It was warm in the room, and the steam from the brass bucket hung around the lamp like a halo. Elizabeth sat beside Steve, waiting while he slept. He seemed to grow paler as she watched him, and his breathing became more laboured. Once he muttered something and she bent her head to listen, but the words were faint and garbled, making no sense to her. She sat watching him, while time passed slowly.
Mrs. Baker came in and Elizabeth quickly moved around the bed, to the side away from the door. She slipped her hand under Steve’s pillow, hiding the ring from sight, as the small woman stood silently, looking down at her son.
“Steven,” Mrs. Baker called at last. “Steven, I have brought you the medicine Doctor Black left.”
“Mother?” Steve opened his eyes. “Mother, is Bess still here?”
“Bess?” Her voice was tense. “There’s no one here now, Steven. You must have been dreaming.” She slipped one arm behind his shoulders, helping him to sit up. “Here. Drink this. The doctor says it will help you.”
Steve obediently drank the glass of darkish liquid, then eased himself back onto the pillow.
“You have been sleeping, son. Do you feel any better?”
“Yes, somewhat. I think I could sleep again, Mother. I’m so weak and I feel light-headed.”
“I’ll bring you some more hot water, Steven, then you can sleep again.” She picked up the bucket and made her way to the door, closing it behind her.
“Bess? Bess?” Steve whispered. “Are you still here?”
“Yes, Steve.” Elizabeth slipped her hand out from under the pillow and held it so he could see the ring. “I’m right beside you, right here.”
“It’s late. Will your mother be concerned about you?”
“It’ll be okay, Steve. I’ll make up some excuse.”
Mrs. Baker returned with the steaming brass bucket and placed it beside the bed. “This notion of yours that steam helps your cough, Steven . . . . Well, Doctor Black said that it can’t do any harm, and it seems to comfort you. Although where you got the notion that steam is therapeutic, I don’t know.”
Elizabeth smiled, wondering how Steve would answer that one. She had been the one who told him to use steam.
“A friend, Mother. A friend told me.”
His mother bent over him again and straightened the covers. “Amy’s ring,” she said, as she caught sight of it on the pillow. Elizabeth had forgotten to hide it this time. “Are you sure you don’t want me to put it on the dresser for you? It would be safer there.”
“No!” Steve placed his hand gently over Elizabeth’s, hiding the ring from view. “I want it here, beside me. Don’t take it away.”
“Of course not, son, if it pleases you to have it close. Keep it by you.”
She felt his forehead. “You are still feverish. Perhaps the medicine will help. Can I bring you something to eat? I have made a soup and it’s hot and ready . . ..”
“No, Mother. I’m not hungry. Perhaps later . . ..” Steve closed his eyes. His mother stood looking down at him, her face tense and worried. “Sleep now, Steven. The doctor will be here in a while. You will be well soon. You will be well.”
She sighed, then turned to go. “Call me if you need anything, please.”
The door closed behind her. Steve opened his eyes. “Bess? Oh, Bess, I feel so strange. Are you really there?”
“Of course I am. You can hear me, can’t you?”
“Will you stay for a while longer? I slept so soundly just now, knowing you were with me. Please stay . . ..” His voice trailed off as his eyes closed.
“Yes, I’ll stay,” Elizabeth began, then realized that he was asleep again. Settling herself more comfortably on the edge of the bed, she looked down at him. She was worried. Steve was so ill. Although his cough had eased, his fever appeared to be going up and he seemed to be getting weaker. If only she had been able to bring him the antibiotic! If only he had lived in her time where modern medicine was available and modern doctors could look after him. If only . . . if only she could help somehow, not just sit here, silent and invisible, while he got sicker and sicker.
The house was quiet. Elizabeth wondered briefly where Steve’s father was. She hadn’t seen him yet, and she was curious to know if he looked like his son. She sat, listening, starting at the occasional sound, and watching the little wraiths of steam circle the lamp. Steve stirred once, and a small moan escaped from his lips. She felt so helpless, sitting on the bed, unable to do anything.
She sat, she waited. How long she wasn’t sure. Although she was wearing her watch, she could not read it. It was as invisible as the rest of her. It must be late, she thought. After midnight? It had been early evening when she found Steve, and she had been here a long time. Her mother would be frantic by now. Joan Connell had probably come to Barkerville to look for her, maybe even passed close by, but a hundred years in the future.
