The next morning, Lucy felt it again. Wind, rain, cold. It whirled out her window and rattled the pane. She closed her eyes and, rather than wish it away, snuggled deeper into the pillows and the soft down comforter. Perfect.
She thought how marvelous it would be to sit by the fire all day and read. She’d put away The Vicar of Wakefield and read Helen passages from Brontë novels. Maybe the scene from The Tenant of Wildfell Hall when Markham goes to visit Helen in the winter and she gives him the rose and tries to discreetly woo him. Or the one in Jane Eyre when Jane first arrives and meets Mrs. Fairfax by the fire and, of course, the reader senses the beginning of a great adventure tinged with dark mystery. So many gems to share by the fireside.
After indulging in a few passages, Lucy dug into her suitcase for leggings, a deep brown tunic sweater, and patent leather walking loafers. This was not a day for skirts, ballet flats, or heeled boots. This was a day for soft wool, warm socks, loafers, and literature. She pulled her hair into a high ponytail and skipped down the stairs to find Bette at the desk.
“Good morning. Has Helen come down yet?”
“She hasn’t passed me. There’s a full breakfast in the dining room and a fire already laid in the Great Room.” She nodded at the tablet in Lucy’s hands. “You’ve some books in there, I expect.”
“Over a hundred. If I could carry them all around I would because I love the touch and the smell of the paper, but this is the best way to carry mass quantities. I thought I’d entice Helen into a slow day of reading next to the fire. I don’t want to even suggest going to the Parsonage. She’d probably say yes and the weather seems pretty rough right now.”
“It’s supposed to clear,” Bette wailed.
“We’re not upset.”
“I don’t know why not. Everyone else is.” Bette chuckled and seemed to relax. “Thank you for not blaming me. Come have some breakfast.” She tilted her head toward the dining room then cast her eyes up and over Lucy, who turned to follow her gaze.
Helen walked slowly down the stairs dressed in dark wool pants and an aubergine turtleneck sweater. Lucy immediately noted that the colors were new for her; Helen usually wore clear, pale colors. Lucy also caught a glimpse of Helen’s loafers, large, black, and most likely, much more comfortable. She concentrated on each step and only looked up as Lucy called to greet her.
“Good morning. I thought we’d stay here and sit—”
“I—” Helen reached out her hand, and as if someone opened a drain, she and all the color in her face slipped together.
In slow motion, Lucy watched as the figurative hole opened and sucked Helen inside. She crumpled and fell down the steps just as Lucy sprang up to catch her.
“Helen, Helen!” Lucy caught her before she slid down the three remaining steps.
Bette rushed forward and held Lucy up so that she didn’t topple under Helen’s weight.
Lucy’s voice strained under her efforts. “I’ve got her. Call for help. Is there 911?”
“Are you sure you’ve got her?”
“Yes. Go. Go.”
Lucy felt Bette’s hands release her shoulders. She swayed back before pushing forward with her feet to stabilize Helen.
Footsteps pounded behind her. “We thought we heard—What happened?”
Lucy released her hold on Helen as two men gently lifted her from the steps and carried her to the long sofa in the Great Room. The taller one sat on the sofa’s edge and patted Helen’s hand. “What is her name?”
Lucy glanced between them.
“Miles is a doctor,” the other offered.
“Helen Carmichael.”
“Can you hear me, Helen? It’s time to wake.” He said something quick, deep, and, Lucy presumed, German to his friend, who left the room.
“Is she okay?”
“She is waking now. Wil is bringing her a glass of water.”
Moments later, Bette led a tall young man with a large black bag into the room as Wil returned with the water. Both men went straight to the sofa. Bette stood with Lucy.
“That was so frightening.” Bette twisted her hands in front of her. “But Dr. Matthews will know what to do.”
Lucy noticed Bette’s flushed face and rapid breathing. “You ran?”
“It was faster than calling. His office is down the street.”
Impulsively Lucy threw an arm around her. “Thank you so much.”
Within a few minutes, Dr. Matthews, with the help of Wil and Dr. Miles, had Helen safely tucked into bed. When Lucy entered Helen’s room, she was propped against the pillows with an IV flowing into the top of her wrist.
“Are you sure she shouldn’t be at a hospital?” Lucy’s semi-belligerent tone caught everyone’s attention—including her own. “I’m sorry, but are you sure? I mean, how do you know she’s okay?”
Dr. Matthews regarded Helen before addressing Lucy. “Her vitals are strong and other than fatigue and extreme dehydration, she’s fine.”
He clasped Helen’s hand. “You can see the effects of dehydration in her hands and swollen feet.”
Helen pulled her hand away with a huff of annoyance.
Lucy caught it, but directed her focus to the doctor. “Her feet were swollen last night. We . . . I didn’t know that’s what that meant. Are you sure about the hospital?”
“I’ll give her two bags of fluid and I recommend a few days’ rest. I suspect the antibiotics contributed to this and, that said, her immune system is weak. Sometimes hospitals aren’t the best places to be.”
“You’re sure?”
“If you insist—” came from the doctor simultaneously with a sharp “Lucy!” from Helen.
Lucy held up her hands. “I’m sorry. I’m nervous.” She leaned around the doctor. “I’m not telling James if something happens to you.”
Helen laughed. “That’s what you’re worried about?”
“Wouldn’t you be?”
“I’d be more scared of Charlie.” Helen closed her eyes. “Now could you all please leave? I’m done in and there’s nothing more to do. A trip to the hospital is not up for discussion.”
The doctor chuckled. “We will leave, but I’ll be back in a couple hours to switch your fluids. And if you need to use the bathroom, please ask—”
He stopped at Helen’s raised hand. “We are not discussing that. Thank you, young man.”
