KATARINA’S WISH
Within a day it became evident how popular Harry would become in the household. His grandparents were beside themselves with joy, as was Paulina. The absence of children in her own life seemed to be soothed by her admission that she’d never felt such joy over being a part of this child’s life right from the beginning. It seemed likely that Harry might be the one to help soothe her wanderlust, and she was likely to spend a great deal more time at home in the future. The maids who had personal contact with Kat and the baby fussed over little Harry as if he were a prince, but it was Amala who took to him in a way that seemed to prove even further that she was a sister to Kat in any and every possible way. Everyone wanted to hold the baby, and he was rarely not in the arms of one family member or another, but it was Amala who instinctively seemed to know exactly what the baby needed. No one would ever have guessed at her lack of experience in caring for a baby. While Kat struggled with the pain and exhaustion of her recovery, Amala oversaw the care of both her sister and the baby with great finesse. The nanny they had carefully hired a couple of weeks earlier was on hand with solid knowledge and experience in caring for infants, but it was Amala who loved Kat and had a keen sense of her sister’s needs, and that sense had apparently flowed over into an uncanny awareness of the baby’s needs. Henry never felt unwelcome or pushed aside from being with Kat and Harry as much as time and practicality permitted, but he quickly came to depend on Amala to see that his wife and son were well cared for. They had servants aplenty at their disposal, but it was Amala who knew exactly what to ask for and when. And his gratitude for her place in their lives grew greater each day.
* * * *
The passing of weeks made it evident that Kat was not bouncing back from childbirth the way most women did. She remained pale and weak and barely able to get out of bed with assistance for a few minutes here and there. She insisted she was not in much pain, but Henry suspected she’d become accustomed to a certain degree of pain; either that or she was lying in an attempt to be brave. Dr. Cowell told Henry it was probably a little of both. While the cancerous growth had not visibly changed much in months, the doctor suspected more and more from her symptoms that it was likely spreading inside of her body where they couldn’t see it. They had been blessed to not have it adversely affect her pregnancy, and they were all keenly aware of the miracle of Harry’s existence. But bearing a child had taken its toll on Kat, and it seemed that in her weakened state the cancer was quickly taking over.
The family all tried to continue on as they had before—not talking about the cancer in front of Kat unless she chose to bring it up, which happened rarely. But they were all concerned, and the inevitable seemed to be creeping ever closer and increasingly beyond their control. It came up in conversation often when Kat was not present, but more and more there was nothing to say that hadn’t been said many times already. Kat was dying and they all knew it. None of them wanted her to suffer, but neither did they want to lose her. It seemed that both were inevitable.
The great light in the midst of this unspeakable heartache was little Harry. With the perfect innocence of his new life, he radiated a glow of hope and happiness that helped them all keep perspective. He also kept them all gratefully distracted from Kat’s worsening health. If Kat was awake, the baby was with her, and while she slept each member of the family took turns holding him, often joking that he rarely if ever was not in someone’s arms, and he would become so accustomed to sleeping while being held that getting him to sleep in his own bed eventually might prove impossible. But nobody cared. Holding Harry, whether awake or asleep, was a soothing balm for all of them.
A wet nurse had to be hired to feed Harry when it quickly became evident Kat wouldn’t be able to do so. But she was a kind, sensitive woman who fit nicely into the household, as did the nanny, who was always on hand to help but never intrusive on the family’s desire to care for the baby as much as possible and to give Kat every opportunity to spend time with her son.
As the weather became colder, Henry reverted somewhat reluctantly to his English style of clothing. He couldn’t dispute that the fabrics and layers of a waistcoat—and a jacket or coat when going out—as well as the typical boots he wore, were more practical for English winters. Even in the house, every room had a slight chill unless fires were kept blazing in every fireplace, and remaining in close proximity to them was preferable. Still, he preferred the change in season in England, which was more dramatic than that of India. The summer heat of India had meant always feeling sweaty, and even the cooler season there had never been dramatically different. Here in England there was a vast difference between summer and winter, and Henry liked it. He especially liked autumn and spring, when the transitions between seasons were taking place. The changes suited him, keeping a variety in his life that spoke to his spirit.
Henry noticed that Amala too reverted to her English clothing as the weather got colder, although it was impossible not to notice that she was forgoing any corsets or enormous petticoats beneath her dresses, and he liked the way she was choosing to remain more comfortable, which seemed to correlate with how she’d become more serene and at peace with simply being who she was, apparently not caring nearly as much as she once had that she was so different in appearance from the rest of her family.
