CHAPTER 7
# # # #
Toronto general Hospital, Room 442
Belle worked at piecing the words of Madame's letter together despite great gaps in the text…
... … Dearest William ~
I have a two confessions to make. One confession is that I hope you never have to read this as I am afraid it will break your heart...
Belle stopped, mind and heart suddenly racing. Mon Dieu! She looked critically at her patient. Surely this is not a confession of an affair! That certainly would break Monsieur Murdoch's heart… unthinkable! She felt a flood of shame wash over her, heat in her face. This what I get for reading other people's correspondence. Then she thought about how badly it would end if either the Inspector or the Father received these words, and the effects of such awful humiliation on Monsieur. Belle shook her head, and loosened her grip on the fragile paper. It was unlike her to jump to conclusions, but spoke to the tension she felt at reading something perhaps much too private in an overwrought emotional state. She took several deep breaths and turned again to the pages, more determined now to see what they contained and protect Madame and Monsieur if she could. She refused to be embarrassed or ashamed; if these two could withstand all that fate has set before them, then she would do what was necessary as well.
…Remember always, William, I am yours, and I cherish you more than I ever believed it possible for one person to care for another. You are the center of life for me, the very foundation of my world and I revel in knowing you truly love me in return. I am on a whole-hearted mission, needing your arms folded around me and the warmth of your breath on my neck, to hear you say my name…your kiss so soft or insistent.
My greatest desire is to see you with my eyes and touch you with both hands when next we meet. Rather that, than imagine you ever holding these pages in your hands. I dread having someone else read them nearly as much, so I am not going to put on paper everything I would wish you to know or is in my heart at the moment. Having written those words, I have so many, many, things I want to say to you, I hardly know where to start. How can I possibly tell you, in the space of time before me and with the meagre tools in my possession, what life with you has meant for me? How exultant and tender? How I have treasured every day, every hour, and every second…?
Belle nearly faltered again. If Madame did not want anyone to read her words, then why write them at all? Why keep them and then indicate they were to be opened at her death? Why not destroy them when she found her husband?For good or ill, Belle was captivated by the story, and told herself it was part of her duty to finish and then decide who would get the pages - the Church or the Law. Setting her worries aside, she plunged ahead.
…But from "where", from "when", would we start? Our first meeting? Our first case? Our first kiss? The first time you told me, out loud you loved only me and I said I loved you in return? When, William? When did you and I go from being separate individuals to "we" in the first place? Oh, my! So many questions! This has been the great arc of our relationship, hasn't it? Answering questions of one kind or another, solving a puzzle, finding facts, getting to the truth, and always searching until you discover what you are looking for.
Truth. Always the truth for you.
Well, the truth is, for me, "we" started long before our marriage, long before you asked me to be your wife and I finally said "yes!", before I wore a certain scandalously red velvet dress to a public venue and kissed you. It was before we got a little tipsy in the park. I recall it was during a case when you and I were in my morgue, talking about some theory or result or other, and I impulsively finished one of your sentences. And, this is important: you looked so pleased. That was it. The moment. It seems so simple, really, but as I sit here writing, my mind is drawn to that picture of your face again, your eyes looking so intently into mine during a singular, exquisite moment between one breath and another when something changed so profoundly for me. I was surprised by a sudden deep connection to you; one I could not name, or quantify or easily categorize, yet, it seemed as natural to me as breathing or my heart pulsing the blood in my veins. I think what startled me was how happy I was. In the middle of something truly awful, I felt happy. And I don't remember being quite that happy before, perhaps in my whole life. All I knew is that I wanted to repeat the experience….that particular experience of feeling in concert with you, at once indescribable, and irrational, and joyous. All from something as pedestrian as me coming up with the same word you were looking for.
Do you know I love your eyes? You must know I suppose…how silly of me to ask. But do you know when I look into them my world shifts a tiny bit on its axis and I can allow gravity to pull me into their warm depths? Do you know I am never afraid when I am with you? I can let go of anything and everything because you catch me there in your gaze, loving or fierce it never matters, only that you are there and I am with you. Our relationship, our partnership and our passion, William, all started with a look between us. Words matter, of course, but you and I have communicated so often with only our eyes.
Words, William. How many have flowed back and forth between us, and how many have we held back? I find I am searching for just the perfect ones to explain everything, of course making this even harder to write.
