Chapter Four
"You aunt's telling that cattle gentleman what's happened with you, Miss Grainger, from the look of things. When he showed up at the door today, I'll confess he looked a bit rough-edged to me but I'd say he is that, a gentleman. There's a kindness about him." Agnes carefully wound a last strand of Elizabeth's chestnut hair into a softly twining curl before laying the cloisonné-backed brush on the dressing table. Crossing to the window she looked down at the two figures below, masked in the shadows conjured by the gaslights dotting the gardens. "He does seem the determined sort, but the poor man - I expect about now he feels as though he's been run down by a dray. He's no doubt going to be tearin' straight up here soon enough set on seeing you for himself, so we'll want to be ready for that." With brisk but gentle touches, she straightened the delicate collar of the young woman's batiste shirt-waist. "Let's settle his worries a bit by having you look as proper put together as we're able, don't you think?"
There was no reaction from the young woman seated before the mirror, the only traces of movement being the steady beat of dark lashes against her pale cheeks and the measured rise and fall of her breathing as she looked straight ahead, eyes fixed on something beyond her reflection and the confines of the room. As she had for the last month, Agnes thought she'd might as well be fussing over some perfect Gibsonesque automaton - charming in face and figure, as stylish as any fashion plate, gracefully poised on the edge of her dressing bench - and silent - endlessly and unwaveringly silent.
~~ / ~~
"Trampas, forgive me, please." Holly hesitantly reached to place her small hand atop his weathered one. "That was dreadful of me, giving in to my own hurt and fear so selfishly. I'm so ashamed for saying something so terrible to you, but there are times when it does truly feel as though she's left us."
"What's going to happen to her?" Trampas' jaw was set so tightly that Holly questioned how he managed to speak at all.
"The doctors say she could come back at any moment - or never - that it's like what some soldiers suffer, with no way of knowing where or when she might recover," she replied, wondering to herself just when she'd reached the point where she could even repeat such an opinion so steadily.
"Well, they could for damn sure be wrong - all these fine and fancy Chicago doctors," he growled, clenching the fist that lay under Holly's hand. "I've seen that before - hell, I've lived through it - some doc talking all quiet about no hope when he thinks you don't hear him." Trampas cleared his throat in sudden embarrassment but pressed on, knowing she'd forgive his outburst. "They make mistakes - plenty big ones - just like anybody else. Man gets hurt or takes sick, a whole herd of 'em are ready to swear he's done for, and a month later, fella's up and around, carryin' on as good as new."
"But this isn't anywhere near the same, is it, as some hand's being thrown by a mustang or taking a beating in the street," Holly snapped, more sharply then she'd intended. With an effort, she softened her tone. "These doctors have all sorts of explanations for Elizabeth's condition. It isn't a broken bone that can be set or an illness that can be dosed with pills and powders. This is her mind, Trampas, her spirit. She's alive and not - all at the same time."
"But she is alive. She's breathing and her heart's beating. That's enough for me. Doesn't much matter what else they call it, does it? They still can't fix it? Then, what the hell are they good for?" Pulling off his hat, roughly worrying its brim in his hands, Trampas shot to his feet. "Seems to me like all the hurt of losing Mr. Grainger and Stacey would be what would have set off something like this. So, why now? What was it in that bank to make this happen now?"
"It's because of me. She stayed strong before for me," Holly answered, tracing her fingers along the intricate carving of the bench, as if those chilly, idle tracings might serve as a path for her thoughts. "Every day, for weeks… months. She pulled me out of bed in the morning, made me dress and eat, made me answer when she spoke to me. I was the child, afraid of the monsters in the dark. She was the one who took charge, and when she grieved, she did it alone, privately, so that I wouldn't have to see. Even coming here to stay with the Farrells - Elizabeth arranged everything." Rising from the bench, she circled Trampas until she could look up at him. "Do you see? She kept nothing for herself, she gave everything she had to me. I don't know - perhaps that's how she kept herself intact, by losing herself in keeping me from following my husband and Stacey."
"Of course I see. That's who Liz's always been, putting her whole heart out for whoever she thought needed her, way too damn much sometimes," he answered. Seeing Holly flinch, he tossed his hat onto the bench and grasped Holly's shoulders. "I'm sorry for how that sounded. It wasn't meant to hurt you, believe me. Any of us who care about you, your family, would have done the same if we'd been able. But you still haven't told me. What was it? What happened in that bank?"
"It was the child, Trampas," Holly whispered, pressing her hand over her heart as if to quell a sudden stab of pain. "It was the child."