The Indian servants in the household had trouble adjusting to the cold, even though it was now their second winter in England. But apparently they’d figured out—with the help of English servants in the household with whom they’d become friends—how to wear a layer of warm underclothing beneath the traditional Indian fare, which helped them remain comfortable. Henry noticed that Amala sometimes did the same. In fact, he never knew which style of clothing she would appear in each morning, which seemed to represent her love of both sides of her heritage and her desire to express herself accordingly.
The winter cold encouraged even more solitude and isolation, but since Henry loved his new home and the people with whom he shared it, he didn’t mind. He went riding occasionally, or walking in the garden, in order to get some fresh air. And he was grateful for the wealth he’d been blessed with that made it possible for servants to regularly take a wagon into town to acquire needed supplies. He became more and more comfortable with this lifestyle that combined his love for both of the countries that had so greatly influenced his life. And since no one came to visit who didn’t respect and appreciate the unique atmosphere of their home and their blended family, the entire situation settled in quite nicely.
If not for Kat’s deteriorating health and the ever-present cloud of inevitability of her life drawing to a close, Henry would consider life as close to perfect as a man’s life could be. Every day he thanked God for all he and his family had been blessed with, and he begged God to be merciful with Kat and all of those who loved her and were grieving over the prospect of her loss and the daily evidence that it was drawing closer. Henry came more and more to appreciate and respect the principle of accepting God’s will and trusting that He and only He knew what was best. Henry wouldn’t want the responsibility of determining when it was the right time for Kat to go. He had moments when he saw evidence of her increasing pain, and he wanted to see it end, if only so that he could know she was no longer suffering in any way. There were other moments when she was doing better and he couldn’t imagine life without her and he desperately wanted her to never leave him. So he did his best to put the matter in God’s hands and prepare himself to accept the end when it came and to gracefully endure the dreadful anticipation, day by day.
The family had developed a comfortable routine with Kat, where they each had their time with her every day, sharing in her company and helping her with whatever she needed. Servants were on hand for certain things, but the family was committed to taking on the greatest responsibility of caring for Kat and for little Harry. The baby was rarely not in Kat’s room, so that she could enjoy him whenever she felt up to it. But for those who spent time with Kat every day, her deterioration was becoming more and more evident. Dr. Cowell came two or three times a week, monitoring her closely and teaching the family about the body’s natural process of death and how to appropriately give Kat the medication available to help ease her pain as much as possible. There were times when Kat didn’t want the medicine; she wanted to be awake and able to talk to her loved ones and enjoy her baby—who would always make her light up in spite of her persistent pain. But she always reached a limit when she would ask for the medicine, knowing it would make her sleepy and ease her suffering.
As winter settled in fully, with bitter cold winds and occasional snow, Kat was sleeping with the aid of the medicine far more than she was awake. Spending time with Kat had now become more an exercise of simply being in the room and watching her sleep. Still, Henry found some peace in that. Just observing the evidence of her breathing soothed him. And strangely enough, the evidence of her increasing thinness and pallor helped him feel a little more prepared each day to be able to let her go. He pondered how it might be to lose a spouse very quickly to an illness or accident that offered little or no warning. In such a case, the grief would surely be overwhelming and consuming, and that kind of adjustment seemed impossible in his mind. But to lose a spouse—or any loved one—slowly to disease in this way was an entirely different experience. He had grieved deeply at his first awareness of the disease, then later as he’d struggled to accept that it would take her life. He had been warned by the doctor—who had become as much a trusted friend in this journey as he was a wise medical advisor—that the actual shock of death could likely send loved ones into a new level of grief, but it generally tended to be briefer and easier to overcome for people who had been coming to terms with their grief for many weeks or months prior to the death.
Henry prayed more than he ever had in his life, and as a result he felt closer to God than ever before. In his darkest moments he could always eventually find a glimmer of light in an inexplicable warmth that soothed him from the inside out. He knew in his heart that this was God’s plan for Kat and that her spirit would live on in a better place. He found a peace with this knowledge that made it possible to believe he could let her go and find happiness again being a father to their child and a part of her family as a brother, a son, and a nephew. Still, he had many moments when his grief felt raw and unbearable. He couldn’t fathom his life without Kat in it and didn’t know how he could even function without her there at the center of everything—even if that meant his simply being at her side while she remained mostly oblivious in medicated slumber. As long as she kept breathing, as long as he could put his fingers to her throat and feel her pulse, he felt connected to her, and his love for her filled him. The very idea of her breath and heartbeat leaving her body, of having her turn cold and being put into the grave, sometimes made him feel physically ill.
