Authors: Leen Elle
"Ask Emy then."
"Do you think she'd say yes?"
Ethan laughed, "You sound so sure that she'd have fun.
Why, then, would she even consider refusing you?"
Brook laughed, "I don't know, I just . . ." he took a deep breath, "I'm going to ask her."
"Good man. Get a move on it then!"
Brook found Emy still sitting in the parlor sewing with Betsy and Mary. But as soon as he asked her to join him out on the porch she dropped her needle and thread and gladly followed him out of the room and onto the porch, which was dark and cold like the night. But the stars twinkled overhead and somehow she didn't seem quite so cold with Brook standing so near to her.
And when he told her of the festival, of its paintings and famous artists and the prospect of purchasing this artwork, Emy's eyes lit up with delight. He told her then of Norrance, of its actors and theaters and poets and musicians, and Emy grew even more excited. And then, when her elation had mounted, he asked her if she should like to go with him to this magical place. Her answer, of course, should be so obvious that I needn't state it here but shall nonetheless. She bounced on her toes and nodded her head and accepted him instantly, no thought on the matter was needed.
*****
The next afternoon, while Emy packed her things upstairs, her head filled with thoughts of the wonderful festival, Mary greeted Ethan as he arrived home from the medical school. He shouted hello and kissed her cheek, but then set out without delay in search of Gail, whom he found playing a game of solitaire in the parlor while Sara sat nearby with a book and John fed a few more logs into the fire.
"I've more news of Nathaniel West," he exclaimed, removing his hat and scarf, "Richard wrote me from St. Francis County. He said that a patient under the name
West
had left the hospital about a week and a half before. He was sent to Wickensville, where the hospital thought the doctors would be better able to treat him. So he's still at Wickensville now, though his condition hasn't improved greatly."
Gail didn't quite no what to say, but she managed only, "So he's not dead?"
Ethan smiled, "He's not dead."
"And how far away is Wickensville?"
"Er . . . let's see . . . It's near Clarendon, actually. A bit farther to the coast though."
"Could I go there?
Today?"
"Today?
I, er . . . That's not up to me. Best ask my parents."
Gail turned to John, "Mr. Lindsey? What do you say? Can I go?"
"Of course you can, my dear," the old man assured slowly. He shook his head, "But not today. It's too late to head out today."
"When then?
I need to see him soon.
As soon as I can."
"Tomorrow you can go, with Brook and Emy. Have their carriage drop you off first in Wickensville and then they can go on to Clarendon. It won't take long to make the stop and I'm sure my nephew wouldn't object to it."
"So you're sure then? You're not going to change your mind? And Mrs. Lindsey won't disapprove of it?"
"I'm positive. And Betsy will certainly agree with me. Pack your bags. Your friend is waiting for you."
The glowing girl jumped up from her seat, threw her arms around John's withered neck, and kissed his wrinkled face, "Oh thank you, thank you," she beamed, "I don't know how I shall ever thank you enough!"
She bounded up the stairs two at a time to tell Emy the happy news and then began to pack her own bags as well. That night, the two sisters could barely sleep a wink. Gail was filled with thoughts of Nathaniel, wondering if his condition was the same as when he'd left her and still scared that he might not perhaps be there when she arrived. And Emy was so excited for the festival and so anxious for dawn to break that she sat up in bed, dreaming of the coming weeks with a blissful smile.
At six o'clock the next morning, just as dawn was breaking, John prepared the carriage while Ethan led over the horses and Brook helped the two youngest St. James sisters carry their luggage from the house.
It was a terrible morning.
Although the sun was rising on the horizon and normally the sky would have been littered with rich, beautiful colors, a blanket of gray clouds blocked most of the sun from view. As should be expected since winter was rapidly approaching, the temperatures had dropped below freezing during the night and weren't too eager on rising again. Brook, Emy, and Gail, therefore, were dressed in their warmest. Layers of wool socks covered their feet; thick scarves protected their necks, chins, and mouths from the wind; and each wore several sweaters as well as their biggest coat over their normal garments. And even with that, their bodies still shivered and their teeth still chattered. One truly couldn't escape the cold.
Once all the trunks were stored away and the portmanteaux were at hand, once Betsy had shoved a basket of food into Brook's hands and goodbyes had been said, Brook, Emy, and Gail stepped into the carriage and the wheels began to roll off into the countryside.
