If I Fall (9 page)
Authors: Kelseyleigh Reber
Not long before we find the others.
Not long at all.
In and out of consciousness, I travel between dream and reality until it is not long before the two are indiscernible. Voices fill my head. Dream? Reality? I am not sure.
“Is she awake yet?” a man asks, distress coloring his tone.
“Calm down, my dear. Give the girl time.” It is a woman speaking. Something cool presses against my forehead; the cold, soft fabric feels wonderful on my hot skin.
“Give her time? She could be in a coma for all we know! We must wake her!”
“No!” The voice is gentle, but stern. “She must sleep. Something has clearly traumatized the dear girl.”
“Very well,” the man says. “I will stay with her. Please, get some sleep.”
“No. I have had my sleep. You, my son, have been awake all night, no doubt gallivanting around with this young lady. You sleep; I will awake you when she rouses.”
A sigh followed by a door slamming shut assures me the man has left. Without reluctance, I slip back into oblivion.
When I wake again, I force my eyes open. Light assaults my vision, blinding me. I squeeze my eyes shut as swirls and dots blink in and out of existence. My head feels light and I wait for it to subside before cautiously prying my eyes open a second time. Better accustomed to the brightness, images slowly form before me.
A large bed beneath me and a white comforter pulled up to my chin, soft as the most expensive furs. Green wallpaper and paintings of important-looking men adorn the walls. A chair to my left occupied by a man. His head bent, his hat lowered over his eyes. I watch his chest rise and fall in a slow cadence. How different Mr. Laurence appears with those astounding green eyes closed and his usual smirk relaxed into a straight line.
I consider waking him, but instead decide to slip out unnoticed.
It
is better this way
, I tell myself, as I move through the bedroom door and into the drawing room. I have been a fool these past two days, fraternizing with the enemy, putting both my sister’s and my own life at stake. Well, no more. One purpose pushes me forward, and that is to find Dela and get her safely to America. And whether I like it or not, my promise to her and my mother does not involve Mr. Laurence.
Tiptoeing over the beautiful Persian rug, I walk around the pink chaise and reach the door. A silk hat hangs limply from an ornate coat rack. A twinge of shame knots my stomach as I lift the hat from its perch.
There is no denying that I am a thief now,
I think as I put it on and reach for the door.
My hand rests upon the doorknob, but I cannot will myself to open it. I take one more glance around the cabin, reluctant to leave its warmth and protection, afraid by what I might find back in the cargo room—or worse, what I might
not
find. What if Dela has already been caught?
With this thought in mind, I pull the door open, preparing to rush down to the cargo room, when a voice makes me stop.
“Miss Hamilton!” A hint of surprise threads through the woman’s voice.
Another person who knows my secret. Wonderful.
Slowly, I turn around.
A slender woman, wearing a pale blue dress that creates the S-curve silhouette every girl so desperately wishes to have, stares at me from across the room. The dress’s sleeves puff out over her arms before coming to a halt at the lacey cuffs. Beautiful white lace drapes over her full low bust and creeps up into the stiff, high-boned collar. Beads are elegantly threaded into the hem of the dress. The crystals glitter as she steps closer, the hem brushing the floor and rippling with her movement. A sash encompasses her narrow waist and a broad-brimmed hat trimmed with colorful feathers and a stuffed hummingbird completes the ensemble. I feel myself sigh at its beauty, knowing I will never be able to afford something so lovely.
I force myself to raise my gaze, looking the fashionable woman in the eye. Her pink lips are pursed in a pleasant smile that stretches her skin; laugh lines wrinkle around her aged green eyes.
“Miss Hamilton, correct?” she says. I cannot speak. Words cower behind the swollen weight of my tongue. “Is that not your name?”
I nod. She smiles, continuing to move forward.
“I am sure you have already guessed who I am. I am Adam’s mother, Mrs. Laurence,” she says. “I am sorry we had to meet under such conditions.”
Conditions? Conditions as in me being unconscious and carried here by her son? Or conditions as in me trying to slip out of their cabin unnoticed with a stolen hat?
What a wonderful first impression I have made
, I think.
“Would you be so kind as to close that door? I would very much like to speak with you if you don’t mind.” Her voice is innocent and pleasant. I surrender to the power of her authority and do as she asks. I close the door and sit down on the chaise. Mrs. Laurence sits down opposite me in a large winged chair.
She stares at me, her green eyes not prying for answers, but keenly interested. An awkwardness surrounds me in its chilling cloak. It makes me want to itch at my skin, as though it is an irritation I can soothe just by raking my fingernails across it. But instead, my hands are iron fists at my sides. The skin stretched taught over the white of my knuckles. I wait for her to speak.
Another smile lights her face as she says, “My son tells me you took quite the fall earlier.”
I search for my voice. “I suppose I did, yes.”
“You two were speaking to a man when it happened?” she inquires.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. There it is again. That unexplainable itch, pricking its way across my arms, my thighs, my back. I nod.
“By the sound of it, this man was a Radical.”
What is she playing at? What does she know? I can feel her leading up to something, probing around the matter that truly occupies her mind before she strikes.
“I believe so, yes,” I say. “He was talking to us.”
“About?”
“About the Marked,” I whisper, my voice cracking on the last syllable.
A smile spreads up her face and into her eyes. I know we have finally reached what she truly wishes to discuss.
“And that was when you fainted?”
“Yes, but I was simply light-headed. I had a long day. I was tired and I hadn’t eaten much.” The excuses fly out of my mouth and I am helpless to stop them.
Mrs. Laurence leans forward, her kind eyes full of sympathy and knowledge. “I know, Elvira.”
Time freezes. My heart stops in my chest. I feel the blood cease pumping. I feel my breath halt in the middle of exhaling. Green eyes fix on my violet ones. My body is rigid. Unable to move. Frozen. Only one thing moves freely through the suddenly icy world. My voice. Slow and quiet, it whispers a question, so innocent and full of pain.
“You know?” My voice falters. My throat aches. My hands tremble.
She nods solemnly. “I know why you fainted when you saw the Radical.” She pauses. “I know
what
you are.”
The world unfreezes, flooding in, snapping back, and collapsing down on top of me in one fell swoop. She knows. She knows! My promise to Dela crumbles with those two words.
She knows!
“When Adam brought you to me, you were feverish. Your breathing was shallow and I wanted to get your pulse,” she whispers. “That was when I saw the mark.”
The reality of the situation hits me with a punch to the stomach and I crack. Cupping my face in my hands, I begin to sob. Tears stream down my cheeks in a torrent. My lungs clamp shut and the deep quavering gulps I struggle to take seem to carry no oxygen. It is all my fault. She knows! Dela and I will be handed over to the Radicals. We will be killed. Thrown overboard. And it is
all my fault!
“Please,” I whisper, but so softly she does not hear. “Please, don’t turn me in. Please.
Please.”
A hand wraps around my back as I cry and I shrink away before realizing it does not mean to hurt me. The woman beside me gazes at my tearful eyes and smiles in sympathy, attempting to soothe me as she combs her fingers through my hair and rubs my back. I stare at her in a mix of shock and confusion.
“Don’t cry, my darling,” she whispers. “It will be all right.”
I wipe at my eyes. “I don’t understand,” I stutter.
She draws back in puzzlement. Her brow furrows. “Understand what, darling?”
“You know,” I say as though it is the most obvious answer. “You know I am Marked.”
She smirks, brushing a finger over my cheek. “Not everyone hates the Marked, my dear.” And her touch, so kind, so gentle, instantly begins to calm me.
“You won’t turn me in?” I ask, my bottom lip still quivering.
She shakes her head. The feathers on her hat flutter as she moves. “Heavens, no. However, I must ask you to be honest with me, Elvira.”
I nod. This woman, this sole person who knows my deepest darkest secret, has given me a kind charity. Having only known her for a few minutes, I trust her. I trust her with all my heart.
“Where were you hiding?” she asks.
“The cargo room,” I answer, “with my sister.”
She frowns. “Your sister?”
“Yes. Dela. She is twelve. She is still there.”
I hope.
Mrs. Laurence stands and begins to pace. “Very well. You will fetch her and bring her back here. The two of you will stay here until the ship docks in New York.”
I shake my head. “I cannot do that, Mrs. Laurence. I will not put you and Mr. Laurence at risk.”
“Don’t you worry about us. No one doubts my authority, and my son has a way of talking his way out of every possible situation.” She chuckles lightly as she says this. “We will be just fine. You will get your sister and bring her here. We will say you two are my nieces. Yes, nieces. That will do.” She nods to herself as she forms the plan, assured it will work. “Go, now, before Adam awakes. Go. Go!”
Hastily, I move towards the door and make to step outside, but pause. Frozen in the middle of the doorway, I turn. Mrs. Laurence stares at me. Her loving eyes fall upon me as though I am truly her niece. My heart swells in adoration for this woman. I shift on the balls of my feet, afraid of the answer to my question.
My head lowered, I twiddle with a frayed end on my sleeve. “Are you sure, Mrs. Laurence? I would understand. You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes,” she says, and then smiles, “yes I do.”
I smile and turn to leave, but her voice pulls me back. “Elvira,” she calls.
“Yes?”
“Let your secret remain between you and me. Adam does not need to know.” The look in her eyes stops me from opening my mouth to ask why. I nod and let the questions die inside me.
I slip through the door as I had done so many times before, knowing that I will return soon and knowing that this time, I will be welcomed.
By the time I reach the cargo room, I am drenched in sweat. I take deep breaths but the terrifying possibilities that lurk beyond the door, paired with a long sprint, leaves me gasping for air.
She could be gone
, I think.
I could open this door, and she could be gone. What then?
Shoving these thoughts into the back of my mind, I push through the door. My chest clenches. Menacing shadows hover over me, the crates becoming dark creatures rather than the mundane objects of reality. I peer into the darkness.
“Dela?” I call. “Dela, it’s me! Dela?”
Terror knits into my chest, a colorful threadwork of worry and panic. A shrill undertone creeps into my voice. “Oh, Dela, please be here,” I whisper as I step further into the room.
Something moves to my right and I freeze. Another flash of movement and my heart picks up momentum. A form takes shape behind one of the crates. I open my mouth to scream, to cry for help, when the blur of movement suddenly turns into a familiar figure.
My
sister.
She runs forward, a shadow with bouncing golden curls, and slams into me. I stumble back with her sudden weight. She sobs against my chest, her thin arms wrapping tightly around my waist. Embracing her, I smile with relief.
“I-I was so afraid, El. I woke up and you were gone. You were gone and the Radicals—they were here, looking for us! They were so close to finding me, El! They were so close, but something made them leave. I was hiding just back there.” She points to the furthest corner. She raises her gaze, accusing blue discs in search of answers. “How could you leave me, El? How could you do that? I was so frightened. I was so terribly frightened.”