Henry continued to vacillate between peace and acceptance and a horrifying grief too intense to manage. He simply needed to believe that with time the peace would become stronger than his grief and he would be able to move forward. He often shared his feelings with the family and found they were each having similar feelings in regard to their own relationships with Kat. Henry knew that marriage constituted a relationship that was not comparable to any other, but that didn’t diminish his respect for the fact that her parents and sister—and even her aunt, who had not physically been present much of the time—all had their own unique and powerful bond with Kat, and this was difficult for all of them in different ways. The commonality they all shared was their love for Kat and their grief over losing her. But it was a commonality that strengthened their family bonds, and he was grateful beyond words to have been given the privilege to be part of this family and to not be facing this dreadful thing alone. More than once he’d tried to imagine how it might have been if his own mother was still alive and he’d taken his bride to live in the home of his upbringing. The thought made him shudder. There wouldn’t have been even a degree of the love and support and comfort he’d found here at Willenbrock House.
On an especially cold afternoon, the wind wreaked havoc outside with flurries of snow that were not coming down in quantity but were made vicious by the wind’s influence. Henry chose wisely to stay in and spent the morning with Kat, even though there was very little evidence that she was still alive. In fact, he had noticed the last few days that Viola and Oliver would come to briefly check on Kat for a few minutes; they’d hold her hand and kiss her cheek, but they never stayed long. He knew it was difficult for them to sit with her when she rarely showed any sign of life and when she did it was generally tainted by evidence of pain. Paulina’s visits to Kat were even more rare, but for all her devotion to Kat, she had never shared the ongoing closeness with her that the other family members did. Therefore, it was Henry and Amala who each spent significant time with Kat each day, and there were some maids especially devoted to Kat and Amala who would take shifts at other times to be certain Kat was never left alone and to notify him or Amala if anything changed.
Henry held his son and talked to him and played with him until Harry became cranky due to hunger and needing his morning nap. The nanny took him, and Henry knew that the baby would be kept in the nursery for the remainder of the day; unless Kat specifically asked to see him, Harry was mostly kept away since Kat had requested it when she’d felt her own symptoms worsening.
Henry sat in an increasingly familiar location on a chair he often moved close to Kat’s bedside so that he could just sit and hold her hand. Sometimes he kissed it or held it against his face; sometimes he talked quietly to her, not certain if his words would reach past her sleep and into her mind, but he felt certain it was therapeutic for him. He verbally shared memories of how they had first become friends and how their feelings had grown and changed into something that had taken him completely by surprise. He told her how her love had healed many wounds inside of himself and had helped him come to terms with things he’d not even shared with her.
A maid brought lunch to Kat’s room for him, and he thanked her before he sat at the little table by the window to eat. He’d been eating lunch in this room for weeks now, alone with Kat while she slept; and he tried not to think about how she had come to a point where her very minimal appetite had diminished down to eating nothing at all. He knew death couldn’t be far away due to the simple fact that a body needed nutrition to survive and she was getting none. She rarely even took a drink of water and insisted that the smallest amount of broth or diluted wine made her nauseated.
After Henry had finished his lunch, he sat again beside Kat, holding her hand but remaining silent now while his thoughts sifted through memories and fears. He wasn’t surprised when Amala came to the room, since she always did after lunch, which was her usual time with her sister. He generally left her alone, but he felt hesitant to leave—or perhaps simply incapable of finding the strength to stand up and walk out of the room.
“May I have just a few more minutes before I go?” he asked quietly.
“Of course,” Amala said. “Do you prefer to be alone or—”
“No,” he said. “Please stay. She’s hardly stirred all morning. I think it’s getting close.”
“I’ve had the same thought,” Amala said, sitting exactly opposite Henry on a chair that had been placed on the other side of the bed. She took Kat’s other hand. “I feel so many thoughts and emotions bubbling up inside of me, but there is nothing to say that we haven’t all said so many times before.”
“Yes,” Henry said. “I know exactly what you mean.”
They sat together in silence while the clock in the room audibly ticked off seconds that stretched into many minutes, until Amala asked, “Are you going to be all right, Henry?” He looked up at her, feeling confused, or perhaps the full meaning of the question was too much to take in. “If the question is too personal or you don’t want to talk about it, I understand. But I still have to ask.”
Henry thought about the question for another minute or more. “Do I have a choice? I have to be all right. The only other choice is . . . what . . . to spend my life in misery . . . become a drunk or a burden to my family?”
“That would never happen; it’s not in you to become that kind of person.”
“I appreciate your faith in me, but I’m not sure I share your confidence. However, thanks to the blessing of marrying Kat, I have a wonderful family. And I have a son who needs me. I have plenty to live for and many reasons to strive to be the kind of man Kat would want me to be. Therefore, I must be all right.”
“And I believe you will be, but that doesn’t mean it will be easy.”
Henry looked at Kat’s face. “No, it won’t be easy.” He sighed with all the breath that was in him. “Although I’m well aware that it’s not necessarily more difficult for me than it is for you or your parents. Perhaps Paulina will not be as personally affected, but it’s still very difficult for her.”
“I know we all share a different kind of bond with Kat,” Amala said, “but the relationship between a husband and wife is surely something that makes this more difficult to bear.”
“Maybe,” was all Henry could say. Who was he to judge the level of difficulty from one person’s grief to another? Perhaps he was closer to Kat in many ways, but he’d not known her nearly as long as Amala. And her parents were just that—her parents. Now that he was a father himself, he couldn’t even imagine how this must be for them.
Kat began to stir, and both Henry and Amala leaned closer to her, eager for any interaction they might have during these increasingly rare moments when she was awake. He was glad that Amala understood his desire to stay, and he expressed to her that she should also be there. In spite of their previous schedules of each spending time alone with Kat, her condition had changed dramatically, and it would be absurd to think that Kat might conveniently be conscious at times that might adhere to their schedule.
“Hello, my darling,” Henry said, using his free hand to brush her hair off her forehead so he could kiss her there. “How are you feeling?”
“Water,” she said, barely audible.
Henry carefully lifted her head and put a glass of water to her lips, helping her take a few slow sips while Amala held a clean handkerchief against Kat’s chin to absorb the water that didn’t make it past Kat’s parched lips. Henry set the glass back on the bedside table and asked, “Is that enough for now?”
“Yes,” Kat said a little more clearly with her mouth moistened. “Thank you.”
Henry gently guided her head back to the pillow, and Amala asked, “Is there anything we can get for you?”
“No, I’m fine,” Kat said. “Thank you.”
“Are you in much pain?” Henry asked.
“Not much,” Kat said. “I want to stay awake . . . for now. I’ll let you know if . . . I need more . . .” She didn’t finish; they all knew what she meant. “I’m so glad you’re both here. You’re never here . . . at the same time. I’ve been . . . praying . . . to talk to you . . . together . . . and you’re both here.”
Henry exchanged a glance with Amala that let him know she was as ignorant as he over what Kat might want to talk to them about.
“We’re listening, darling,” Amala said. “Just don’t wear yourself out.”
Kat kept her eyes closed, either too weak or still affected by the medicine that made her so sleepy. In a voice that carried an almost dreamy quality, she said, “I know it won’t be long now. A part of me doesn’t want to go . . . I would never choose to leave any of you . . . I hope you know that.”
“Of course, darling,” Amala said at the same time Henry said, “We would never doubt it.”
“But my being here has come to a point where I am only keeping the rest of you from living as you should. Having my family hover in this room simply because I’m here is ridiculous.” She coughed a little and asked for more water, and they repeated the procedure of moistening her mouth and throat enough for her to keep talking. Henry was amazed at how lucid she was; she’d already said more consecutive words than she had in several days. Another glance at Amala let him know she had noticed the same.
With Kat’s head again relaxed against the pillow and her eyes closed, she went on. “I’m not worried about any of you being able to move on and be happy; I know that all of you are strong, and you all have each other. I worry least of all about Harry. He is so loved and will live a good life. I feel so much peace to see how happy and healthy he is.”
She paused for so long that Henry wondered if she’d drifted back to sleep. He said quietly, “He is a great joy to all of us, and he will always be living proof of your life and your love, my darling.”
He felt Kat squeeze his hand in response; then she spoke again. “There is only one thing that worries me, one thing that I need to know is taken care of before I can go.” She turned her head on the pillow slightly and opened her eyes, looking directly at Henry. “There’s one thing I need you to do for me, my dearest. You must promise me that you will, or I cannot leave you peacefully.”
It was easy for Henry to say, “Anything, my darling Kat. You’ve given me such a good life and made me so very happy. I would do anything you ask of me.”
“Promise me,” she said.
“I promise,” he stated with conviction.
Kat smiled weakly and turned her head with some difficulty to look at Amala. “I must ask the same of you, my dear sister. I cannot leave this world knowing that something very important is undone . . . unfinished; something is not right, Amala; something is not as it should be. You’re my sister, my best friend, my confidant for my whole life. You must promise me . . . that you will grant me one final wish.”
“I promise, dear sister,” Amala said. “I promise. Anything.”
Kat sighed with such obvious relief that Henry almost feared it might be her last breath, that she might leave without either him or Amala knowing what they had promised to do. He couldn’t begin to imagine what it might be, but he’d meant it when he’d told her he would do anything she asked of him. Kat settled her head back so that she was looking at the ceiling but she could glance back and forth between Amala and Henry. With her eyes now open, she seemed intent on watching them both while she concluded whatever she intended to say. But rather than speaking, she used what very little strength she had to move both Henry’s and Amala’s hands together over the top of her belly. When she urged their hands into each other’s and let go, Henry heard Amala gasp at the same time that he felt his chest go tight with a sudden inability to breath. What was she trying to say?
Henry exchanged a confused and astonished glance with Amala; then they both looked at Kat, and he still couldn’t draw breath. He felt Amala attempt to pull her hand away at the same moment he was tempted to do the same, not liking the implication at all given the entire spectrum of the situation. But again Kat exerted energy from some unseen source and pressed her hands over theirs, forcing them to maintain their grasp.
“The two of you must be together,” she said, glancing back and forth between them to assess their reactions. “You must be Harry’s parents. You must allow yourselves to make each other happy.”
Henry finally began to breathe, but it came in sharp bursts that he knew both women could hear, and he could see Amala’s shoulders rising and falling to indicate a similar reaction. If either of them had any doubt over the full depth of Kat’s request, it was clinched when she added, “No one could be a better mother to Harry than you, my sweet Amala. He needs you, and you need to give Harry siblings that he can grow up with, a beautiful family he can be a part of. He mustn’t be alone, just as neither of you should be alone.”
A sound erupted from Amala’s throat that was a combination of pain and protest. She pulled her hand away from Henry’s abruptly, and Kat didn’t have the strength to stop her. But Kat looked at her sister with an intensity that had always been rare in Kat. She’d always been lighthearted and able to see the world through an innocent kind of wonder that could sometimes come across as naive. But there was nothing innocent or naive about the way she said to her sister, “You promised me. It’s my dying wish, Amala. And you promised me.”
“You cannot ask such a thing of me,” Amala said, quietly but with anger, and in a way that seemed to imply she’d forgotten Henry was in the room. “How can you ask such a thing of me? You’re asking me to marry your husband after you are dead?”
“Yes,” Kat said, leaving no room for doubt. Henry leaned back in his chair, again finding it difficult to breathe. The irony and poignancy of all of this was impossible to take in.
“Well, you can’t do that!” Amala said, sounding even more angry. “This is not India, where marriages are arranged.”
Again Kat’s strength came through in a way that Henry could hardly believe was possible, given the state she’d been in for days. “Do you think I would ask something of either of you that I believed would make you unhappy? It is quite the opposite, dear sister. If it’s my dying wish for the two of you to be together; then anyone else who chooses to be critical of the marriage or look down upon you will be defying me. And don’t think for a moment that I’m foolish enough to not know that it’s right and it’s what both of you would want.” Henry felt startled by that last sentence, but before he could comment, she added, “When that grief you both feel over losing me settles, you will need each other, and this is what you will want. I’m giving my blessing to that end.”
“What are you saying?” Henry demanded, and she turned to look at him. “You know this is what we both want? Since the moment I first realized I was falling in love with you, I have never thought of, or felt attracted to, any woman but you. Never!”
Kat coughed again, and the drama of the conversation was paused to help her sip more water before she settled back onto the pillow to continue.
“I know that, my darling,” she said, taking hold of Henry’s hand again. “I have never questioned your love and devotion to me. This is not an accusation. I know beyond any doubt that you have been faithful to me in every way—in your mind and in your heart. I’ve never questioned it. But . . . before you fell in love with me . . . before Amala left . . .”