Brook sat on one side of the carriage with the basket of food beside him, beckoning him with heavenly scents, and across from him was Emy, sitting quite demurely without words and her hands lying flat upon her lap, and Gail, lounging on most of the seat with her back against the side of the cabin and her knees pulled up towards her chest. For most of the ride she stayed that way- her hair pulled back on top of her head in a thick, rather loose bun, rarely saying a word but never bored for her head was filled with dreams and thoughts of what lay ahead. Brook, meanwhile, spoke with Emy of the art festival and of Clarendon. He meant to show her around the school as well- to his dormitory and the dining hall and the studio in which he often worked. He told her all the artists he had heard would be present and divulged the details of the pamphlet to her with both interest and excitement. She, in return, listened quietly; her eyes lighting up with unbridled enthusiasm as more was revealed to her of the coming weeks.
The remainder of the journey was spent in a similar, rather uneventful fashion in which Gail only dreamt, Brook spoke of the festival, and Emy listened quietly. During breaks provided for the horses to rest, the occupants of the carriage stretched their legs, and at several moments throughout the day Betsy's basket was opened and empty stomachs were filled.
Although the day was passing, one couldn't tell it from looking out the window. The sky, always black, was no indicator for the sun was rarely visible from behind dark clouds. It was for that reason that Brook was rather surprised when he saw that the countryside had disappeared and they had now entered a town, Wickensville.
He yawned, "I think we're here."
Emy sighed, "Finally. I was beginning to think we'd never arrive."
And Gail, finally breaking free of her reverie, sat up and looked out the window, "It's not a very pretty town though, is it? No matter. It's not like I came to see the sights."
The town, a rather large one, was loud and busy despite the dreary day. Towering gray and brown buildings surrounded the streets with simple doors, simple shutters, and simple black roofs. Eerie trees with bare branches could be seen along the cobblestone street, leaning over to conjoin with one another and form a sort of tunnel over the road on which they were now riding. In the spring it might have perhaps been a rather pleasant sight, but today it only made Gail feel constricted, as though the branches may suddenly lean down and strangle her to death.
The carriage bumped over cracks and ridges in the road, jostling its passengers to and fro as they rode along. But all three held their gazes fixed steadily out the wind, though the sight was far less than pleasing.
Several of the passersby glanced up as they passed. When they did, Emy would give them a sweet smile or wave at the children, but no one ever returned her greetings. They simply stared back with hollow faces and blank eyes, going about their daily business in a bored, accustomed formality wearing their bleak wools and scuffed shoes. It was a sorry sight indeed, made no better by the arrival of the hospital, which was by far the largest building in Wickensville.
"Oh, but do you have to go in there alone, Gail?" Emy murmured, biting her lip, "It's doesn't look too terribly inviting, does it?"
"A hospital never can though, or it wouldn't really be a true hospital," said Brook.
Gail took a deep breath and gave a small, rather determined smile, "It's alright. I'll be fine. I'm sure it's not so bad once you get inside. And besides, I'll get to see Nathaniel. And that'll certainly brighten up this wearisome day. If he's got any of his strength back at all, it'll surely be a lift to my spirits."
"I hope he does," nodded Emy.
The carriage came to a stop and Gail stood up, though
her
back was hunched over a bit.
"Well, I suppose I should head in. I don't want to keep you two from your festival."
Emy implored once more, "Are you sure you don't want us to come in with you? Just until you know he's here and you know where to go?"
"No, no. I'd rather go by myself. I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. You just have
yourself
a wonderful time and be sure to write us lots of letters, alright?"
Emy nodded.
"Give Nathaniel our best," Brook added, helping Gail out of the carriage, "And remember that money Uncle John gave you. I'm sure the hospital administration would be happy to help you find a suitable inn to stay in for a few days. If you need any more money, just write to me or the Lindseys. And whenever you want to go home, just find a hack that can take you there, okay?"
Gail nodded, "Alright. Thank you, Brook. Goodbye. Goodbye, Emy!"
Emy waved from the carriage and Brook handed Gail her luggage. And then, in only an instant it seemed, the door was slammed shut, the carriage rolled away, and Gail was left all alone on the cold, forlorn street.
*****
The interior of Wickensville Hospital wasn't quite
so
drab as the exterior. It seemed as if the town's only pride was in its medical establishment and its doctors.
Dragging her suitcase behind her, Gail entered the building and found herself in a rather large waiting room. As should be expected, it was filled with at least twenty chairs, spaced in a horseshoe
position, that
sat beside tables covered in newspapers, pamphlets, and empty glasses of coffee. The walls were painted a soft ivory color, but the seat cushions and rug were a handsome shade of violet and a vase of lilacs sat upon the reception desk, behind which a rather portly lady with graying curls and crimson cheeks was placing stamps on a stack of envelopes.
Gail walked quickly over to her and said, in all one breath: