Song of the Spirits (76 page)

“The maintenance falls to you, doesn’t it?” Heather asked as they parted from each other one last time before the sun rose. “I can turn to you if anything about this… um… sewing machine breaks?”

William nodded, stroking her still-flat stomach. Julian Redcliff seemed not yet to have planted another child, but Heather had told William they were doing their best. She might have just gotten somewhat closer to that goal.

“For normal customers, I come by whenever I’m in the area next,” William whispered, his hand feeling its way lower. “But for special customers…”

Heather smiled and arched toward his hand.

“Naturally, I still need a more thorough introduction.”

William’s fingers played with her soft blonde pubic hair. “Introductions are my specialty.”

Heather needed two afternoons in his hotel room before she had completely mastered the technique. After that, she signed the sales contract for a sewing machine.

William sent it triumphantly to Wellington. His stay on the South Island had gotten off to an excellent start.

T
imothy Lambert lay in his plaster casts for five months. He had withstood the raging pain of the first few weeks and the acute boredom of the last weeks, which made him restless and insufferable, and endured all the weeks in between. In the meantime, things were not going smoothly in the Lambert Mine. Many opportunities to renovate and improve the mine after the accident were not implemented during the repair work. Timothy was impatient to get involved again. But whenever his father even bothered to make an appearance—he seemed to have to work up some Dutch courage first—and then peered at his son through glassy eyes, he answered Timothy’s questions about the mine with vague platitudes. His remarks filled Timothy with rage, but he put up with his father’s ignorance and his mother’s caterwauling—and moreover, even managed a smile, a joke, and a little optimism when Elaine came by in the evenings.

Berta Leroy observed with fascination that Timothy never took his bad moods out on Elaine—as he did on other regular visitors. And no matter how bad the pain was in the beginning or how desperately he sometimes dug his fingernails into the sheets, he always enfolded Elaine’s hand with his fingers as warily as if she were a timid little bird. For her part, Elaine seemed to spend her entire day gathering stories with which to cheer Timothy up. She laughed with him and commented on the town gossip with sharp and pointed words, read to him, and played chess with him. It surprised Timothy that she had such a command of the game. Not that he believed her story about her origins—Elaine like to claim that she was from a working family in Auckland. He’d only had to ask her about two important building
projects in Auckland to determine that the girl had clearly never seen the city.

Elaine’s daily visits kept Timothy going. Still, as the weeks stretched on in torturous boredom, he grew increasingly impatient for the day when he would finally be free of his casts. When the expert from Christchurch finally fixed a date and announced that he would be appearing in the middle of July, Timothy could hardly contain his joy.

“I can’t wait to see you again at eye level,” he said, laughing, when Elaine came to see him that afternoon. “It’s horrible having to look up at people all the time.” They had become much more familiar with one another over the last few months. Fortunately, the girl could manage familiarity.

Elaine frowned. “If you were as short as I am, you would have gotten used to it a long time ago,” she teased. “Besides, Napoleon is supposed to have been a pretty short fellow.”

“At least he could sit on a horse. What is Fellow up to these days? Is he looking forward to seeing me again?”

Elaine had held onto Timothy’s gelding after the accident. None of the Lamberts had ever asked about the horse, so Fellow had simply remained in Madame Clarisse’s stables. Madame Clarisse did not complain as long as Elaine took care of the feeding costs, and the grain dealer had put that on the Lamberts’ tab at Timothy’s behest anyway. Banshee was delighted to have the company, and Elaine took turns riding the horses. Timothy looked forward to her daily reports, and that alone made the extra effort worth it.

“Of course,” Elaine said. “But do you think you’ll be able to ride right away?”

Elaine would have loved to share Timothy’s optimism, but the doctors’ bad prognosis still rang in her ears. What if Timothy’s bones had not healed as well as he hoped? If he could not walk again at all or had to always use crutches at best? She did not want to remind Timothy of Dr. Leroy’s fears, but she was as fearful as she was hopeful when she thought about the day his casts were to be removed.

“The day I can’t ride anymore is the day I die,” Timothy said, and Elaine had to laugh. She knew that expression from her grandmother
Gwyneira; she would have so much liked to tell Timothy about the tough old woman. But caution made her keep it to herself. It was better not to let anyone in on her true life story. And one did not need to be all that clever to know that a laborer’s daughter from Auckland did not have a sheep baron for a grandmother.

“It doesn’t have to be right on the first day,” she said vaguely.

While Timothy spent the following weeks doing nothing but making plans for after his liberation, Berta Leroy looked on in an increasingly concerned frame of mind. On the day before the specialist’s visit, she took Elaine aside.

“Be here tomorrow when they remove the casts. He’ll need you,” she said grimly, with an almost threatening undertone.

Elaine looked up at her in confusion.

“He doesn’t want me there,” she said with some regret. “I’m not supposed to come until afterward.”

“He thinks he’ll be able to walk to you smiling,” Berta remarked bitterly, pointing to a pair of crutches that leaned next to the door to Timothy’s hospital room. “The carpenter made them from pictures in a catalog since Dr. Porter had not wanted to bring any. Nellie Lambert told Tim they would be too cumbersome to transport, but she never knew how to work the truth.”

“Work what truth?” Elaine felt an ice-cold tingle down her spine. “Wasn’t it that no one could know exactly how well the fractures would heal? And now, Tim’s so sure. He hasn’t had any pain for weeks.”

