Chapter 25

Lydia sprang from the piano bench and dashed to the doorway, barely in time to catch Juliana as she sagged against the doorframe. "You should not be out of bed!"

Juliana clutched her, hands weak and face pale. "I could not help it, the music was so beautiful. I had to hear it more clearly."

Lydia pressed her hand to Juliana's clammy forehead. "You are still feverish."

"I know, but it is hardly noticeable. I do…I feel ever so much better. It hardly hurts and the room only spins a little when I stand." She tried to pull herself upright, but could not stand unassisted for more than a moment.

Lydia pulled Juliana's arm over her shoulder. "I am more pleased than I can say, but we must get you back to bed. It is not safe for you to exert yourself too much."

Though she protested, Juliana allowed Lydia to guide her back to her room. Lydia tucked her into bed and ran for Mrs. Drummond.

"She is awake! She came to me in the music room all on her own and the fever has nearly broken!" Lydia burst into Mrs. Drummond's office without knocking.

Mrs. Drummond and Annabelle sprang to their feet. "Juliana?"

"Yes, yes. She heard me practicing and came to listen."

"I pray this is good news. Go fetch Mrs. Harrow." Mrs. Drummond rushed past them. Her staccato footfalls rang through the hall and up the stairs.

Hours later, Mrs. Harrow pronounced Juliana improved. Not strong enough to be out of bed for very long at a time but her chances of recovery were quite favorable now. Moreover, she might be permitted a little bit of company, an hour a day in the school room or music room. But she must still remain above stairs. It was too dangerous for her to manage that particular obstacle yet.

That evening, the girls gathered upstairs in the music room after supper. Though not nearly as comfortable as the parlor, the pleasure of including Juliana once again was worth it. They made a merry time of it, singing and playing pianoforte. Miss Long and Miss Greenville arranged a game of charades that quickly dissolved into hilarity. Even Miss Thornton and Miss Honeywell joined in. Mr. Amberson, though, kept away.

At the end of her allotted hour, Lydia and Annabelle helped Juliana back to her room. Face flushed and sporting a light sheen of sweat, she perched gingerly on the bed, panting a little.

"You look entirely worn out." Lydia fluffed the bed pillows.

The room looked and smelled very much like a sickroom. Perhaps she and Annabelle would clean it next Sunday morning. At the very least, they could air it out properly.

"We should leave and let you rest. You cannot exert yourself too much, yet. Do you want us to help you undress?" Annabelle asked.

Juliana sniffled and shook her head. "I am a dreadful selfish creature. I know, but I do not want to be alone. I feel as if I have been alone since…since it all happened."

"Someone has been with you almost always. We have taken turns sitting with you." Annabelle sat beside her draped an arm over her shuddering shoulder.

A great emptiness opened up in the deepest part of Lydia's soul. "I…I think I understand," she whispered, bracing her back against the wall by the bed.

"But all means tell me then, for I am utterly confused."

Lydia crouched beside the bed and looked up into Juliana's face. "It is him, is it not?"

"Lydia!" Annabelle hissed, fire in her eyes.

"No, not him, the baby."

Juliana nodded, cheeks glistening. "Mrs. Harrow and Mrs. Drummond will not speak of him at all. They merely say to thank God for His mercies. I should focus on the fact my life was spared and I should go on. But…but…"

"You do not want to. There is a hollowness you want to fill with him, some memory of him, you need something to remind you that it was real and happened. But you cannot because no one will let you." Lydia wrapped her arms tightly around her chest.

Annabelle laid a hand on her shoulder.

"You understand…but how?" Juliana's voice barely sounded over the angry thump of her own heart.

"That is how it was for my mother after her losses. Papa did not permit us to speak of any of them, or of little Thomas either. We were to go on as if nothing at all had happened; as if they had never been; as if our suffering had never been. I am convinced our grief lingered far longer than it needed because of it."

"I know it to be foolish and selfish, but I wish I could have held him, seen him—even if I had to lose him. I would have one way or another, my father had arrangements made, you know, if it was a boy, he would have gone to a cousin and her husband. Even if I could not keep him—was it wrong to want that much?" Juliana hid her face in her hands and wept.

Annabelle embraced her. Lydia found a handkerchief in the dressing table and tucked it into Juliana's hand. She slipped out and gathered several sheets of paper and her sketchbook from Annabelle's room and returned. She sat on the bed beside Juliana.

"Here, look." Lydia held out a drawing of Juliana and her son.

"Oh, you did not tell me you did this!" Annabelle gasped.

Juliana lifted her face from her hands. Her eyes widened and with something…was it joy, or hope perhaps?

"Is that…"

"Yes it is. You asked me to stay with you and I did, the entire time. I put him in your arms right after he was born. He…he looked at you and knew you were his mother. You told him how dear he was and what a good boy he was. Those were the words he heard. You fell asleep with him in your arms."

"I did?"

"Yes, and then Mrs. Harrow christened him."

Juliana gulped back a funny little squeak and covered her mouth with her hand. "What name?"

"You once told me you liked the name Michael."

