my goodbyes to Will and Jamie. I have written each of them a letter to read when they return home. They are in my right top drawer. But there's Julia and Robin, and Cynthia and John, and Jeremy and dear Hugh . . .”

“I'll take care of all that,” Richard assured her. “Cynthia and Julia will be here next spring. If it turns out they cannot come, I have told Joseph that I will take him to them next summer for a visit.”

“Yes, we have talked about you doing that,” Katherine said. “I do hope you can go there soon, regardless. Barbados holds such special memories for us.”

Richard again brought her hand to his lips. “I have special memories of every day I have known you.”

From downstairs they heard the front door creak open and familiar voices in muffled conversation. Lizzy Crabtree called out once; then all was quiet. After placing Katherine's hand back on the bed, Richard clasped his own hands together and for long moments stared down at them as if in silent prayer. The feel of her fingertips tenderly touching his cheek brought him back. She reached up to stroke his hair.