"Hush dear, hush, it's all right now. I am here, everything will be all right. You are safe now,"
Catherine dipped a clean cloth into the bowl and wringing out the water, she wiped the fine mist of sweat and tears that glistened on the girl's pallid face and gently clasping the flailing hands in one of her own, she spoke to her again," There now, lie back and rest yourself, my dear. You have suffered enough; it is over now".
At her touch, the girl as though, sensing her presence, ceased her agitated thrashing and slowly sank back into the pillows. Still delirious but no longer under the spell of her dream, she muttered feverishly, her eyes closed and her hands clutching at the covers. Tenderly, Catherine smoothed the hair back from the girl's face and adjusting the bedcovers, took the limp hand in her own. Speaking softly and uttering words of comfort ,she patted her hand, until after a while, the girl's breathing slowed and steadied, and she gradually slipped into an uneasy slumber.
Tonight ,thought Catherine, her eyes darkening with pain, as she looked upon the quietly sleeping figure, there would be no sounds of running feet along the hallways. No voices raised in alarm and no face, black or white that would turn to her in panic.
So unlike like that other night.
It had been Raydon on the afternoon of that unfortunate day, who had carried the girl, listless and unmoving, up the winding path that led from the driveway to the front of the Butler house. After laying her down on the bed in one of the spare rooms on the far east wing of the house, he had watched with mounting horror, as the blood from the gaping wound on the girl's head soaked the clean, fresh white sheets, dyeing them a ghastly shade of red. That was the last of Raydon, Catherine had seen that day. He had locked himself up in his room, disregarding even the direct orders from Rufus himself and turning a deaf ear to her pleadings, until the next morning, when Catherine, standing in front of his closed door and wringing her hands and fearing for his sanity, had whispered the news to him, that which she had heard from Dr Peters. He had come out then, his face white as a sheet and his eyes blank with shock and since, had not spoken a word to anyone.
Dr. Peters, a somber looking youth, schooled in the new age of progressive medicine had examined the unconscious girl with an expert eye. After dressing the cut on the back of her head, he listened gravely to her shallow breathing and tapping her knees with curious instruments, had declared in somber tones, that the girl was suffering from severe trauma to the head. Handing Catherine some medicine for the pain, with strict instructions to administer them with a dropper every four hours or so, he had left then, with the assurance that he would be back to check on the girl every day.
That night, the house had been unusually quiet. The pall of gloom that had hung over it since that afternoon had left them all drained and weary. Even Little Rose had been quiet as a mouse as she played with her dolls in the nursery and had gone to bed early, without her customary protests and fussing and the servants, mindful of the tension in the air and the frame of mind, the master of the house was in, had tiptoed around the kitchens as they went about their chores before turning in for the night.
The girl had not stirred once since 's visit, and Catherine, after finding her resting uneasily in sleep that was closer to a trance like stupor, had retired to her rooms for the night.
When they had heard the scream, Catherine had been the first to arrive at the girl's door, disheveled and breathless, one hand tightly clutching the silk wrapper that covered her night dress underneath. She'd hardly had time to open the girl's door before the house had turned into a sea of blazing light and noise.
That was the first time the nightmare had occurred. It had gotten worse with each day that passed and the quavering household struggled grimly to staunch the feeling of utter helplessness they felt at the girl's distress. Catherine, desperate to help in any way she could, never left the girl alone and at any time of day or night, there would be a maid stationed in her room or a candle left burning at night by her bedside.
But despite their best efforts, the girl, insentient and delirious, and burning with a mysterious fever, that baffled the good doctor, shriveled and shrunk before Catherine's troubled eyes; and Catherine, her grim face set into hard determined lines and her brow furrowed with worry, re-doubled her efforts at tending to her. Arming herself with her trusted medicine bag and her repertoire of herbs and liniments, she dutifully took her place at the girl's bedside, breaking her vigil only for the most necessary of chores or to attend to her older son, whenever she could, for he appeared to rival the girl's pain in her suffering. Refusing to be consoled and wracked with remorse, Raydon paced the hallways, from dawn to dusk, outside the unconscious girl's room, his face pale and haggard and a hunted look in his eyes.
Her son's anguish broke Catherine's heart but what distressed her more was the suffering she thought she sensed behind the dreams that twisted the pale and thin face of the feverish woman into a visage of unspeakable pain, and that which made her cry out in the quiet of the night, her screams bearing down upon the cringing household with alarming regularity. A gentle soul herself, Catherine had been horrified and deeply affected by the pitiable state of the hapless girl and each evening, after attending to the day's chores, she'd climb up the two flights of stairs to the bedroom where the girl lay, tossing and restless, and unfastening the silver rosary from her neck with hands that shook, would kneel by the bedside, her head bent and lips moving in silent prayer, the tears flowing freely as they mingled with the cold metal of the cross.
Now, sitting by the side of the sleeping figure, holding the girl's small limp hand in her own soft one, and alone in the privacy of the room, she couldn't help thinking back on everything that had happened—that one defining moment in a week of random days that had changed all their lives so! A day that had become her cross to bear.
If it hadn't been for Raydon, she wondered if things might have turned out differently for the girl on that morning. Raydon….and Rhett! She felt the familiar feeling of panic and helplessness that rose up like a wave and threatened to drown her and her eyes filled with tears.
