Authors: Naomi Baysinger-Ott
Nadeje feels my reaction and gentles, but does not stop. “It is alright…nothing can touch you…you’re here with me now…nothing can fall on you without my consent first…”
I relax slightly but still feel unsure of my place. I feel rain drip down my neck and tremble into his chest at the cold.
I grow unconscious of his comforting murmurs and the words are lost in the wind. I feel uncomfortable and my stomach feels as though it could turn inside out if I moved, yet, I begin to wriggle in my position and push closer to something that makes me feel here;
Nadeje.
Through the burning ache and spinning in my head I begin to feel his steps becoming more hurried. We pass a few entry ways and I can’t help but want to scream to let us in. The blurriness spreads from my head to all my senses. It is hard to feel the cold against me, to hear past the thumps against the ground as Nadeje walks, and to see as I occasionally open my eyes to remind myself that he is still with me. I try to stop it, but it only pains me more to try to push it away.
The sickness continues to run through my body and gradually I feel nauseous. The urge to vomit is hastening to my throat but I manage to hold it down. I hear a soft thudding on a hard surface and try to peek out from my heavy lids. After a moment, there is a seam of light and a face becomes visible behind a door. There are a few seconds of hurried conversation, and slowly the door opens all the way. I hear the sound of a door creaking shut behind us and the warmth in the new space assures me of safety.
I feel the soft thumps on the floor as Nadeje carries me through the door. The light inside is soft but too bright to keep my eyes open. I drift in and out of consciousness. There are the sounds of pans touching and water running and I feel myself being laid down. The moment my body touches the soft surface I feel the full bodied impact of the fever. My eyes flutter open to find Nadeje leaning over me and then close. There are words which I cannot understand and my eyes flicker open to see two forms standing a distance from the bed facing each other. I lay here dizzily without thinking of anything. I feel dazed, and gradually grow exhausted beyond belief. The warmth of the room does nothing to help the chills inside me, and progressively, I can’t seem to feel the warmth at all.
There is a soft presence against my forehead and I hear the muffled sounds of speech again. A few moments after it is removed, there is a more familiar touch to my cheek. Darkness shades my lids and I feel someone hovering very close;
Nadeje.
His face brushes my ear and I hear him softly say things to me I cannot understand. He lifts away. There are some distant words and I do not fight to try to hear. I feel myself being lifted and when laid back down there is a ruff surface beneath my head like a towel.
Something warm laces through my fingers for a brief moment. All falls silent. I know it is Nadeje even though I cannot see him. He slides away. As I lose his touch, there are a few soft thuds of footsteps out of the room. I feel suddenly more uncomfortable. I am drawn back to the quiet of the chamber as I feel a cool pressure being brushed across my forehead. It wakes me a little and I wearily lift my lids and look out to see my surroundings. I am met by a blurry face. It clears only partly. I can see enough that it is not Nadeje. Two ice blue eyes catch mine, and the soft face of a woman is all I grasp before my eyes shut.
I am slowly pulled back awake as I feel myself no longer on the flat surface. I drowsily try to feel where I am, but I know it is useless. I feel arms around me and the support of my head is against something warm;
Nadeje.
I try to open my eyes to see him, but as they do I find my vision is still vague. I force them to adjust for me.
I find it not to be Nadeje. It is a man with kind green eyes, and even as I cannot see details I make out a tint of red in his skin. I am too weak to question it and once more I doze off into dimness.
There is a prick in my wrist and I feel my body waken slowly. I frown a little though it is difficult as pain runs down my arm. The pain is not terrible, but it does contribute to the rest of my discomfort and my eyes find their way open. At first I see only shadows and light, and then murky forms. Gradually my eyes open to a clearer perception. I turn my head a little to the left, where my wrist lies. Once more the figure of a woman is at my side and when I find my wrist the familiar burning I feel is accepted. Two hands balance my arm across the bowl, and slowly red fluid trickles down from where she had cut me to bleed. I know the procedure to be for when someone is ill and needs to get the sprite out of their body. It is a well-known medicinal practice, one I have seen and experienced; done to my little sister and experienced during a fever when I was about thirteen, but all the same it is irritating and hurts.