Right now, I am comforted by the smell of you, and when I am finished writing I will bed down in your navy wool coat, the one with the three cuff buttons on the sleeve, that I pestered you into getting because it sets off your dark hair and fine brown eyes so well. I can detect the scent of your shaving soap and all the little aromas that make up my awareness of you. By the way, I seem to have gotten a great deal of dirt and stains on one of your nice white shirts and pair of trousers I also borrowed. I have them on not merely as a practical matter, but because I feel close to you whilst wearing them— your tailor will disapprove of the way I am pulling the seams about of course, and will turn his nose up at the wood-smoke seeping into the fabric. With your coat on I hug my arms around myself pretending it is you who is holding me safe and warm, pretending I am talking with you instead of scribbling by the firelight. It was pure luck I got the fire going. I ended up using most of the pages in this journal to start the wet wood, but I can keep it going until dawn; with your boots on and the horse blanket I should be warm enough. You might think me foolhardy to be out here in the shivery dark, and right about now, alone and in the woods with you miles away, I'd agree. I predict you will ask yourself 'What was she thinking?' and probably be quite angry—if not immediately, I imagine it will come soon enough. I promise I will understand.
What was I thinking? Another good question. When I woke up in the hospital you were gone. You were my tether to life and all that mattered, and as long as you were there with me I was going to be all right. I had felt your presence, somehow, even while I was unconscious. The thing is, I swear I could hear you, William. I heard your voice! It penetrated the grey fog and I was shouting back at you, so frustrated you did not seem to hear my voice in answer, or feel my hand squeeze yours no matter how hard I tried. Then when I woke up, my feeling of comfort and safety was shattered. No one at the hospital could tell me where you were. I was in a panic, desperately compelled to find you because I just felt something was terribly, terribly wrong. I remember clearly who shot me, and I knew that she was going to go after you next. I had to get to you, because if she had you, you would be in mortal danger.
I stole out of my room, hitching a ride to the Station House. The look on their faces when I got there…I think I scared the lot of them! Then Constable Jackson confirmed what I already feared was true: he said you were missing. William, those words were worse than getting shot. I can't describe what an awful blow that was. The pain I felt at that moment was not physical, it was the deeply cold and gut-wrenching terror that you had vanished. I knew it, but held out the faint hope I was merely fevered or my faculties were warped by injury or the medication. It was James Gillies all over again, because the only thing in the whole world that would keep you from me was to be held back, or taken against your will… or dead. Except I just know you are alive. I swear I can feel your life-force, sense our connection; for some reason at this moment it is more powerful than ever, and gives me great hope.
I am uncertain exactly why I did not just send the constabulary out—it is not that I don't trust the men you work with, but none of them know her the way I do—the way we do. My anger about her and my fear for you drove me to act. I know not much is accomplished in the grip of fear, but we exchanged vows, husband, for better or worse, in sickness or in health-only meaningless words unless formed into action. Before you get annoyed with me, ask yourself: Certainly there are no half measures in you, are there William? I would be ashamed to do less for you than you would for me. I am well aware you still might count me as having been impetuous, but in this case I felt I could waste no time.
Time. Like words, William, how much time has passed between us? I suppose if you were here you would calculate for me exactly how many moments that added up to, wouldn't you? It makes me laugh a little to imagine your face looking very serious, then your eyes light up when you come up with the required number, breaking into a grin while you deliver the answer. Oh, how I have laid in wait for one of your smiles! Catching you unawares, or if I can tease you, make you laugh or blush. Best yet is when you are smiling in pleasure at me, looking up from your work perhaps, and it seems that everything else is forgotten as you focus your attention on me. I am selfish about those moments – thank you so much for them over the years. I fear we have not had enough time, or have wasted so many years. As I write I am flooded with waves of regret. I always hoped to grow older with you, raise children, live in that wonderful house you designed for us, work together… I have to stop my mind from entertaining images of despair. The thread of fate has brought us this far, and I cannot, I will not, accept for it to be sundered now , because life without you is worse than death.
William, you confessed to me after we married, that from the very first moment we met, you knew I was the one for you. How did you know that? What possible clue was there that would lead you to such and extraordinary conclusion? Love at first sight is quite a romantic notion coming from a school girl, let alone a rational mind like yours. The famously deliberative William Murdoch, who never, ever, renders a decision or states an opinion without a thorough vetting of all the variables. Who chooses his tie every morning based on some obscure calculation… well at least it looks that way to me! Yet you made a rash, snap judgement about the path of two lives—yours and mine—in what amounts to a handful of heart-beats. How radical for you.
How wonderful for me.