It had started out as such a promising day. She remembered thinking it was a perfect day for a picnic with unusually clear skies; bright and cloudless and stained a startling shade of deep cerulean blue; so different from the dreary gray-white pall, ashy and thick that had hung over them like dirty smoke for the past few months. The chill of the winter sun had given way to the balminess of early spring and even the dew in the air had a sparkle to it that made the blossoming hydrangeas shine white, like clouds of freshly spun cotton. Wide expanses of verdant green grass stretched for acres along the plantation, dotted with nascent blooms of azaleas and yellow jessamin. Catherine, seldom finding time away from her dawn to dusk chores of supervising the huge plantation, had welcomed the chance to spend time with her older son and Little Rose; and the brother and sister, overjoyed at the prospects of having their mother's undivided attention wholly to themselves for an entire day had been eagerly looking forward to the trip into town.
The week before, Rose had been invited to a friend's birthday party and there, had come upon a new toy; a cunning little butterfly made of paper mâché that could be wound up and made to fly. It was a gift to Margaret, the birthday girl from one of her uncles and had quickly caught the fancy of every child present. Within no time, the shelves in stores showed bare as harassed parents flocked to stock up on them before they ran out and Rose having set her heart on getting one, had clung resolutely to the hem of her mother's skirt, following her everywhere around the big house, until her mother, growing weary of the constant wheedling, caved in and asked Raydon to take them into town that weekend .
Now, as she sat by side of the young woman, besotted by the demons in her sleep, Catherine marveled at how quickly things had changed on that day.
Raydon, a little affected by the festive mood and the smiling faces around him, had insisted on driving the carriage himself. After dismissing the coachman and lifting Rose onto the tall seat next to him, he had laughed and tickled his little sister as she squirmed in the big seat, making her giggle.
The little girl, happy and excited to be sitting up close to the big horses, bounced up and down on her seat and as Ray took the reins and lead the horses into a slow trot down the driveway, she had tugged at his arm impatiently and said, "Faster! Faster, Ray! Please Ray, make them go faster"!
Laughing and turning towards his mother, seated in the back of the buggy, he'd winked at her playfully and said : " It's all-right mother, I promise I shall be careful".
And then, leaning forward, he'd tugged on the reins, gently whipping the horses into a deliberate gallop as he looked down at his little sister with a mischievous smile. Rose had shrieked and clapped her hands with delight as the horses broke into a run and the sudden rush of cool wind tickled her face.
The buggy had started to pick up speed and Raydon, smiling at the happiness on the little girl's face, put a steadying arm around her. The path ahead started to curve, and they were nearing the gradual slope that led down the hill. Gleefully anticipating his little sister's thrill at soaring downhill, Raydon had adjusted the reins slightly and the horses, feeling the slack, increased their speed and the buggy raced down the winding road with the little girl squealing with laughter as the wind nipped at her bonnet.
By the time they came upon the bend in the road at the bottom of the hill, with the lone figure standing in the middle, it had been too late.
The speeding horses had flown straight at the figure, the wheels of the buggy rattling and shaking as they dragged the buggy behind them. A horrific noise of thundering hooves had filled the air and Catherine had screamed a warning while Rose sitting at Raydon's side had flung one arm out in front of her in terror, shading her eyes and clutching and grasping at Raydon with the other. Raydon struggling to free himself from Rose's grasp had let the reins slip from his hand and even though it had just been for a few moments, perhaps a few seconds even- it had been enough. The horses feeling the slack and sprinting faster had hurtled headlong at the still and unmoving figure.
They'd all them, heard the sickening thump of something hitting the side of the buggy. The horses never stopped and never broke their stride and snorting and rearing in terror, they had pulled the buggy furiously behind them, with the wheels of the carriage scrambling over something soft . It had all happened very quickly and before Raydon could take hold of the reins again, the horses had bolted down the curving path into the road beyond with the carriage bouncing and jostling behind them.
Straining against the reins and his face blank with shock, Raydon had turned the horses around and lead them back up the hill to where it had happened.
At first glance, it had looked to them like she was asleep, lying as she was, on her stomach, her face resting on the wet grass with the wide brim of her bonnet covering her head. But as they approached, they saw the red of the blood staining the front of her dress and the open gash on her temple gaping wide. Thick black hair hung loosely at her sides, matted with dried blood and the hem of her skirts were muddied and torn.
It had been three days, since that ill-fated day and the girl had shown no signs of improving.
Somewhere, in the darkened recesses of the huge house, a bell tolled and marked the passing hour. Thin fingers of morning light streaming in from the arched glass windows, cast a pinkish hue along the walls of the room. The gathering dawn brought with it the sounds of the house coming awake and Catherine could hear the slow shuffling of the servants moving around downstairs as they started the preparations to greet the new day.
Rousing herself, Catherine wiped the tears from her face. She would need to consult with Dr. Peters again and soon. Leaning forward, she placed a gentle kiss on the girl's forehead and reaching for the water bowl and cloth, she arose and made her way slowly across the room with heavy steps, her mind weary with worry.
The door of the room had been left ajar and she could hear the noises from downstairs, as the farmhands started to gather for Thomas to instruct them for the day. She turned and paused at the open door. The room was bathed in a soft glow of light from the solitary lamp that she had left burning at her bedside.
With a deep sigh, she grasped the doorknob and turning to pull the door shut behind her, spared one last glance at the bed.
It was then that she noticed it; the pair of eyes that stared directly at her, blazing green in the muted light.
"Is she dead? Tell me, is she dead?