A thudding sound causes me to look out beyond the woman and I find a man leaning in the doorway. He has the same kind green eyes and red face that I know belong to the man who held me. He is middle aged and looks weary, but the tired features of his face decrease as his eyes level with mine.
Nadeje?
My mind speaks softly to me, a reminder of reasoning with where I am.
Where has he gone?
I look for him but find nothing. I hear the woman speaking to the man and I suppose he must be her husband. My eyes return to her and I weakly watch as her eyes come back to mine. She looks at me sympathetically and I know I do not know her. I want to ask her of my thoughts, but I cannot find my voice. Soon I find the darkness again.
I waver awake and asleep constantly; my eyes flickering to find the man and woman or one of the two. I am not alone yet I feel as though I am. My eyes never open to find Nadeje.
There is a crash and I sickly open my eyes to look around. I see the man hurrying out of the room and for some reason his race makes me feel unsteady. I scent something close to me that smells like broth and in seconds I find myself upright on impulse. There is no time for me to cry out, but somehow I find an empty bucket on the ground and the woman is at my side to help me as I retch. I tremble as my stomach contracts and empties. When I am finished the woman gently takes the bucket aside and carefully helps me back down. My throat burns and I feel ashamed to have had to do such a thing with her help, but she seems alright with my actions and kindly cleans my lips with a napkin.
My eyes close and I feel exhausted yet somehow realer than before, less drowsy. I feel hands along my body and I am propped up in my place. I open my eyes to find the man holding me up as the woman shows me a cup of some liquid. I am too tired to argue as she touches it to my lips and I drink. It rinses my mouth and the taste of the vomit is lessened. The man sets me back onto the surface, and as I look more clearly I see I am on a bed in a small lamp lit room. Once more I look around, but Nadeje is not here.
I feel sick again but know I am not able to throw up any more without something in my stomach. The man and his wife look at each other and speak something quietly. The man nods and heads off and the woman looks back to me. I groan a little as my eyes close but I drift off into a deep sleep.
Chapter 23
I waken to the smooth wipe of a wet cloth across my forehead. The bed beneath me feels good and sturdy and the sheets cool and soft. I still feel tired and sore, but a rested ease has come over me making it simpler to feel calm.
I open my eyes to find the room still fairly empty and quiet. It is warm and the light soft from the flame of the candles. The recovery of my vision reveals now new things lying about unnoticed before. To my left is an old wooden chair where the woman had sat, and past that is a closed door. Opposite the door on the other wall is an embroidered work of flowers. Opposite me and the foot of the bed is another door, this one cracked open and more welcoming than the other for some reason.
The woman who had helped me is nowhere to be seen and the man I remember is also absent. Something else is missing. I cannot put it into place so I let it go and reclose my eyes to rest.
There is a light clunk of china against wood and, more easily than the last time, my eyes open. Beside me on a tray are a bowl and two cups, silverware, a napkin, and a small kettle. Resting on the kettle and one of the white cups are two small pink hands. I look up from these and see the woman who had nursed me. She continues on her job of pouring something hot out of the kettle. When she looks up I find the two blue eyes unchanged. Seeing me awake, she seems both startled and pleased, as if she had just woken up as well.
Her face has a soft and tender quality and oddly, despite her youngness, she reminds me of my moeder. Her face is oval shaped but not too thin and she seems healthy but tired. She gives me the pleasant radiation of an angel in human form, and her hair tells me she has been much too busy with her angelic duties to comb it and take care of herself. It is messily pulled back into a loose bun and the brown color makes her blue eyes shine.
She watches me with those eyes and soon I feel an urge to speak. She reaches out and lightly brushes the back of her hand across my forehead, feeling my temperature. Seeming more contented, she turns in her seat upon the chair and calls out to someone.
“Harold!” It is a light call, one under control and calm.
She returns her attention to me and in a few moments the man I remember bursts in through the door. He enters sturdy but a bit blundering in his steps. He looks at who I am sure is his wife, considering her address of him, and when she turns her head and looks at him with a lighted face he looks to me. When his eyes find mine open, he seems to also wake up somehow, and steadily starts forward. I watch him as he comes closer and the smell of the mead in the pot becomes clearer to me.
“Now?” He asks the woman.
She responds with a few nods and then looks back to me.