I have no wish to have it any other way. If I get the chance, another time, more time, I will tell you everything that is in my heart, all the words I ever held back from you. It seems ridiculous that I have to be out here in the frigid dark in the middle of nowhere, to feel so close to you, but I do William. We both have something to live for—us!
You believe in God, William. I beg you to cling to your faith, and pray for a miracle. God would not put something in your path you cannot handle. Do whatever you need to do, or have to do to stay alive—Use your wits, that big brain of yours that remembers everything, to get through this in one piece. Use everything you ever learned about managing a dangerous suspect. Don't argue with her delusions-just go along with her—wherever that takes you. I need you to hear me, hear my voice through whatever connections we have. Please! You must listen and understand. You must do what she does not expect; it is the only way to get her off her guard or lull her into a misstep. I feel so guilty right now, when I think of you being in her clutches and I feel so responsible for not accurately assessing the threat she posed.
Because when she has you, and finally realizes she does not know you, that you are not the man she has deluded herself into thinking you are, she will be enraged at her own inadequacies, unable to tolerate an insult to her ego of that magnitude. She will kill you, William. The truth is, that is the inevitable outcome of her madness. She is like one of those insects that reflexively, mindlessly consumes its mate.
It breaks my heart to think of you reading this because it means I have failed. So many have left you one way or the other: your parents, your sister, Liza, even Anna. I left you William, how blind I was! I swore I would never do that again. If you are reading this, perhaps I never made it to your side, or I never made it back home. It would seem then that I erred when I told you I was never going to be a victim again. If you are reading this, it means I failed myself as well as you, broken my vows. I am so sorry, my love. I comfort myself with the notion that if you are reading this you survived Eva Pearce and you are alive, and that maybe I did get to you and did helped rescue you in some way. Regardless of the circumstances, it is so very important to me that you be alive in this world.
So I will tell you the rest of the truth. You may believe you lack a certain instinct, William, but I have no such compunctions.
My other confession is that I plan to end this. Never again are we going to live under the specter of a threat. Go beyond what you believe are the limits of your endurance. Stretch your courage. Stay alive, William. Try to stay alive long enough until I get to you. And I hope to stay alive long enough until I can.
Dr. Ogden is pretty sure her patient has behaved rashly and is in some serious trouble. So it may take one of your miracles, but Mrs. Murdoch is coming to get her husband back.
-Your devoted,
Julia
# # #
Toronto General Hospital
William alighted from his cab and thanked the driver. He made himself walk, not run, up the steps to the main hospital doors and enter the building, removing his borrowed coat and brushing the snow from his head. Having his own clothing on and his watch back where it belonged in his vest helped immeasurably, making him feel almost normal on the outside again…even without his hat. There was so much to sort out from the chaos inside him, so much going on in the war between his mind and his heart.
He did not bother to stop at the front desk, but took the stairs to the fourth floor, turning right when he gained the hallway and stepped aside for a cart rumbling by in the long corridor. He paused outside Julia's door, wanting to be in command of himself and took in a deep breath to steady his nerves. Inside was the great love of his life, the center of his universe, his Julia, in an untenable condition, and he needed to make decisions without the way being clear.
Therefore, he bent his head in the prayer he kept closest to his heart:
Suscipe, Domine, universam meam libertatem. Accipe memoriam, intellectum, atque voluntatem omnem. Quidquid habeo vel possideo mihi largitus es; id tibi totum restituo, ac tuae prorsus voluntati trado gubernandum. Amorem tui solum cum gratia tua mihi dones, et dives sum satis, nec aliud quidquam ultra posco.
Receive, O Lord, all my liberty. Take my memory, my understanding, and my entire will. Whatsoever I have or hold, You have given me; I give it all back to You and surrender it wholly to be governed by your will. Give me only your love and your grace, and I am rich enough and ask for nothing more.
Amen. He cleared his throat and turned the knob to room 442.
Belle was startled into exhaling again, unaware she had been holding her breath. Madame's letter, fluttering in her trembling hand, was astonishing. Her heart was pounding in her chest and tears collected at the corners of her eyes. Putting the pages down on the bedside table, she wiped her face and looked over at her patient whose breathing appeared to be less laboured. She jumped when the door opened.
"Mademoiselle DuBuisson, how is she?" were William's first words as he came to the bedside. He had attention only for his wife, ignoring the damaged papers collected on the table. He took her hand and kissed her brow, evaluating her condition with a critical eye. His right hand was swollen and bandaged, and Belle wondered how he managed to shave and dress so carefully.
