Preserving Hope (34 page)

There was only the slightest hint of hesitation.
It sounds scary… but I trust you.

He hoped he was worthy of such monumental trust.

He used his nanos to form a crude syringe, small enough to be hidden in her clothing, but large enough to hold the entire quantity of opium. He wasn’t sure if opium was typically injected or absorbed by other means, but doubted that having a “dead” woman chew or swallow medication was in line with their goals.

There was a knock at the door. “Will?” It was Arthur. “Is she… is she…”

“I have one last thing I can try, Arthur. But I need quiet. Move away from the door, please.”

He carefully injected the smallest possible amount of the opium into her system, and a few moments later her internal sigh of relief told him that it was working.
I don’t hurt as much any more, Will. Is this what dying feels like?

I haven’t died recently, Elizabeth.
He smiled faintly.
The opium lessens the pain as it makes you sleepy.

He took his time, injecting minute amounts of opium into her body and assessing the effect, until her face seemed a serene picture of the perfect calm of one no longer suffering. Her breathing wasn’t noticeable unless he laid his head down on the table next to her; only then could he detect the faint rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. He used additional nanos to attach the needle to her arm inside the sleeve of her dress. He withdrew most of the healing nanos, leaving behind only one-tenth the full amount. Not certain if it would work, he directed them to work only on internal injuries; surface injuries and cosmetic repair would need to wait until the ruse of burying a dead Elizabeth was completed.

He steadied himself into an appropriate mix of anguish and anger, took a deep breath, and walked to the door. Every eye in the community snapped to him immediately, their grief-stricken, tear-lined faces hoping that he’d bring news of a miracle, rather than the news of dread they knew must be true.

Allowing a tear to form in his eye, Will choked out the words. “She’d gone. I tried everything I could. The injuries were simply too much.”

The silence was so complete that it seemed that even the nighttime wildlife had gone silent in mourning. Arthur was, for the first time since Will had arrived in the village, unable to find a thing to say. Will felt he must provide the guidance they needed.

“We must perform a proper burial for her. We will need a coffin; nothing fancy, a simple wooden box with a lid.” Will looked at the carpenters, and especially Joseph, as he spoke the words, though his eyes flicked to Arthur at the word “box,” a gesture the man noticed.

Will then faced the Traders, a group that had made the most notable effort to act as a type of family for the troubled young woman they were about to bury. Yet in the end, they’d aided in her final destruction, a fact that their faces reflected all too clearly. “She should be buried next to her mother. There should be shovels among the tools the farmers use. The torches will provide the light you need. Go now.” They did not question the request to dig the grave in the darkest part of the night, for none of them would be able to sleep. They turned as a group to seek out the shovels they’d need to dig.

“The rest of you should help those two groups,” Will said. “Help the carpenters find the wood they need to build her coffin. Help dig the grave. I will prepare the body for burial. Do not disturb me.” He turned and re-entered her room, shutting the door behind him. He directed his nanos to seal the door and window shut, in the event the curious might want to know what he was doing.

He walked over to her, rested a hand on her warm, bruised cheek, and bent over to kiss her on the top of her head. He thought he detected a twitch of her lip, the closest thing to a smile she could manage in her opium-induced sleep.

Then he lay down on the dirt floor, curled up into a fetal position, and cried silently as exhaustion took him and he fell into a deep sleep.

XXIV

Burial

Will woke, his back in pain from sleeping on the dirt floor. The pain was a reminder that the nightmare of the previous evening was no dream. He stood and walked over to Elizabeth, and saw with that her external injuries — bruises, swollen eyes, lacerations, and cuts — were still extensive and visible. He put his head down on the cot next to her, watching, ensuring the faint rise and fall of her chest still occurred and still showed that she lived.

Satisfied, he reached out to her.
Are you awake?

I’m starting to hurt a lot again, Will.

He nodded, then smiled, realizing she couldn’t see him.
The effects of the opium wear off after a time. I need to talk to the people outside and then I’ll come back in and give you more, so that you’re asleep when we put you into the coffin.

I mean I’m hurting about what he did to me, Will. About what he allowed everyone to do. About what he said last night, when he could have stopped all of this.

Will cringed, his anger at Arthur being reignited.
It infuriates me, Elizabeth, to know what’s been happening to you. I wish you’d let me take you away from here when I first arrived, but I know you wanted to try to help him redeem himself. I fear there’s no redemption for him, though. The fact that he’s hurt you in so many ways… it makes me want to end his life.

No, Will.
Her plea was plaintive, the emotional trauma dampening her usual forcefulness in their conversations.
That’s what he’d do, what Maynard would do. Don’t be like them, Will. Don’t ever be like them. Don’t ever, ever, kill anyone, least of all on my account. I’m not worth it.

You’re more than worth it! Do not let them define who you are, Elizabeth, any more than you want me to define myself by what they are. The world sees you as the citizens of Richland see you, as the citizens of the town you visited with the weavers see you. Don’t define the world by the attitude and approaches of two evil men. You are your mother’s daughter, a woman full of love and compassion, even for those who would harm you and hurt you for their own good. If that’s not someone worth saving, and admiring… then I don’t know who is.

There was a pause.
That attitude only succeeded in getting me killed.

You’re very much alive, Elizabeth. And soon, you’ll be more alive than you’ve ever been before, finally free of the clutches of those who seek to do you harm. Free to live as you see fit, to have the love you offer to everyone returned in kind, rather than abused. Yours is a life worth living, Elizabeth, and a life worth saving. It’s been my personal mission to make sure that you are able to do just that.

She was quiet for a long time. He took the opportunity to inject more opium into her system, enabling her to relax into a deep, death-like sleep. He injected as much as he had the previous night, and a bit more besides; it would not do to have her wake up prematurely.