No! I shouldn’t think about that now, she told herself. It seems to help Steve to know that I’m here, and I’ll stay with him for as long as he needs me.
After a long period of silence, voices echoed in the hallway. The doctor had come back, and he and Mrs. Baker were coming to Steve’s room. Elizabeth slipped her hand under the pillow again, hoping that no one would come around to her side of the bed.
Dr. Black looked concerned as he checked Steve. “The fever must break soon,” he said. “Then he will begin to recover.”
Steve was still asleep. Once, his eyes opened briefly, then shut again, and his head rolled slackly on the pillow.
“Has he been like this for long?” the doctor asked.
“For several hours, doctor,” replied Mrs. Baker. “And . . . and he has been talking to himself, too. He calls for someone named Bess.”
The doctor stood up. “If the fever breaks soon he will be fine,” he said. “I can do no more for him right now. But he’s a strong boy, Mrs. Baker, and he’s giving the sickness a brave fight.” He turned to look at Steve again.
“Bess?” Steve’s voice was low, but there was no mistaking what he was saying. “Bess? Where are you?”
“Doctor, do you hear? I stood outside this room earlier and listened to him talk to this Bess. I fear for his mind, doctor, I fear for his mind!”
“It’s the fever, that’s all. His mind is sound, but his brain is clouded by the heat of his body.”
Both of them turned to leave the room, Mrs. Baker with one hand on the doctor’s arm, seeking his reassurance. “I will stay with him, then,” Elizabeth heard her say as they left. “I will stay right by his side until the fever breaks.”
Then they were gone. Steve opened his eyes and called her name again. “I’m here, Steve, I’m here,” she whispered.
“I heard my Mother, Bess. She’s going to sit with me . . . . She will stay throughout the night, as she did last night.” He sighed. “You must go now. I can’t talk to you with my mother so close. I become confused. I forget which of you I am talking to. You must . . ..” His voice faded, but with an effort he finished the sentence. “You must go, my Bess, my love.”
“Oh, Steve, I can’t leave you when you’re so sick.”
“Bess, you can’t help me. Your medicine . . . your touch . . . all of you . . . all from the future. From your time. No help in my time.” His eyes closed again.
“No. I’ll stay. I want to stay, Steve.”
Steve pushed himself slowly up into a sitting position. “Bess. Look. I feel stronger . . . stronger. Go now, Bess. The cough has abated. I feel better. Come to the graveyard next Sunday. I will be there, and we’ll be together in our own place again. Go home now, Bess. Go to your own time. Go . . ..”
The effort of speaking tired him and he lay back on the pillow. “Smile for me once, Bess. I can’t see it, but I will know if you smile. Then go home and wait for me. All will be well.”
Elizabeth smiled, but tears were gathering in her eyes. She knew Steve was right. She couldn’t help him, and, with his mother planning to spend the rest of the night by his side, she couldn’t even talk to him. The best thing to do would be to go home and try to straighten out the mess that her disappearance must have created. But she didn’t want to go. Steve said that he was feeling better, but she wasn’t convinced. He looked so ill.
“Bess? I hear my mother coming . . ..” Elizabeth, too, could hear footsteps in the hall.
Quickly, she made up her mind. “Yes, Steve, I hear. I’m going now, but I’ll be in the graveyard next Sunday, no matter what. I promise. And if you’re too sick to come there, I’ll come to you again. Oh, Steve . . ..”
She kissed him, feeling his hot, dry lips against hers. He smiled, almost as if he could feel her kiss. “Goodbye, Steve. Please, please get well.”
“Oh, my Bess. I will be well and everything will be as it was. Next Sunday, Bess. Next Sunday.”
“Yes. Next Sunday. Goodbye, Steve. Goodbye.” She hurried to the door. Mrs. Baker was coming into the room, and Elizabeth slipped past her and out the door.
“Steven? Steven, were you calling for me?” The door closed behind her, and Elizabeth was alone in the hall. She would have to risk opening the front door and slipping out, hoping that no one would choose that moment to come into the hallway. Reaching for the doorknob, she stopped. Steve’s voice, faint but clear, came through the closed bedroom door.
“Goodbye, Bess. I love you! I love you!”
Oh, your poor mother, Steve, Elizabeth thought as she listened to the murmur of voices. Mrs. Baker was probably trying to calm her hallucinating son. Then she opened the door and went quietly out into the night.