Bell calculated Monsieur had been gone scarcely three hours, hardly enough time for a meal or rest, but reappeared well-groomed and in a dark suit, with equally dark circles under his eyes and a haunted expression on his face. Belle thought that getting cleaned up and dressed was not for his own comfort, but so that his wife would wake up to a familiar sight, rather than the disheveled wreck he had been.
She wanted to respond truthfully, since the truth mattered so much to this pair. Belle cleared her throat. "Dr. Tash does not say, but I think her breathing and colour are better. There has been no more bleeding." In fact, she thought Madame appeared to be stirring a bit, eyes flicking underneath the closed lids.
"Merci," William said. "Thank you for looking out after her for me. You have been so kind."
She stood, blocking his view of the bedside table and reached for the pages behind her back. "I will go get the doctor," she paused to make an educated guess, "and I will get you something to eat and drink."
# # #
Once in the hall Belle transferred the papers to her apron pocket, and sought Dr. Tash, praying that he was alone. She found him in a tiny examination room, surprised he was sharing a drink with the Inspector and Father Clements. All three gentlemen abruptly stopped talking and rose when she entered, looking a bit sheepish about the alcohol.
"How is Julia, er…Dr. Ogden?" questioned Dr. Tash. He walked forward to greet her.
Belle coughed to hide a smile. "Doctor Tash, her husband is back and I think your patient is a little better. He would like to hear that from you, however." She saw that each of them relaxed fractionally, whether because Monsieur Murdoch was back or at her pronouncement of his wife's status, she did not know. "Doctor, I am going to go to the kitchen and see if I can get something to eat and drink for him, since I doubt he saw to that for himself. Please excuse me." She turned to leave, hoping to get away cleanly.
"Not so fast, Miss," the inspector spoke up. "About that confession, we have decided…"
Belle held up her hand. "Non! No, gentlemen. You have not decided. Madame is very much alive and I have read the pages." She cringed inwardly at the angry reaction her words drew from the men. "I should have not done so, I know, but it was better that I did, now that I have read the words. It is a love letter to her husband—nothing for the Church and nothing for the Law to concern itself with and I think nothing for husband as well, since Madame will live, God willing!" She brought the pages out of her pocket to show them. The process of reading fairly destroyed the paper, creating the shredded mess she handed over. Of course she did deliberately help that process along a little bit. Madame will be able to speak her words of love to her husband and will be able to give her accounting of the terrible events, all without having her desperate musings come to light. She smiled brightly to the men who stood rather dumbfounded around a clump of paper, but not before collecting a wink from Dr. Tash, a smile from Father Clemens, and a grunt from the Inspector.
Belle turned on her heel and swept out of the room in search of the kitchen in the depths of the hospital, her skirts swishing against the doorway and a warm feeling in her heart about love...
Guardian Angel, indeed!
# # #
As soon as he was alone with Julia, William's emotional armour, so carefully assembled around his heart, crumbled. He sat gingerly on the side of her bed, pressing her hand with his lips, straining to detect any slight response. "Julia, where are you? " He whispered hoarsely. "Will you please come back to me?" He leaned in, searching her face for any flicker. "How can it be that you are so far away? Can you hear me? Oh Julia…I am so very sorry for all of this. I promised to love and care for you and I have failed. It is all my fault …"
He was sitting there mute, when a soft knock made him start. The door opened to admit Isaac, followed by Inspector Brackenreid. William looked up, studying the set of their faces and shivered involuntarily. Their faces say death…
"William, you are back here awfully quickly," Isaac observed.
"How is she?" William asked, ignoring the comment and wanting desperately to believe in good news despite the evidence.
"She is no worse." Isaac carefully pronounced. He came over to examine Julia again, expertly taking her vital signs. "Will you be staying here tonight? I will get a cot brought in for you." He handed William a sheaf of papers. "I also brought this. It is a set of articles on infection and sepsis management I hoped you would read and discuss with me. One was written by a surgeon after the U.S. war between the states."
No false hope, but no doom either, William noticed. So be it. "Thank you," he said and meant it.
Isaac saw the inspector and William share a look. He went to the door. "William, let me know what you want to do. In the meantime, I assume you have police business. Shall I leave you gentlemen to it?" He bid farewell and departed.
Inspector Brackenreid approached Julia's bed with a troubled look on his face. William thought he appeared to be thinking over what he wanted to say. "Murdoch. Do you know that your wife came to visit me once when I was home recovering from that beating?" He snorted and waved his walking stick around the room. "I was three months in this hospital, and was feeling sorry for myself. She reamed me out quite good, she did." He winked and bent closer. "I feel sorry for you, me ol' mucker, if you get the rough end of that at home. But she reminded me that we have to fight, and rightly so." He thumped the end of his stick on the floor for emphasis. "It has only been a few days."
"Thank you, sir," William managed. "I appreciate your encouragement, I, we... really do." Brackenreid's delivery was a little too light and bright, telling William his superior was trying to avoid either pity or cruel honesty. At least he did not offer any formulaic blather. He smiled tightly and felt grateful for that. "And, yes, I can imagine Julia's approach if she thinks a patient needs to be prodded…"
"I actually came by to let you know that the investigation is open and shut." His superior brought out a folded set of papers from the breast pocket of his jacket and handed it to William. "As soon as you sign this official version of your statement it will be filed with everything else; it is a done deal." Brackenreid looked at William intently.
"The lads did good work on this case, we should be proud of them," William began. "Sir, I haven't had the opportunity to thank you and George for coming out to get us. You saved her life…" His eyes fastened on Julia. If only that were the whole truth.
The inspector waved the gratitude away and looked at Julia again as well. After a moment he said, "You should know, Murdoch, the men send their regards to you and Dr. Ogden." Brackenreid straightened and replaced his hat. "Worsley's funeral is Saturday. Going to be a city affair as befitting a hero. I will let you know the details if you can attend." He accepted return of William's type-written statement, now signed in a scribbled left hand, and bade farewell.
William was alone again with Julia, with nothing to say. He accepted a tray of food from Mlle. DuBuisson and ate of it mechanically, the meal all tasting like sawdust to his tongue. She promised a visit from Father Clemens after he finished his rounds of other parishioners, so William waited patiently as the darkness took over, staring at the cot a kindly orderly brought in, trying to see if he could fit it next to Julia's bed so he could hold one of her hands all night.
"Julia, please talk to me." His voice broke with a sob. "I need you, I need you so much. I told you once nothing is right when we are not together. I never knew what was missing in my life until I met you. I never knew such power existed between two people…"
Feelings of love for his wife burned most of his anger away leaving a gaping chasm of bitter guilt. All this time, Julia did not stir, and eventually his tears dried.
When Mlle. DuBuisson returned with a note from his priest asking to meet at the hospital chapel, William's mood was despairing. He made his way down the empty corridors, believing he finally came to a decision.
# # #
The chapel was lit by candle and wreathed in shadow. Father Clemens was alone in meditation so William waited until the priest made the Sign of the Cross and rose, his long black cassock making a slight rustling noise in the quiet space. "William. I am at your disposal... Come."
William sat next to the priest and blessed himself as well. "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been, er… seven days since my last confession." Where did that week go? It seems to have gone by like one of those roller-coasters carriages, with grand, dizzying heights and terrifying, stomach-wrenching drops.
The priest's voice was low and calm. "What do you need to tell me, William?"
Oh, where can I possibly begin? He squeezed his eyes shut. I am here now and in such pain, so only the truth, God forgive me.
"I have helped…I have…obscured part of the story of Miss Pearce's crimes. I did not give all the details in my report because I felt humiliated, and I," his heart started racing and his face flushed, "I destroyed a piece of equipment I should not have, thinking to protect Julia."
William did not look up and Father Clemens delayed a long time before responding. "That is very surprising to me, and sounds to me to be quite grave." William absorbed the shock and disapproval in the priest's tone and recoiled inwardly. "Is this a crime you committed?"
"No," William answered.
"Did you sin by bearing false witness?"
"No." That's not the point, William argued silently.
He made himself speak, slowly, deliberately. "No, but I was tempted to interfere with the investigation. To tamper with the truth…and, to my shame, I did. It was only sheer luck my actions did not actually cross the line under the law. I have compromised my integrity, Father."
"With the sin of losing faith, William?" The priest went directly to the heart of that matter.
"Yes." William's chest tightened, "I am also guilty. Guilty for all of this."
Father Clemens questioned: "Guilty? How so? Did you invite this tragedy?"
"No…" Just what Julia asked me before, when she tried to convince me this was not my doing—but it is…. "And, yes. Guilty because of what all of this has cost Julia, the price she may pay. I was too complacent, Father…" William's memories of his recent happiness and future plans with Julia were edged in darkness now. "Hubris—I forgot it was God's will and not my desire that makes things so. I challenged God by being arrogant: thinking things were perfect, that the past had no more to say about the present when I know full well every decision has its consequences. I forgot we pay for our sins in this world or the next…" William's throat closed on his voice.
When he stalled, Father Clemens merely waited him out as one of the candles sputtered and smoked, sending a burned-honey smell wafting in the room. William dragged up his determination to finish, to say it all. "I vowed to protect Julia, and I failed. I was blind to the risk—I should have known that Miss Pearce was a threat in the first place. I should have recognized her! Then, if I hadn't left Julia's side after she was shot, Miss Pearce would not have been able to take me, therefore Julia would not have risked herself to rescue me. It is that, more than anything, which has put her life in the balance. She'd be on the mend right now if not for that." William wiped his face. He felt crushed. Saying that truth was purely awful and he did not feel any better for having said it; the weight of it sat on his chest and thrust into his guts with an iron fist. Julia complained all the time about my devastating logic—what would she think now?
Father Clemens let the silence grow before responding. He did not offer counsel or assign penance. Instead he asked, "What are you not saying? William, reveal your heart to God…."
William shifted on the bench, initially defensive. "Father, I…?" Then he searched his thoughts and gasped softly, hanging his head. The truth. "Yes, Father. I have been having selfish thoughts about Julia or wondering if I really want to live without her. Now I realize I may have to let her go…" His tears threatened to spill out if the confines of his lashes. "I lost faith, in my pain and confusion. I am still lost…"
"I see." Father Clemens put his hands together. "Do you fear death, William?"
He shook his head. "I do not choose it, but I do not believe it is a terrible thing. Did you know, Father, I believe I once glimpsed Heaven, or at least my imagining of it?" William asked. When the priest reacted with surprise, William continued earnestly. "It was during a case in 1899. A group of individuals were attempting to experience death, experiment with it actually, and come back to tell the others what it was like. One of them tried to kill me and for a moment I believe I did actually die. All life ebbed out of me and I drifted up and away, feeling a heightened sense of awareness and an intensity I'd never experienced before." Except with Julia… "I felt absolutely no fear, no fear at all. It was, well…wonderful!"
The priest was thoughtful. "So, William, what is you feel so guilty for? What transgression?"
"For wanting Julia to stay with me, and not…leave me. For not being content that she do so if God calls her, when I know how wonderful it will be at the end." Awful feelings overwhelmed him again. "How can I deny her Heaven for my sake?" His speech was harsh and rushed now. "Dr. Tash believes that she may need surgery for the infection we are afraid has taken hold inside her abdomen. In his opinion she might not survive the operation, and if she is septic odds are very low will survive without it. He wants me to decide which course of action to take."
William's whole body trembled. This was it, wasn't it? The darkest part. "He does not say as much, but Dr. Tash wants me to choose between the ways for her to die." He whispered. "I need to find the strength to know what to do, to comfort her and let her go…" His mouth opened but no further sound came…he had never felt so stricken.
Father Clemens sighed and straightened. William was barely aware the priest was moving until he felt a hand on his shoulder grab him, hard. "Believe in God, William, because our Lord is merciful. You can accept it may be God's will for Julia to sacrifice herself for you and will pass on to our Heavenly Father, yet you can still fight for her life anyway—they are not mutually exclusive. Who is to say what is God's plan? In your grief and guilt, you have left out at least one important variable: Julia's will to live. Instead of giving her permission to pass on, perhaps you need to remind her what she has to live for…"
# # #
William left the chapel in an electrified daze. After stopping briefly in Julia's room, he was out on the street and hailing a cab, giving the driver all his remaining coins if he would please take him directly to the Windsor Hotel as fast as the horses could move. William flew up the Hotel stairs two at a time and through the suite's door, ignoring the mess and focusing on what he needed to get. A porter brought him boxes and another hailed a carriage for him, and all three carried the items down to the carriage, stuffed them in, and then William was off again to the hospital.
Within ninety minutes, William was back by Julia's side. He was sorting a final stack of books and journals underneath the bedside lamp, with her Victrola wound and playing something jaunty in the corner, when Mlle. DuBuisson reappeared with Dr. Tash in tow.
"William! What the devil?" Isaac exclaimed. "Dr. Maharris is having a conniption fit and I heard that you were commandeering orderlies…" He stopped abruptly when he saw what William had done. All throughout the room were Julia's possessions—her sandalwood-scented feather pillow was propped behind her head and she had William's maroon scarf draped over her chest. Her hair was combed and William had placed her favourite ear-bobs in and an onyx pendant around her neck. There were three ragged yellow roses in a vase positioned exactly in her line of sight, so she would see then the minute she opened her eyes.
"Good evening Mademoiselle, Doctor," William greeted with a genuine smile. His jacket was off and he stood quickly and came over to the pair, gesturing broadly at what he had already accomplished, mildly nervous that he might have taken his idea too far. There was a chair and a reading lamp for him, and over the end of the bed was a bright quilt and a silk robe for her. "I apologize for the fuss but I needed help, setting everything up." He waited expectantly, feeling more energized and confident. I am going to do this whether they approve or not, but I am hoping Isaac understands.
"Magnifique!" The young woman breathed, before covering her mouth in surprise.
"I quite agree." Isaac examined William's choices with approval. He thoroughly examined his patient then poked at William's room embellishments. "I no longer think she needs surgery," he pronounced.
William's face instantly brightened. "You think she is improving? I have the list of measurements right here…" He showed the clip-board to Isaac, trying not to show his eagerness.
"She is still gravely ill, William-that part has not changed." Isaac brought head up and met William face to face. William could see the compassion…and the strain in the doctor's long face. "Every hour, every day that passes where her condition stays the same and does not deteriorate, shows that it is less and less likely she is septic. The incision-site infection is responding well to treatment, so it is a matter of her own healing…that miracle we talked about. What are your plans?" He inquired, taking in the whole room set-up.
"They are simple: I am going to be here with her, talk with her, read to her, care for her until she no longer needs me to." William managed to say evenly it with all it implied—he would stay there with her until she woke up or passed away, no matter how long that was going to take.
But she wasn't going without a fight.
# # #
THURSDAY
Toronto General Hospital, Room 442
Throughout the day, William chose books to read, starting with the ones Julia had in progress—a novel and a rather dense psychological treatise. Every task he did he narrated for her, large or small, whether turning and positioning her, washing her with his soap because she claimed to like the scent, massaging her limbs and temples…all was accompanied by a low patter. The other patients at this end of the hall requested the door be open so they could enjoy the Victrola, so William was happy to comply. The night passed quietly with William lying next to her, always keeping a hand on her to reassure her he was there—and reassure himself she still lived by her supple warmth and pulse.
FRIDAY
Toronto General Hospital, Room 442
By Friday, William's routine was well-established enough that rather than opprobrium he was getting curious hospital staff members dropping by to have a look-see; Dr. Maharris was unhappy but, thankfully, no longer actively interfering. Medical science could keep Julia hydrated with Ringer's saline and Isaac and he were exploring an effective method for delivering nutrition directly to Julia's stomach with a series of small tubes, but 6 days since her last full meal, Julia was losing weight and substance. Eventually she would starve.
None-the-less, William was continuing his gentle presence, mixed with the sounds of music and his voice reading or talking to her as if it was two-way conversation. He'd just finished a book of poems and brought up this week's Scientific American. William was busy extolling the virtues of one of the articles, namely 'The House that Turns with the Sun,' when he felt something brush his hand.
"Julia! Think about this. Dr. Pellegrin and Monsieur Pettit designed a house based on heliotropic principles. The house always presents the same façade to the sun. Imagine how we could incorporate those principles in our new house? Perhaps even partially heating the house in the winters with sunlight…We can create a heat well, maybe use convection in some manner, and I can reconfigure part of the roof to…."
Something slid along his knee. When he looked down, Julia's hand was there. His breath caught in his throat. He covered her hand with his and moved his eyes up, up, up to her face. Please God, she's awake, he prayed.
"William," she croaked. "I have never heard you talk so much in my entire life. Really! If I had known you were such a chatter box…"
His lips smothered her in an embrace, cutting her off. Words evaporated; he had no words for how he was feeling, for what he wanted to say. His mind was full of thoughts and he could not verbalize a single one. He looked at her intensely , and then it happened—she smiled at him, gave him that look so full of love and teasing that a circuit of pure joy closed within him, opening the floodgates:
"Julia! Julia! You are back. Dear Lord, you are back!" He felt tears flow and his cheeks burn a with a broad smile. "Oh, my dear Julia…I thought I'd lost you. You were so sick…" He ran on and on until Julia had to 'shush' him, leaving him to feast his eyes on her animated form, her blue eyes, the voice he loved…
She coughed and he helped her sit up better on the bed, but she became so woozy she slid back down. "A drink, please?"
Anything! William fetched water and held it to her parched mouth. He was so excited he nearly dropped the pitcher. "You have been unconscious for three days…" His voice was a low and intimate whisper. He needed to capture her face again, look into her eyes to know this was real and not a fantasy or dream born of wishful-thinking.