Again Henry found it difficult to breathe, and a quick glance let him know Amala was suffering from the same ailment. “What are you saying?” he asked his wife, looking firmly into her eyes.
Henry was naturally surprised by the way Kat laughed softly and again closed her eyes, perhaps because she was weak and tired, or perhaps because it was easier to say what she wanted to say without looking at him. Maybe both. “I know the two of you believed you were being very clever, sneaking off together to be alone, thinking that the rest of us wouldn’t give it a second thought. But I knew. We all knew. How could we not with the way the two of you would steal glances at each other every chance you got, thinking we were oblivious?”
With Kat’s eyes closed, Henry looked at Amala a little more boldly, validated by the shock and dilemma in her expression that mirrored his own reaction. He felt foolish for having believed he’d been able to conceal what had once been such powerful feelings for Amala. He felt guilty for having kept it a secret from Kat all this time when she’d always known. And he felt utterly terrified to consider facing up to everything that had happened in order to even consider keeping the promise he’d just unwittingly made to his dying wife.
Henry was glad when Amala spoke, and he felt complete empathy for the reasons her voice was trembling. “Are you telling me,” she asked Kat, “that you knew all along? That Mother and Father knew?”
Kat opened her eyes and looked at her sister. “Of course we knew, dearest. It’s one of the reasons we were all so upset over your declaration that you would never marry. When things seemed to be going well for you and Henry—in spite of the secrecy—we all hoped you would change your mind. We wanted to tell you we would support you in your decision, and we would have eventually when we felt the time was right, but Father felt we should give you time to come to terms with it, and then . . . you just . . . left. And we could all tell that Henry was heartbroken.” Kat turned to look at him. “You did well at keeping it concealed,” she said, “but I could still see it in your eyes. We all could. And we were all so grateful that you continued to be a part of our family.”
Again Kat closed her eyes, but not before she made certain she had a firm hold on each of their hands at her sides. Her voice sounded weaker now that she’d said her piece, which was apparently moving toward a conclusion. “Amala,” she said, “I want you to know that I didn’t try to fall in love with Henry.” Tears leaked from the corners of her closed eyelids. “In fact, I tried very hard not to. I cried more than I want to admit over the matter. I talked with Mother and Father a great deal about my feelings. In the end they told me you had made your decision quite clear and I needed to follow my heart. They also told me they knew Henry was a man of deep integrity and that he would not love me falsely or betray your love in any way.”
Kat opened her eyes again but not as widely. She looked at Amala with great effort. “I need you to know that a day did not pass when I didn’t feel that you had sacrificed your own happiness for mine, the same way you had protected me when your parents were killed, and the way you’ve protected me all of my life since. But I believe now that this is how it was always meant to be.” She squeezed Amala’s hand, and Henry noticed that both women were crying, with their gaze locked firmly. “Now it is your turn to be fully happy, my dearest sister.”
“I am happy,” Amala insisted. “It is only losing you that breaks my heart. I have made peace with all of that.”
“I know,” Kat said. “But you must trust me when I tell you there is a kind of happiness that you’ve never known, and that is my last wish for you.” She turned her head slowly and with effort to look at Henry, and he could tell she was becoming more lost in her pain and her burst of strength was now depleted. “Love her, Henry, the way you have loved me. Let her be a mother to our son, as she should be. You mustn’t be alone, my darling. You’re far too sensitive and tender a man to be left alone for so much of your life. I must know you have someone, and no one but Amala could ever understand the beautiful mixture of life and culture that makes you who you are.”
Henry couldn’t speak. He too was now crying. And what could he say? He still hadn’t recovered from the shock of everything she’d just told them. Kat sighed deeply, and peace washed over her countenance as she settled her head back into the center of the pillow and closed her eyes. “Now you both know how I feel, and I will come back to haunt you if you disappoint me.” The hint of a smile touched her weak lips. The smile faded, and she said in a voice that was severe in spite of becoming raspy, “Mother and Father already know my wish; they are completely in agreement that it’s the right thing. And on the chance that I was never able to tell you how I feel, it’s all in writing . . . a part of my will.”
“What?” Henry blurted before he could think that it might be better to remain silent. He felt suddenly more angry than sad, even though he knew that expressing anger to Kat at such a time would be completely inappropriate and something he would regret. Still, he had to say, “You left us to each other in your will?”
