Five Sisters (51 page)

And so they sat, both undeniably upset despite the lovely winter day.

*****

In the evening, once stomachs were filled and the dishes were cleared from the table, different groups spread out around the house once more. John, Ethan, Brook, and Sara were playing a game of poker in the parlor using mint candies as their chips. Sara couldn't help but smile with delight each time she won a large pot and was able to unwrap one or two and savor the delicious candy on her tongue as she continued to play. Also in the parlor, Emy sat at the piano alone, still playing Christmas carols and singing so softly she could scarcely be heard. As the night edged onward she continually glanced out the window as her fingers ran across the keys; the snow was only growing harder and harder with time. Nora and Gail were sitting beside the fireplace cross-legged, crocheting little white snowflakes to hang in the windows. Although Gail's looked more like little knots of tangled strings, Nora tried her best to follow Betsy's directions exactly and hers were far
more easy
to recognize. And across the hallway, Betsy, Mary, and Nathaniel were joined in the kitchen preparing some more mint candies. While Betsy stirred the dough, Mary kneaded it a bit and rolled it into long ropes, which Nathaniel cut into slices with a butterknife to create piles of mini mint cylinders.

The women were chatting happily about how wonderful it would be to prepare some of these very candies as presents for the guests of Mary's wedding. Both agreed it was a marvelous idea. This led to a long discussion of the menu that would be served after the nuptials as well as what they would dine on for dessert. Betsy insisted that she and her sisters, Ethan's aunts, would take care of everything regarding the foods and Mary needn't bother with it. She was the bride, after all, and should not be worried over whether the food would turn out alright. Anything Betsy cooked would surely be delicious.

Nathaniel sat rather silently, finding far less delight in the discussion of a wedding than the women did. He'd considered playing poker with the rest of the men but decided not to when he remembered how his hands used to shake when he played cards with Gail in the hospital. Although it wasn't certain they'd do the same this time, he didn't want to risk it. Nothing is more embarrassing or humiliating to a man with
as much pride as Nathaniel than
being proved weak and helpless before other men. So instead he chose to sit in the kitchen, where he could pop a few mint candies into his mouth whenever he should choose to.

The evening continued in a similar fashion: Betsy and Mary talking away and Nathaniel lazily slicing up the ropes of candy. It wasn't until half past nine that something very odd occurred.

"Lamb would be lovely, I think," Mary was saying, "But I could also see roast hen."

"Whatever you like, my dear," Betsy nodded, "Whatever you like, I should be happy to make."

"Well, I've still got quite some time to decide, haven't I?"

"Till March."

"I'll let you choose most of the menu though," said Mary, rolling out another batch of candies, "For I'm sure you'll know what's best," she paused and then commented, "Doesn't Emy play so beautifully?"

"Indeed, she does," Betsy agreed, "I only wish she'd sing a little louder for we can barely hear her in here. I wonder if she'll take requests. Emy dear!
Emy!"

"Yes?" came a soft voice from the other room.

"You play so lovely, dearest. Mary and I were wondering if you'd take requests!"

"Of course," came the voice, "What should you like to hear?"

"Deck the Halls!" Mary shouted back and instantly Emy began to play it.

"
Deck the halls with boughs of holly
,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Tis the season to be jolly
,
Fa la la la la, la la la la."

As Emy's voice carried across the house, Betsy hummed along with it in that jolly, bouncing way of hers. And Mary's feet tapped to the beat on the squeaky floorboards. Nathaniel still said nothing but continued to wearily cut up the mints.

"Mr. West, how are you doing this evening?" asked Betsy, doing a little jig as she reached for some more flour, "Forgive me, for I do not mean to be rude, but you do seem awfully pale."

Nathaniel didn't say anything, much less look up. As his hand mechanically moved the knife and continued to slice, one could plainly see that what Betsy had noticed was true. His face was so colorless and so
pale,
it nearly matched the shade of the powder-white snow falling outside the window.

"Nathaniel?" said Mary, "Are you alright?"

He didn't seem to hear her.

"Nathaniel?" Mary asked again.

And then, all at once, a very startling thing happened. Nathaniel West's eyes glazed over and his robotic hand stopped moving. For a moment, he was completely still, as motionless and white as a statue, and then, in an instant, his body went limp. His arms dropped, the knife falling to the floor, and his head lolled backwards, light brown locks slanting across his forehead.

He'd fainted.

As Betsy was standing in shock, Mary could only shout, "Gail! Gail!"

Her youngest sister rushed into the room breathless and came to Nathaniel's side. Although stunned, she wasn't afraid for she knew he'd grow well again. It seemed that was all he ever did: grow terribly, terribly ill only to become fairly healthy, and then a relapse would occur and it would start all over again.

All she could say in that moment, her voice dropping, was, "Why, oh why, does this always have to happen? He was growing so well too!"

Once he'd regained consciousness, Nathaniel was almost immediately taken to his room. Together, Brook and Ethan lifted his body from the wheelchair and headed downstairs where they set him upon his bed. While everyone else headed back into the parlor and tried to go about their evening as normal, Ethan and Gail stayed with the invalid.

Ethan, as the only person in the house with true medical experience, did his best to treat Nathaniel though it was difficult when he didn't truly know what was wrong. Nevertheless, once he was through Nathaniel looked far
better
than he had before and he fell asleep very quickly, which Ethan said was essential to a proper recovery.

The next morning, however, Nathaniel awoke to a blistering fever and was coughing like a madman. As the afternoon continued he only seemed to grow worse. With a burning headache, sleepy eyes, and a sudden, fierce pain in his abdomen, assuredly a result of his surgery, he lied in his bed in pain all day with Gail at his side, trying her best to smile and play a little game of Chinese checkers with him, like old times. But no matter how hard she attempted to be bright, for his sake, his health only seemed to be plummeting. Like the little nurse she'd always been with him, Gail was forced to give him pills to take and medicines to swallow, as well as administering a shot or two. Ethan checked in often but could only say that to him it seemed that with all the medications Nathaniel had been given in the past few hours, he should soon grow well again. There was nothing more they could do.

And just as he'd suspected, by that night Nathaniel's temperature was back to normal, his headache had gone, he was far less pale, and the discomfort in his side was slowly disappearing. On almost all accounts, he seemed just as well as he'd been the day before. Like Gail had said, all Nathaniel ever seemed to do was grow worse, then become fairly healthy, grow worse, then become fairly healthy again.
The never-ending cycle in the life of Nathaniel West.

And now, after the very long, exhausting day of medications and relapses and long games of Chinese checkers and wishing she were anywhere but here, Gail was sitting in an armchair beside Nathaniel's bed with her knees bent and pulled up towards her chest. Her hair was a mess, pulled back towards the nape of her neck in a wispy, unkempt bun, and her dress was terribly plain: a cotton gray calico with a broad black band across her waist. With a long, doleful sigh, she set her chin upon her knees; Nathaniel couldn't help but look up.

"'Something wrong, Gail?" he asked.

"I'm just so tired," was all she would reply.

"You don't have to sit here until I fall asleep, you know. I'm not a child . . . It's nearly eleven o'clock already. Why don't you just go to bed?"

"No, no, no. It's not that," Gail shook her head wearily, "I'm not sleepy, I'm just . . . I'm tired."

National raised an eyebrow; he'd never seen Gail this way, "Is everything alright?"

"I don't think I can do this anymore, Nathaniel," Gail looked to the floor and rubbed her head with a pained expression, "I can't. I'm just not strong enough. Everyday there are so many pills and medicines and vaccines.
Fevers and coughing and blood and false alarms.
And there's just too much anxiety. I keep thinking that you're dying and you're wasting away and then suddenly some of your strength will come back and you'll be as healthy as the day we met. Every night I go to sleep wondering if you'll still be here when I awake. All I do is worry. I can't help it. You're sick and it seems you'll always be sick and I just don't know what to do anymore," she sighed again, her voice dropping, "I'm tired, Nathaniel. I'm just so tired."

Nathaniel,
though concerned for Gail and sympathetic that he was the cause of her solemnity, also appeared slightly offended and said simply, "I'm sorry Gail. I, er . . . I had no idea."

Gail shook her head, "It's not your fault. I just . . ."

"I'm sorry if I've overstayed my welcome and . . ."

"No, I should have known better than to steal you away from the hospital." Quickly rising from her seat, Gail began to pace the floor behind his bed, her eyes scarcely leaving the floorboards, "The doctors knew what they were doing and I should have never suggested you come here."

"I'm sorry I've been such a burden," said Nathaniel, his voice low.

"I love having you here but I'm not a nurse. I'm not qualified to take care of you and I just can't bear all this stress any longer." As she spoke, it almost seemed as though her eyes were filling with tears of exhaustion but she fought to hold them back and continued, "All I do is worry. I don't have enough heart for this."

With that last sentence, Gail's hand fell upon the bed and she began to use it, as she had back in the hospital while debating Nathaniel's surgery, to trace the quilting of his covers. But seeing how heartbroken she was and knowing she was standing on the verge of a
collapse,
Nathaniel took her hand and used it to pull her onto the bed beside him, though his arms were weak and he barely had the strength for it.

Like a child seeking comfort, Gail instantly pulled her feet up beneath her and curled up with her hands beneath his pillow and her face buried in the little nook between the pillow and Nathaniel's shoulder. But he wouldn't allow her to simply hide away in her little hole as if it would make her invisible to the world. Instead, he feebly lifted his arm around her and pulled her closer so that her cheek was now pressed against his chest. He held her in his arms and stroked her back, whispering apologizes in an effort to console her, while Gail continued to murmur softly, "I don't have enough heart for this. I don't. I'm
sorry,
Nathaniel, but I can't do this anymore. I'm just so tired."