I watch them both silently, still feeling a bit tired and unsure of my place here. They look back at me a moment longer.
“Do you feel rested?” It is the man, his face sincere and gentle.
I nod quietly but my neck feels stiff so I refrain from doing so again.
The woman looks back to the kettle on the tray and moves to lift it. “Do you think you could take some mead?”
I settle into myself and listen for any sign of nausea but find none. “I…think.”
It is all I can manage, but it also surprises me. It is more than I have heard myself since…
since when?
I only get to worry over it a moment, because the person at my side begins to move.
The woman hurriedly hands the cup to her husband and reaches to take a spoon. She takes back the cup and stirs it, then sets down the spoon and looks up to the man. “She will need to be held…”
He understands her. He walks over to the other side of the bed and then leans over to me. For some reason I tense a little at his movement and he stops, seeing this. He watches me a few seconds, letting me get used to the idea of his closeness.
He then assures me quietly. “I won’t hurt you.”
I watch him, and when I do not disagree, his hands gently and with purpose grip and help me up. He lifts me a bit higher from the foot of the bed and then moves a second pillow behind me to boost me into a sitting position. When I have settled, he lets me go, and I now trust him.
The woman scoots forward in her seat and raises the cup to my lips. It settles there and she tilts it so I can drink little at a time. The mead is fermented and sweet, and the warm fluid seems to heat up my empty stomach. When I have finished she sets it aside and fiddles with something else on the tray. As she does so, a sense of my hunger returns and I suddenly feel the emptiness I have created in my gut from the sickness.
“I…”
She looks to me and stops what she is doing.
I swallow dryly. “Could I eat or do you think I wouldn’t be able to hold it…”
She looks to her husband and the man nods and stalks out of the room.
“Broth,” she says to me. Seeing my face at the remembrance of how the smell made me vomit she becomes worried. “Do you still feel alright?”
I nod and my neck seems better in this position.
“My name is Grace Maessan,” she introduces gently. “My husband’s name is Harold Maessan…he is who just left us shortly ago.”
Her introduction of him is tender and loving, and I feel a little prick inside which I am not able to tie anything fast enough. I know of the name,
Maessan
, it is Dutch from the name Maas, short for Damasus or Thomas…which means taming or suppressing. My moeder said she would have named a son this if she were gifted one.
“We are alone for a few minutes. If there is anything I can get you that you wish him not to hear…?”
I cannot think of anything and so I shake my head a little.
She looks out into the room and views the place contentedly, as if seeing something for the first time. “You have recovered quickly from your illness…I am happy for it.”
I feel a little touched by this though I know it is plain.
She looks back to me. “Is your name…forgive me. I cannot remember it well.”
“Lyra,” I amend it faintly.
“Lyra…” She says it patiently, as though committing it to memory.
I feel an urge to speak, but just then Harold enters with a bowl of steaming liquid and carries it over to us. He sets it down before his wife and withdraws. “Is there anything…”
Grace shakes her head and he stops. He glances to me before he turns and leaves. The door is still left cracked.
I look down at myself a moment, realizing for the first time that I must be filthy and torn. What I find surprises me. There is no evidence of the last few hours’ engagements on me. I am in a newly washed dress and my skin feels clean and warm. It is shocking and unsettling, but I cannot say anything of it.
As if seeing me troubled, Grace gently speaks to me. “It is my new dress.”
I look up to her in a little relief yet still feeling scared of how I came to be
in
it.
“I washed you myself, without help from anyone, with cloths and warm water. I had to remove your soaked clothes otherwise you were prone to further disease. I kept you private during the time…and your clothes were torn and caked with dirt…I only did it because it was necessary.”
I feel better knowing it was only female eyes and hands which had nursed me, but still I feel a little awkward now that I know she has seen me
fully
.
“I beg you forgive me…it was only meant to help you feel better.”
“Thank you,” I say it faintly, but I mean it.
She seems reassured of my trust. “The broth is too warm at the moment…but it will be ready soon.”
I nod and look past her to the solitary door a moment, the one which is closed. I feel a twinge of pain in memory of something but I cannot remember. I feel a soft presence against my ear and remember the voices when I was sick…there had been more than two…I feel the light brush along my hand again and am fully woken.
Nadeje had carried me in that way.
