An unexpected wave of relief swept through Amelia when Elizabeth appeared at the mouth of ward seven after dinner the following evening, an orderly guiding her by the elbow. Amelia had Jonas and Cavanaugh watching over her, but they didn’t wake each morning in the wards. They didn’t wait for their portion at mealtimes, hoping whatever they were given wouldn’t be too spoiled to eat. They weren’t dressed in clothes worn thin by institutional soap and countless other bodies. Didn’t worry that a careless word spoken to an irritable nurse would earn them a slap—or worse, a needle in the arm and a day lost in drugged slumber. Sympathetic as they were, neither of the men could understand.
Elizabeth did.
Amelia hadn’t realized how much that mattered until now. Perhaps help in searching wasn’t the only reason she’d been so insistent. She swallowed hard against a sudden thickness in her throat and waved for the other woman to join her.
Elizabeth smiled as she approached. “I’m glad to see you.”
“I’m glad to see you, too,” Amelia said, making room for Elizabeth to sit. “You’re well? Did Dr. Cavanaugh explain what we’re doing? Did he show you the photo of Julia Weaver?”
“This morning,” Elizabeth said. “Of course I’ll help search. That poor woman. To take a mother away from her child like that. I can’t imagine what her family must be going through.”
“Did he also tell you about…?” Amelia stopped, uncertain. Elizabeth had a right to know exactly what her husband had done, but if Cavanaugh hadn’t already broken that bit of news, the middle of the ward might not be the place for it.
“About Daniel?” Elizabeth’s expression went grim. “He did. I feel as though I ought to be shocked, but I can’t quite manage it. I realized months ago he had no intention of coming back for me.” She sighed. “Do you know, the bit that hurt the most was finding out that Daniel sold the house. My house. I was born there. Both my parents died there.” Her face tightened, and she closed her eyes for a moment.
Amelia put a sympathetic hand over Elizabeth’s.
The din of the ward vanished, and her vision went black. Shadows flickered behind her eyes. Amelia gasped, involuntarily tightening her grip on Elizabeth’s hand. The shadows became sharper, color flooding them until they were as vivid as life. Two frozen moments, caught in a balance so fragile that it seemed a feather’s touch would send them tumbling.
Elizabeth, appearing in a train window as it began to roll away from the platform. She waved to someone, smiling.
Elizabeth, pale and still on an asylum cot, her eyes open and staring at nothing. A hand brushed them closed.
The images seared themselves into Amelia’s mind in an instant, and then they were gone. Amelia blinked, and Elizabeth was alive and looking at her anxiously.
“Amelia?”
“I’m all right,” Amelia said in a thin, breathless voice. She leaned against the wall, her heart pounding, pressing the heels of her hands to her temples in a vain attempt to quiet the maelstrom growing in her mind.
Much as she wanted to deny it, she could not. She knew what she had just seen.
Two futures. Two possibilities.
And in one of them, Elizabeth would die.