"By the way, no more changes to our house, husband. It's just an excuse to delay…" She attempted a laugh and was immediately wracked by another cough, so he held her until it subsided.
"You have been awake and listening?" he asked, kissing her forehead and taking her face in his hand.
"For a little while I guess." Julia grabbed his vest with her hand. "Is it all over? It's all a blur now. Please tell me…"
William brought her hands to his lips and kissed them tenderly again. "Yes, Julia, I promise. You were magnificent. You rescued me and Miss Pearce is dead and her co-conspirators are in jail and the case is closed," he babbled. He searched her face. "We are free. All that needs to happen now is for you to get well."
She cleared her vision and started noticing a few of the items spread around the room. She rewarded him with a happy smile. "What day is it?"
"It is Friday." His eyes widened. "You have a long way to go to get better. You have an infection and have lost a lot of blood; you are weak and will need quite a bit of time to rebuild your strength." He just kept staring at her, thinking, She came back! She is going to make it! She is not going to leave! If he could have jumped up and twirled around he might have done so, heedless of his dignity.
It took a long while for him to reorient himself, the grin on his face probably making him look like a dolt, but he did not care. "I have to let Isaac know you are awake. He has been here taking care of you every day, er…we both have been working together."
Julia looked confused again and then smiled. "So, it's 'Isaac' now? I bet there is a story there…no, tell me later, because I think I just used up all my energy." She slumped back on the bed with an 'oomph' then reached her hand again to hold his, returning pressure. "If I am well enough, perhaps this year we will go to his annual New Year's party?"
The smile would not leave his face and if his chest could get any more full of love he imagined he'd explode. He leaned in and kissed her sweetly, brushing her hair back away from her eyes. He they were bright, blue, intelligent, worried perhaps, exhausted certainly…everything one would expect.
He also detected something…different. He was no longer so naïve...this experience might have changed them. He felt it already in himself: he was no longer so certain the past was in the past. I already have the sense of chronically looking over my shoulder, always wondering, my guard always up…
None of that dampened his utter joy at the simple act of sharing a smile with his wife. "Ah, yes, the party… Isaac's costume party. You know what happened the last time I went to one of those?" he teased. "Yes, I will go, but only if you will go as the Goddess, Artemis." He gave her a knowing look.
Julia just stared at him and then gave a sudden laugh. She held his face with her hand: "As long as you go as the stag that is sacred to me."
Their eyes met and caught, leaving them at the apogee of an emotional arc so high and gravity-defying William could have sworn he was lifted off his feet. Anything, anything for you… Their embrace was as fierce as she could tolerate, with Julia eventually coming to sob in his arms as the feelings crashed down within them.
Then she put a devilish grin on her face and her eyes flashed. William's heart swelled with love and pride. Yes! This is my Julia, there she is; I recognize her now.
She pulled him even closer, whispering in his ear. "Husband. You did not think you were going to be rid of me that easily, did you? Just remember I can always hunt you down…."
***END***
# # #
Dear Reader…
I decided Peter Mitchell did a favour to leave so many gaps in the finale for me and other writers to exploit. To the reader: Thank you so very much for coming along for the ride. Thank you for the inspiration and the time you take to read the stories—mine and everyone else's – and the favour of your comments and reviews. I sewed the POV "Miracles" vignettes together for a full story– hopefully the story reads well in the format. (Some of the bolded dialogue you will recognize was taken from various episodes.)
I had lots of help, per usual with the original story—my beta readers "Dutch" and "46Her", I'dBeDelighted for research and confirming plot holes, and especially Romantic Nerd for keeping me on track and feedback on this as a whole story—she made it better, so here is her Thank you! (I also could not reisist-Fallenbell's big red-haired sweetie got a cameo) Thanks as well to all who reviewed as this posted-along—hopefully this is a better read all in one go.
Please write—tell me what you think, it keeps me writing and I do take suggestions and will respond! I hope you like the way I 'filled in the holes' in the finale—tell me if you like this one better than the single ones –I was hoping for an emotional punch….
Author's Note: The internet is a wonderful thing…look up November 1903 Scientific American about the "heliotropic" house, as well as the internet all about blood pressure measurement and IV's. I have tried to be sensitive to MM continuity and actual history (they are not the same!) while explaining how Julia might have survived her ordeal at a time when a paper cut could, literally, be fatal. Thank goodness for modern medicine and IV antibiotics or I myself would not be here to write these words! Here's to the start of Season 10…