The memory recollects in my brain. I feel myself take on the awareness…
Nadeje.
It comes crashing down on me. “Grace.”
She looks to me and I feel the sting in my stomach return. “Yes? Are you upset again?”
I look down to my hand as I remember the slip of his fingers from mine…
that had been the last time…
I try to breathe.
“Nadeje…” I say it weakly.
She looks at me concerned. “What do you mean?”
“I…” I can’t go on. “Who brought me?”
She seems reassured. “A young man…he carried you here and I offered him to be with my husband but he had to leave quickly.”
“What did he tell you? Everything he told you please tell me.”
She frowns as though trying to recall it. “He said you were sick…and he looked worried so I let him in. I could not see you because he was holding you but when he set you down I knew you were ill. I hastened to tell him that you needed to be undressed and put in warm clothes. He looked uneasy…but I told him you were not at risk yet…so he hurried me to help you.”
She pauses a moment as though concerned.
“I could see he was not Dutch…but he was also lighter than a Spanish man. I was uncertain if I should trust him, but when he looked at me I could see he was afraid for you. I promised him that I would take care of you, and offered him to stay…he looked tempted to do so…but he said he had to go…I asked how you came to be this way and he said he found you where the wall had broken…and I knew to check you for any breaks. I was worried head damage was done, but I see now you are alright.
“He told me to keep you the best that I could, and that he would pay me for it. I told him it was not necessary but he did not hear me seem to hear me…busy in his thoughts. I required him to tell me of your age and he told me you were around 18. He then assisted me in a few preparations for your healing…helped me position you better…”
I remember his lifting me again and my heart flutters uncontrollably with longing.
“He told me he must go and said goodbye to you…he told me to tell you that he would be back soon, and left us then.”
I feel my heart pounding in my chest and try to calm it. “He told you nothing of where he had gone…?”
She is watching me with a regretful expression. “No. I’m sorry.”
I feel lost.
He wouldn’t leave me, would he? Nadeje…my Nadeje…
My head starts to hurt again and I force myself not to let it get to me in that way. “Did he speak with your husband?”
She watches me a second more before she calls out to him. Harold comes in quickly. “Did the gentleman from last night speak with you?”
He looks confused, but seeing my flushed face he tries for a response. “He told me he needed us to help you…and that the Spanish had left…and that another ship of some kind was coming in…he said to lock all the windows in case of break ins…and oh. He said something about how he needed to go and warn the Dutch forces about the incoming ship…”
I catch my breath and cannot exhale it.
If the ship had been an enemy ship…
I remember it coming straight on…
or if Sir Marren had caught him…
I shiver and slowly cover my face with my hands.
No…
I feel my eyes sting with tears.
No…Nadeje.
I can feel them watching, waiting and unsure of what to do feeling useless. I breathe deeply once, twice, three times before I let myself think of it again. I try to remember clues. I try to remember the sounds he had made against my ear hours before when he had left me, but they were lost long ago. I think of our last moments together as we had watched the Spanish ships sail away…of his promise…of his gentle murmurs to me of how I would be alright. I remember then the boats…how we could watch them in their mysterious journey over the invisible water in the dark…the boat we’d seen coming in…I recall his breath. “
They’re running full speed…”
I remember his words confusable to me at that time, but it hits me now.
We could see them but maybe they could not see us. I think of how the ship had not wavered at all in the dark space. It worries me and I feel guilty to of had Nadeje take me elsewhere, but as I remember my weakness, I feel that perhaps it was better he got me to a recovery place before it was too late to find one.
Though we can see them, they might not see us.
Of course. The boat could not see the wall in this rain, especially if it had come down. Whose ship did not matter then, but now it did. I remember the man in the market who had spoken with me. His words to Nadeje had been cold and hostile, but they had held meaning.
“You Spanish shall fall…I will be enjoying the after party.”
This boat…it was the after party.
I raise my face from my hands and look out across the room.
“Mr. Maessan…he left…how long ago?”
Grace looks to her husband and he hurries to speak. “I should think about four hours ago.”
I look up to Grace. “Do you own a clock?”
She nods and looks to Harold. When he does nothing, she stands and hurries from the room. After a few seconds of awkward silence she returns. “It is four thirty in the morning.”