He opened the door to find all of the villagers milling around outside. They were prepared with a coffin for her body, a simple pine box with a lid that would be nailed shut to seal her in for all eternity. The Traders had returned; he could see the shovels leaning against the wall by the gate, still covered with dirt from their exertions.

He glanced once more at the coffin, and realized he was going to put the woman he loved into that box, that airtight box. She’d have no air to breathe. Would he allow her to be killed under the guise of smuggling her seemingly-dead body out of the village? How could he keep her breathing? He choked up at that point, wondering if, after everything he’d tried to do to save her life, he’d managed to set himself a trap he couldn’t escape, a trap that would mean her death after all. How could he fail now?

Aldus walked over, along with Matilda, and the two of them put comforting hands on his shoulders, attempting to help him through his grief. “We need to finish this, Will,” Aldus said. “The Traders will carry the coffin. But we need… her… before we can do that.” He allowed himself to glance through the open door at Elizabeth, and he choked up a bit himself.

Will composed himself. “Not all of the Traders, Aldus.” He looked over where the remaining trio stood. “Not Eleanor.”

The woman blinked, her face full of shock and anger. “Why… why do you say that?”

“Elizabeth should be carried by those who were her friend, who never truly denied her. While none of the Traders hurt her and did nothing to stop those who did last night, they did do everything they could to ease her life of pain while she lived. All but one. You were advised to treat her better, Eleanor, and advised
how
you could do so. You were made aware, repeatedly, by the Traders of her suffering. Most here followed the example of Arthur because no one ever suggested to them to do otherwise. Not so with you. Your words, as I recall, were: ‘better her than me.’ She was a far better woman than you, and you denied her a better chance of living a decent life here. No, Eleanor, you verbally and directly rejected her. You’ll not carry her to her final resting place. Step aside.”

Eleanor opened her mouth to speak, anger on her face, but was silent at a withering glance from Will. She instead chose to look closely at her feet.

Will glanced into the crowd and noticed one of the weavers, a woman named Kay, standing there. He recalled that Kay had, in a fashion, befriended Elizabeth, and had in fact been the one chatting amicably with Elizabeth the night before, right when Arthur’s rampage triggered the events leading to this moment. Kay noticed Will’s glance, looked around, and then back at Will. “Me?” she asked.

Will nodded. “Though it started late, you did become a friend to her. I think she’d want you to be here. Please, join us.”

Kay, nervous, moved toward the coffin, avoiding the withering glare sent her way by Eleanor.

Joseph put a hand on Will’s shoulder. “We’ll need the body,” he said quietly.

Will took a deep breath and nodded. He walked into Elizabeth’s room and scooped her into his arms, wishing he could hold her forever, but knowing his duty. He carried her to the coffin and laid her inside with a gentle touch, laying her head back slowly, the bruises and lacerations still noticeable. His eyes, attuned to the movement, caught a very slight movement in her chest, and he had the syringe nanos inject a small amount of additional opium. He recalled the words of the woman who’d sold it to him, words of caution about injecting too much. He’d never asked how much that was. A chill covered him. Was he, even now, killing her, before he even dealt with his concern over her air supply?

He stood back, thinking quickly. Gerald handed him a long coil of rope, and Will noted that he and Aldus had slung the coils over their shoulders, and he followed suit, not troubling himself to wonder what purpose the rope might serve. His panic rose as Joseph and another carpenter began to slide the lid atop the coffin.

“Stop!”

Arthur moved forward through the crowd, and the carpenters stopped and looked at him. “Please, I… I need to put this with her,” Arthur said. He held a small pouch in his hand.

Will stepped forward, glaring at him. “What is it?”

“It’s… it’s jewelry that Genevieve loved. She stopped wearing it years ago, before she died. I think she would have wanted Elizabeth to have it.” He looked at the ground. “I waited too long to give it to her. She needs to have this, for Genevieve’s sake.”

Will held out his hand, palm up. Arthur hesitated, then handed the pouch to Will. Will opened the pouch, and inside was a simple necklace and a golden hair pin. To the crowd, it looked as if Will choked up at the sight of the necklace because he was touched at Arthur’s moment of sentimentality, no matter how suspiciously or posthumously it arrived. In reality, Will was choking up because he was holding the necklace Hope had worn on their wedding day. She’d never told him where she’d gotten it, only that it had been a family heirloom rescued by a friend.

The pin, for some reason, spawned an idea. Pins were used to puncture, and pins — or needles — could be used to do things like draw blood, puncturing the skin and enabling blood to flow out of the body through the needle and into a tube. He could create microscopic punctures in the surface of the coffin with small “needles” built of his nanos, opening up passages for oxygen to enter the coffin. Elizabeth would be able to breathe. He retained his visual focus on the necklace and pin as he directed many of his remaining nanos on this task.

Once the puncture holes were built, Will heaved a deep sigh of relief, a sigh likely seen as a final farewell to his friend. Will placed the necklace and pin back in the pouch, noting the red, velvety texture, and leaned over the coffin to place it on Elizabeth’s stomach. He took her hands and wrapped them around the pouch, a symbol that even in death Elizabeth held strong to the memory of her mother. He then stepped back and nodded at the carpenters. The men slid the heavy wooden top onto the box once more.

Arthur walked to stand next to him. “I can’t believe she’s truly gone.”

Will! I can’t breathe!

She was still awake? Weren’t his puncture needles working?
There’s air in there, Elizabeth. You must be calm.
He focused on the nano-needles, ordering them to expand the size of the puncture holes to allow more airflow, and at the same time, he focused on the syringe, emptying more of the contents into her bloodstream.

After a momentary delay, he finally replied to Arthur. “Nor can I.”