“Child,” Berta sighed as she pushed Elaine gently in the direction of her living quarters behind the doctor’s office. “I think we’d better have some tea first, and then I’ll try and help you understand what to expect. Tim doesn’t want to hear it of course, and Nellie…”

Elaine followed the doctor’s wife uneasily. She had known that it would not be as simple as Timothy hoped. But this sounded far more serious than she had thought.

“Lainie”—Berta finally spoke when they had two steaming cups of tea in front of them—“even if Tim’s right to be optimistic, which I hope with all my heart…”

But don’t believe, Elaine continued in her head.

“Even if everything has healed perfectly, he still won’t be able to walk tomorrow. Not tomorrow, not the day after, nor in a week or even in a month.” Berta stirred her tea.

“But my brother could walk right after he broke his leg,” Elaine objected. “Sure, he limped a little, but—”

“How long was your brother bedridden? Five weeks? Six weeks? Probably not, you can’t keep a boy inside. Let me guess. After three weeks, he was happily up and about on two crutches and one good leg, was that it?”

Elaine smiled. “After one. My mother just wasn’t supposed to know.”

Berta nodded. “There you have it. My lands, Lainie, you can’t be that naïve. That horse you’re always telling him about, you give it exercise. Why do you do that?”

Elaine looked confused. “So that it doesn’t get out of shape. If horses just stand around, they lose muscle.”

“Don’t you see?” Berta said, satisfied. “And how much muscle would a nag lose laying about for five months?”

Elaine laughed. “Then he’d be dead. Horses can’t lie down for that long.” Suddenly she understood what Berta was trying to tell her, and her expression turned serious. “You mean, Tim will be too weak to move?”

Berta nodded again. “His muscles have withered, his tendons shortened, his joints stiffened. It’ll be awhile before that’s all back in working order. And it won’t happen on its own, Lainie. The last few weeks were a cakewalk compared to what Tim has ahead of him if he really wants to learn to walk again. He’ll need an unbelievable amount of courage, and strength, and maybe even someone who—pardon the expression—kicks him in the rear occasionally. Every last thing is going to hurt at first, and he’s going to have to fight for every inch he can move his joints. There’s no chance that he’ll be working or riding right away. And that’s all going to hit him tomorrow all of a sudden. Just be there when it happens, Lainie. Just be there.” Berta’s voice was both concerned and serious.

“But he wants to go home straightaway,” Elaine said. “I—”

“What an idea!” Berta snorted. “I can’t bear to think of delivering him to Nellie in his condition. She’s long since come to terms with babying him, and she seems to like it better and better. She’s bored to death in that big house. If she had someone there whose nerves she could get on whenever she wanted, she’d really come into her own. She’s already hired a nurse for the more unpleasant work. She’s coming tomorrow with Dr. Porter. With a wheelchair too. She’s already started calling Tim ‘baby.’ Lainie, if we leave Tim to his parents, he won’t be there two weeks before he’s numbing himself with anything he can get his hands on. I’m not giving him any morphine, but Nellie has more than enough laudanum, and men tend to prefer whiskey anyway.”

“But what am I supposed to do?” Elaine asked, discouraged. “I can ride to the Lamberts’ place, but…”

“First you need to be there tomorrow,” Berta explained. “Let’s see what happens then.”

Elaine watched from inside the pub as the coach with the doctor from Christchurch left the little hospital, followed shortly by a chaise containing Nellie Lambert and a squarely built young woman dressed as a nurse. Then she walked over. Berta Leroy was waiting for her in the anteroom, alternating between rage and despair.

“Go to him, Lainie,” she said without inflection. “They want to take him tomorrow. Dr. Porter and my husband both declared him unfit for transport today.”

“Did it heal that badly?” Elaine asked quietly.

Berta shook her head. “Not at all. Quite well, actually. Dr. Porter is very enthusiastic about the hip, even if it’s still a little out of line. But otherwise, he thinks Tim has every reason to hope for the best. Though his best hope right now consists of taking two steps on crutches between the bed and the wheelchair. Yes, my Christopher put it that starkly. Tim is, naturally, shaken to the core. We had the usual waterworks from Nellie. Don’t put morphine or anything else
in his hand that he could use on himself. I’m afraid he’s capable of anything.”

Elaine fought back her tears as she opened the door to Timothy’s room. But she reached for the crutches with determination and took them in with her.

She had to blink when she entered the room. Timothy lay in half darkness—as he so often did whenever Nellie left him. Usually, he called Berta right afterward and asked her to open the curtains again. But now he could reach the lamp on the night table himself. He was not lying in his bed as usual but reclining in a half-sitting position, leaning back on his pillows. He did not even turn his head when Elaine entered, and instead continued to stare, motionless, at the wall across from him.

“Tim.” Elaine felt a sudden urge to sit on his bed, but then she saw his face, and the familiar expression of pain and strenuous self-control. He would not be able to stand being touched at the moment.

“Tim.” Elaine placed the crutches next to the bed and drew the curtains open. Timothy’s face was deathly pale and his eyes had an absent look to them. Elaine smiled at him. “You’re looking better already,” she said kindly. “It’s almost like you’re sitting up. You don’t even need to work to be at eye level when I sit down too.”

A weak smile passed over Timothy’s features.

“Little more will come of it,” he said quietly. “I’ll never be able to walk again.” He turned his face to her.