Kat was unaffected by his appalling question. With perfect calm she said, “Something like that. Could you get my medicine? The pain . . .” That seemed to be the last word she could muster the strength to say, but she grimaced, and he knew she was hurting a great deal more than she’d been letting on. Her determination to say what she felt the need to say had given her an illogical measure of strength, but it was all used up now. She’d stated her edict, and she would now go back into her oblivion, leaving him and Amala to deal with the repercussions.
With Amala’s help, Henry gave Kat the usual spoonful of foul-tasting liquid that eased her pain and helped her sleep. Another drink of water followed before he carefully guided her head back to the pillow, where she became so still so suddenly that she already looked dead. If not for the sound of her shallow breathing, he might think that her declarations had come with her dying breath. But even if she still held on for days, he had a feeling she’d spoken the last of anything significant she might say. She’d obviously had serious conversations about her final wishes with her parents. She looked serene and at peace. Henry was glad for that; he only wished that he could feel anything close to the same.
Since it was typically Amala’s time to sit with Kat, he pressed a kiss to Kat’s forehead and hurried from the room without uttering a single word to Amala. He could feel the anger inside of him growing, even though he knew it was only masking a barrage of other emotions that he didn’t know how to face or deal with. He only knew that he had to be alone until he could find a way to gain some control over what Kat had just thrown in his face—on her deathbed, no less. He rushed down the back stairs, wanting to avoid running into anyone in the family, and hurried out to the carriage house, ignoring the bitter cold and the fact that he’d not even bothered to grab a coat. He was grateful to find no one there, which wasn’t unusual since Everett had died. The stable hands who had taken over his tasks never put the time or care into their work that Everett had.
Henry climbed into a carriage that was never used, the same one he’d once sat in with Amala many times while they’d talked and speculated over a future together. The irony didn’t fully sink in until he was seated. After she’d first left, he’d come here to feel close to her, and then it had just become a habit when he’d wanted to be alone. He’d rarely come here since he’d married Kat and had become completely comfortable in his new home, and with his wife. Now, memories of being here with Amala wreaked torment and confusion, given the shock that Kat had just dealt him. He didn’t know what to do or how to feel. He could only bury his head in his hands and cry. And once he got started, all of the tears he’d been trying to keep in check while he’d watched his precious Kat wasting away now rushed into the open like a tidal wave that threatened to obliterate everything in its path.
* * * *
Amala was so stunned and overcome with a torrent of roiling emotion that she could hardly breathe, let alone move, after Henry had left the room. When she knew for certain that Kat was deep in medicated slumber, she allowed herself to let out a gasp of harsh breath that carried a sob into the open on its wake. Another came, and then another, until she dropped to her knees beside Kat’s bed, keeping her sister’s hand tightly in hers while she pressed her face into the bedding and cried the way she’d wanted to for weeks now. She’d been unable to fully feel the grief surrounding her over Kat’s impending death, but now everything had become so much more complicated and difficult in ways that Kat could never understand. Or could she? Kat had admitted to being able to see right through Amala’s attempt to hide her feelings for Henry. What else had Kat observed? She projected herself as always seeing the best in people and situations, to the point of what had appeared to be a degree of naiveté. She had always insisted on not wanting to talk about things that were sad or difficult, and that had been interpreted as perhaps being somewhat unobservant or superficial. But it was evident that even though Amala likely knew Kat better than anyone, she’d underestimated her—and even misread her. And now Kat was dying. Now there was no opportunity for long conversations where they could sort out and analyze all of this.
Amala felt mortified to realize that Kat and her parents had known of her feelings for Henry all along. Had they purposely encouraged the two of them to go for walks in the garden, or to spend uninterrupted hours in the library or the carriage house, or to go riding? Probably! Had they truly been hoping that she and Henry would have married? Had they not shared her concerns about the difficulties it would cause? Those inevitable difficulties had not changed with the passing of time or the change of circumstances. She had worked very hard to come to terms with her feelings for Henry. And now . . . now . . . Kat had peeled away all masks and veils and pretending. It was too much! It was just too much!
Amala’s sobbing finally subsided into a numb kind of shock, as if Kat had already died. She lay down on the bed near her sister, as she often did, and wished that she could sleep, wanting the same oblivion Kat was presently experiencing. But her thoughts raced in circles and her heart frequently quickened its pace, making it difficult to breathe deeply.