"I did…I do...that was his father's middle name." Juliana rocked against the pillows.

"This is amazing." Annabelle touched the edge of the paper reverently, as though afraid to damage it. "I did not get to see him, but I feel as though I was there. So very beautiful."

"Is this…that is, may I…" Juliana fingered the corner of the drawing.

"Mrs. Drummond asked to have this one. But the first one, the one I drew that day, she sent it to be framed for you. She wanted to make sure nothing will damage it so that you might keep it a very long time. I am sure though, she would not mind if you kept this one until the other is finished."

Juliana pressed her fist to her mouth. "You have given me so much. I am so grateful. I should not even ask…"

"Mr. Amberson and Mr. Weatherby buried him properly in the church yard, near a climbing rose. He will show you where when you are stronger."

"I love roses." Juliana handed the drawing to Annabelle and fell upon Lydia's neck weeping.

A few tears were good for the soul to be sure. But that point came and passed and the wracking sobs continue. Lydia glanced at Annabelle. She must know the right thing to say.

Annabelle shrugged, a slightly panicked look in her eye. "You must calm yourself or you will make yourself ill."

"I…I…know." Juliana gulped and dragged the handkerchief across her cheeks.

"There must be something we can talk about to cheer you up." Lydia bit her lip and looked about the room.

Annabelle jumped a little and clapped. "Oh, I know, I have the most amazing secret to share with you."

"Are you sure?" Lydia whispered.

"Yes, yes, I know no one more trustworthy than Juliana. Oh! Have you a drawing?"

"I do, in my sketch book, several in fact" Lydia place her sketchbook in Juliana's lap. "If you stop weeping you will be able to look at them."

Juliana gulped in several shuddering breaths. "I…I shall try."

Annabelle pressed her finger to her lips. "You must not breathe a word of this to anyone. I am to be married."

"Surely you jest."

"No, it is entirely true."

"But who?"

"He is a man of my father's choosing, a man I had never met until he came here a fortnight ago. He is a knight, Sir Anthony."

Lydia flipped her sketch book open. "Here, the day they met in the parlor."

"It is a brilliant likeness of him." Annabelle cocked her head and studied the image.

"Of you both." Juliana traced his profile. "I can tell, he thinks you are very pretty. The look in his eye is clear."

Annabelle pressed her hands to her cheeks. "Oh, I had not thought, he has never said, but I mean, are you certain?"

"Of course I am. Look at his expression."

"But is that truly how he looked at me, or is that the way you hoped he would?" Annabelle raised an eyebrow at Lydia.

Lydia's cheeks flushed. "I have never truly thought about it. I suppose at least at first that was the way I wanted him to look at you."

"There you see—"

"But then later, even today, that was the way he stared at you."

"So you see I was right." Juliana leaned back against her pillows, pulling the sketchbook with her. "You really do sketch the most expressive faces. It makes me feel as though I am there with them and they are talking to me." She flipped to another page. "Whose hands…oh, Lydia!"

"Let me see." Annabelle crowded in close.

They both turned to stare at her as though they expected some sort of comment or confession.

She turned away.

"I can almost see his fingers moving! He is playing that very somber piece he wrote. I recognize that bit of a phrase there." Annabelle pointed at the tiny piece of music near the top of the drawing.

"Oh, I see a bit of a shawl along the edge of the keyboard. Is this the night Miss Long caught her shawl on the pianoforte and knocked over the card table? Oh, he was quite cross that night." Juliana giggled.

"Gracious, I remember that! Oh, let us see another."

Lydia reached for the book. "No, those are just silly little scribbles."

And they were; just thoughtless little bits of fluff that would not let her rest until she put them down on paper. How could they read so much into them?

"I hardly think so." Annabelle flipped open another page. "Oh, oh, here is my dress, the one for my wedding. Lydia designed it you know. When did you draw in the modiste and her shop? I do not remember seeing that before."

"The dress looks just like what you would wear. Oh, but look—that is the modiste, is it not? She was not very pleased, was she?"

Annabelle chuckled. "She was—"

"No, no, let me puzzle it out. I am sure it is all here…" Juliana traced the gown with her finger. "Let me see, there are dress sketches here and a length of some fabric here. The sketches look nothing like the gown, but the design on the fabric is the same as that on the bodice. There is a clock, but I cannot see the time, so I do not think that important—"

"But it did ring the funniest little chime. I never heard one like it before." Annabelle leaned in a little closer.

"So I must guess that either the modiste was unhappy you did not choose one of her designs or that you bargained a very good price for a particular piece of fabric for your dress. Am I right?"

"It was both." Annabelle giggled. "She really was put out by it all. How do you put all that into your sketch—it is a bit like looking at one of Rowlandson's images with all the little stories he hides there."

"I think Miss Honeywell would caution you against so many compliments lest they go to my head." Lydia closed the sketch book.

"Well I say great talent deserves praise." Annabelle rose. "But it is late and Juliana should sleep. Let us help you get ready for bed."

"And I shall put this here, near your bed, so you may look upon him whenever you wish." Lydia set the picture of mother and baby on the bedside table.