Chapter 1: Struggling

- Hmm, Hmm...Kffff, Kfff, Kffff...

- Elizabeth? How are you feeling today, sweetheart?

My husband enters the room. Since the beginning of the week, I am laying in bed with a terrible headache, and coughing permanetly, to try to get rid of the horrible pressure in my lungs.

- I...Kff, Kkfff...I am...Kff...Kff...Kfff...

He comes closer slowly, cautiously, like he would do with a lion. I smile. When I'm contagious, he lets me in peace. He fears me.

- Hey, sweetheart... you look so tired... - he says to me with sudden tenderness.

Delicately, he presses his palm against my forehead... and removes it fast.

- Dear lord, you are burning! - he exclaims.

I was thinking it, too.

Seeing him so starled, I can´t stop a bit of laugh, wich fortunately turns inmediately into a cough. And that scares him worse.

- I am coming with a doctor right now. - (He sounds so worried...)- I'll be right back.

And he reaches the door as fast as he can, leaving me on my bed, alone and free as I can be.
I start laughing. He is so funny when I'm sick! How I wish I had this power over him all the time!

- Young lady!- a rough voice cackle from the door.

It's Annie, the maid Edward hired to take care of me. She is very secretive, though I sense a strong temper undeneath. She is an old woman, or perhaps not that old, but life has left his mark on her after the hard times she has been trough. She has just migrated from Germany, and her actual name is slightly different from Annie, but I don´t remember it.

- Du siehst nicht gut aus!- She comments in German as she sees me.

She brings me the breakfast on a tray she puts on my bedside table.

- Eat.- she orders.

Easier said than done, because I don´t feel hungry; on the contrary, the smell of the boiled eggs, the bread and the hot milk is trying to make me nauseous.

- Eat.- she repeats, when she sees I have no intention of approaching the tray.

- Annie... I can´t.

She hands me the cup of milk and tighten my hand around it.

- Drinken!

She observes me, severe, not moving until I bring the cup to my lips.

- Das ist your land...- she adds with a mocking grin before walking away.

I drink, and taste a unexpected sweetness in this warm beverage. A second sip leaves no doubt: honey. Milk and honey, the best thing one can drink when one has flu. My aunt used to do this for me when I was a kid, and I had forgotten it. Milk and honey... this woman do not hate me, after all... but in this "land of milk and honey", she doesn´t seem to have the best part.

...

When the doctor arrives, I am already feeling better. I have only had the milk, though, and the rest of my breakfast lays at my side. He takes it as a bad sign, I'm sure.

- Good morning, Mrs Masen. - he starts in a distracted voice.

Mr. Masen stands just behind him, like a fearful child.

- Good morning.- I reply, defiant under my weak tone.

The doctor senses it, and responds:

- You should have eaten your breakfast. This way you aren´t getting any better- he reproaches me.

I look at him in the eyes, and say, rebel:

- I am not hungry.

He helds my stare for a moment. I know he has the power to bleed me to death, to intoxicate me with every possible painfull and disgusting medical treatment, but I don´t care. I am going to make this man understand who I am: the stronger one.

- Well,- he declares when he looks away, defeated.- I need to check your lungs.

He introduces his stethoscope between the layer of my bedtime clothes and my skin: its contact is chill and umcomfortable. I shiver, but stay quiet, preserving my dignity. He listens to the sound of my breath, and reacts with boredom. It must be usual for him, the routine. My husband is seeing me with concern from the door. Such a coward.

- Well, Mrs Masen, you have a developping Pneumonia, I fear.

- Is it dangerous?- asks Edward, worried.

- Yes, it can be very dangerous- the doctor answers michevously- unless she takes the following: 2 spoons of syrup per day, and bleedings every two days. I'll come myself to make them- he smiles at me.

My following stare is meant to bleed him directly from the heart.

He tries to ignore it, searching the syrup inside his wallet. He finds it, a small bottle, and demand a spoon. (Oh, no.) And my husband, relieved to make himself useful and at the same time getting out of the room, goes for it diligently.
During his absece, I observe the doctor, who acts as if I wasn´t there. He has a slow, somehow mechanical way of moving, like he don´t get any emotion in it. Bad news: the man that has my life in his hands is bored with his.

- Here it is.- my husband comes back with the spoon.

- Very well.. says the doctor opening the syrup bottle, from where a nasty smell spreads.

He starts serving it. Then commands me to open my mouth. I cough hard, on purpose, and Edward simpathizes: he comes closer and take my hand between his.

- I'ts good for you, my dear, you are going to get better soon.

I sigh teatrically (wich makes me cough a bit more), and, martyr-like, I open my mouth. The spoonfull of nasty thing is introduced hastily, with no time for complaining. I'm not complaining anyway, I already have what I want: an ally without whom it would be impossible for me to take the treatment. I took advantage of Edward, and because of that I won´t be alone with the doctor during the bleedings...

The syrup tastes awfully. As long as the doctor sees me, I pretend to taste water, but when he looks elsewhere, I appear to struggle with a burning throat, for Edward to suffer. I will have to devellop my drama skills, if I want to survive.

- All right, I can leave now. I'll come back in the afternoon to do the bleedings. Good recovery, Mrs. Masen.

I nod. He leaves the room with my husband, whose worried look hadn´t vanished.

- Now, Mr, Masen, let's talk about money.- I hear from the corridor.


That was chapter one, my beloved readers! I hope you liked it!

What do you think of Elizabeth's evolution? And of the new characters?

What Annie says is: "You do not look good". "Drinken" is a cross between the imperative form of the verb to drink and his german homologue: "Trinken!" And "Das ist" means "This is".

I'm sure if you speak German you already guessed what Annie's real name is, but in case you don´t, it's Anja, pronounced "Annie-a", a german name that I find beautiful.

During the 1900's, immigration rose in the states, particularly in New York and Chicago. Annie is a context character, and I think with her wit and experience she can enrich the story a lot. But you'll tell me.

Ah, by the way, Saint Anthony's church was founded in those days by German immigrants.

So... that was it for the week. I would be very pleased if you leave me a review, or a PM, to share your opinion. So pleased I could update sooner!

- Liv T