When tea was brought to the room for her, Amala thanked the maid and picked at the offering a little, mostly just wanting it to appear that she had eaten something and enjoyed her tea. She found herself staring into a nearly empty cup of cold tea, wondering how to cope with losing her sister, wondering how to face her parents with her newfound knowledge that they’d been aware all along of feelings she’d tried so hard to pretend didn’t exist. And how would she ever come to terms with the promise she’d given her sister, even if she hadn’t known what she’d been promising at the time? She knew that Kat had planned the conversation carefully; she’d purposely led them into making the promise before telling them what it was, likely knowing that neither of them would have ever dreamed she would ask such a thing and that they would be willing to do anything to appease her on her deathbed.
Amala wondered where Henry was and what he was doing. If this was difficult for her, she couldn’t imagine how he must be feeling. She didn’t question to any degree that he had appropriately let go of his romantic feelings for her before he’d married Kat. She had felt the conviction of that in his letters, and she had certainly seen it in his eyes since she’d come home. He loved Kat as a husband should love his wife. Amala was a sister to him now, a friend. After all they had gone through to come to this point, how could they ever go back? What had once felt so wonderful and perfect now felt entirely wrong.
Amala heard the door opening behind her and straightened her back. A maid would have knocked lightly before entering. She steeled herself to face her mother or father, wondering what she should say, or if she should say anything yet before talking to Henry about how they should handle this. She hoped it might be Paulina, who was her closest confidante. She sincerely hadn’t expected it to be Henry until she heard him say, “I was hoping you’d still be here.”
Amala’s heart began to pound at the sudden realization that she now felt completely awkward and uncomfortable about even being in the same room with him. She heard the door close and set down her teacup but remained as she was. He walked slowly past her and stood at the window, his back to her. Silence echoed around them, making the awkwardness more evident. Amala turned to look at Kat, seeking evidence that she was still breathing while she slept deeply. The subtle rise and fall of the sheet covering her chest assured Amala that she’d not left them yet.
Amala wondered if she was supposed to speak, but minutes of thinking brought no words to mind that she dared utter. Henry finally said, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this, Amala. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.”
“I don’t think how you’re supposed to feel is the issue, Henry. It’s how you really feel that matters.”
“I don’t know that, either.”
“Nor do I,” Amala admitted, “other than feeling like a fool for believing that no one would have figured it out.”
“Yes, there is that,” Henry said sourly.
Amala tried to think sensibly and put some sound reason into the situation. “As I see it, Kat is nearing the end, and that’s what we need to focus on now. We can discuss the other when all of this is . . . behind us.”
“That sounds very practical,” Henry said in a slightly acrid tone that reminded her of the times when she’d been trying to convince him they should not court publicly, let alone be married. “You’ve always been very good at being practical . . . sensible.” It almost sounded like an insult.
“I don’t know how else to be . . . especially now. Losing Kat this way is likely one of the most awful things that will ever happen to any of us. If I allow myself to think too much about the rest right now . . . I will completely fall apart. And I can’t. I need to be strong. My parents need to be strong. And so do you.”
She heard him sigh loudly. “Yes, I probably do.” He sighed again. “But I do believe your parents have to know . . . that Kat told us . . . what she wishes. If she’s already told them, they’ll be wondering if it’s up to them to tell us . . . that they knew . . . that they know . . . that we know.”
“At any other time the way you said that might have been funny.”
“Maybe,” he said and moved toward the door without having even looked at her. “I’ll see you at supper; I think we just need to tell them.”
Amala couldn’t bear the thought of him leaving the room without her knowing just a little bit more about his frame of mind. She heard the door open and hurried to ask, “Do you intend to keep your promise to Kat?”
“How in heaven and earth do you expect me to answer that question now?” he retorted, clearly angry in spite of keeping his voice hushed. “Do you?”
“Forgive me for asking,” Amala said. “It’s as I already told you . . . not the time to be concerned over how to handle the situation.”
Amala heard the door close and felt certain he would have slammed it if not for Kat sleeping in the room, although Amala suspected Kat would sleep through anything with the amount of medicine she’d been given. Amala turned again to look at her sister and felt a distinct desire to trade places with her. It was far from the first time she’d thought it. Kat had a husband and a son, and she didn’t have the challenge of being a dark-skinned woman in a society of light-skinned people. For Amala to leave this world, having lived a good life and experienced so much, would not have been nearly so tragic. And now with Kat’s edict hanging over her—and Henry—she wanted all the more to be the sister with cancer, the one who could gracefully leave this world and leave all of her problems behind.