The next morning, she sent the amah in with his breakfast and took herself off to the kitchen for her own meal. It was some time before the woman returned, and when she did she tearfully made Kitty understand that though master had allowed her to help him into the bathroom, he'd afterwards only drank the honey-lime water and refused food. Kitty frowned down at her own plate, displeased that he should be so inconveniently stubborn.
"It's alright," she assured the distraught amah, a hand resting briefly on her arm. "I'll take care of it."
In Walter's bedroom, she again found him dozing with the tray on the table beside him. His hair was slightly damp, freshly washed, though curiously he remained unshaven. Tiptoeing in, she quietly picked up the fork and speared a piece of cooked apple from the untouched bowl. Quickly, before he could wake and discover what she meant to do, she shoved the food between his sleep-slackened lips. He did wake, then, startled, and at first chewed reflexively to avoid choking, but Kitty could see as he came back to himself that he meant to refuse this, too, and her hand was over his mouth before he could.
"Swallow it," she said sternly. He rolled his eyes but did as commanded. "Now," she went on, lifting the fork again, "must I force every bite?"
His mouth was again tightly shut, and she saw the gleam of impending triumph in his eyes, but her own small victory had buoyed her confidence. She again rested the fork against his lips, aware that he was silently laughing at her, but this time she pinched his nose and shoved the food in when he was forced to gasp for air, then quickly released his nose to clamp her hand back over his mouth before he could even think of spitting. Glaring resentfully, he dutifully chewed and swallowed. Kitty smirked, unable to help being a little smug.
"I've nothing to entertain me, I can do this all day."
"Give it here, then," he said with bad grace and took the fork, waiting for her to place the tray back over his lap. "You may go."
"So you can find some other way to avoid eating?" When he'd taken the fork, she'd noticed the white of a new bandage around his wrist, peeking from his sleeve, and realized the reason for his still prickly face and the amah's rather disproportionate tears. She'd wager that if she went into the bathroom his razor would be gone. Walter could not be left to his own devices.
He scowled darkly when she pulled the chair from beneath the night table and sat down. Spearing an apple, he raised the fork and then stopped. "I can't eat with you staring at me."
She conceded to his self-consciousness, pointedly turning to face the wall behind the table. "Were you this much trouble at the hospital?"
"No." Silence, broken only by soft sounds of a fork scraping, Walter chewing. "I didn't want to upset anyone."
"You're upsetting me," she said, fingers laced tightly together atop the table.
"Am I," he wondered faintly, but she could tell from his tone he expected no answer.