Shaking his head, he followed Lucy from the room.
She turned toward him as soon as the door clicked shut. “You are sure she’s okay? Really sure? There is nothing you’re not telling us?”
“She is exhausted and she’s dehydrated and”—he gave Lucy a significant look—“that is the extent to which she’s allowing me to treat her and the extent to which I could regardless.”
With a slight bow, he ducked around her and loped down the stairs. He waved to Bette and called back to her from the front door, “I’ll be back in a couple hours to check on Mrs. Carmichael.”
Lucy stood holding the railing and staring down until the heavy front door slammed shut.
Bette lifted her head. “He’s a very good doctor.”
“He’d better be.”
Lucy had secured the armchair near the fireplace by leaving her book in it every time she ventured up to Helen’s room. Hours later, Helen remained fast asleep; Lucy still checked regularly.
By one o’clock, she felt as if she’d already worn a path along the plush Wilton carpet and sank once more into the chair. She palmed her phone and ran her finger across the blank black face to turn it on. But this time, she tapped James’s number.
Lucy listened as it rang and rang. Right before it would’ve jumped to voice mail, she heard a brusque, “Lucy? What’s up?”
She wanted a softer intro, but this was what she had to deal with. She dove in. “Your grandmother fainted walking down some stairs this morning. She’s fine. They were carpeted and I caught her, but I needed to call and I don’t have your dad’s number.”
“What happened?”
“She just fell. The doctor says she’s suffering from exhaustion and severe dehydration.”
“Are you in London?” James asked with a slight bang and a groan. “Darn desk drawer.”
“We arrived in Haworth last night.”
“What hospital is she at?”
Lucy closed her eyes. “She isn’t in one.”
“What?”
“I asked, but the doctor said she was fine. I asked again and he said the same thing. He even said a hospital wouldn’t be good after her cold, that her immune system might still be compromised.”
“Nevertheless, if she needs—”
“She agrees with the doctor. She won’t go.”
“She doesn’t get a choice,” James growled.
Lucy pulled her phone from her ear, as if it had relayed something wrong, as if James could not have said that—and in that tone.
“I’m the one without a choice, James. She won’t go and the doctor agrees with her. I agree with you, but that doesn’t count. She’s perfectly lucid.” Lucy heard James suck in air as if he was about to start yelling.
She spoke before he could. “He hooked her up to an IV and he’s just left after switching her to a second bag. He’ll be back in a couple hours and promises to come by again when his office hours end.”
“She’s eighty-five. He can’t give her a glass of water and think that’s enough.”
“James.” Lucy pressed her lips tight, refusing to argue or plead.
“What?” His voice calmed.
“I can’t force her to do anything. I’m not family.” Lucy pulled a card from her bag’s side pocket. “I’m going to text you his number. He told me to pass it along so that your dad or her doctor, or anyone, can call him. I didn’t want to text it to you without talking to you first.”
“I appreciate that. I’ll pass it along to my dad.” James paused. “Lucy?”
“Yes?”
“Take care of her.”
“Always.” Lucy let the word, and all the meaning it once carried, linger. James hung up. She texted the doctor’s number then slid the phone into her bag and wandered toward the stairs again.
“It’s only been ten minutes since you checked.” Bette’s soft voice surprised her.
“I didn’t see you there.”
“The wind has died down. Go for a walk. I’ll keep an eye on her.” Bette walked around the desk and stood near her.
“You’re so busy.”
“I’m not too busy to dash up there for a few minutes.” Bette tilted her head to the front door. “Go.”
Lucy accepted the offer. She needed out. She grabbed her coat and strode toward Main Street, thinking she’d be eager to see the town, explore the shops, and relish all things Brontë. But as she approached the first door with the tempting sign, Thornfield Luncheon Special, she found herself racing on. Helen had brought her to Haworth and was such a fundamental part of the experience that to see, smell, or touch anything now felt like a betrayal. The discomfort of the cobblestones and gravel under her feet felt fitting as she pushed to the edge of town.
By the time Lucy found Main Street again, her feet were sore and numb. The sky had turned dark gray and her stomach made gurgling noises, audible to passersby. She was late and anxious.
She found Bette descending the stairs. “Perfect timing. She and Mum had a lovely time over a bowl of soup and now she’s wide awake.”
Lucy started up the stairs. “Thank you, Bette, and thank your mom too.” She knocked on Helen’s door and entered without waiting for a reply. Helen sat up in bed with a pale-pink satin bed jacket draped over her shoulders. Her cheeks matched the jacket’s soft tone. Lucy smiled. “You look lovely.”
“You sound relieved.”
“I am.” She walked over to the bed and squeezed Helen’s hand. “I was really worried. You were so pale. I pushed you too hard.”
“Don’t be silly. This has nothing to do with you. I think I had more invested in returning that watch than I thought. All systems seem to be letting go.” Helen smiled and added, “Resting. All systems need rest. Nothing more.”
She handed Lucy The Vicar of Wakefield. “Here, you take over reading now.”
“Where are you?”
“The Primroses have just been thrown in jail.”
“How?”
“I skipped some. There was a lot of foolishness. I needed to cut to the chase.”
“You came to the right place. You’re closing in on the glorious reveal.” Lucy plopped into the chair and opened it to her bookmark. “I forgot I left this in here.” She pulled out the laminated index card and flicked it in her hand. “I guess you saw this too.”
“I used to make up those poems all the time for Charlie and my grandkids. ‘Roses are red, Violets are blue, Eat your green beans, or no cake for you.’ ”
“Then that’s where he gets it. James wrote this one.”
“Oh . . . I’m sorry I read it.” Helen burst out a quick laugh. “I expected more elegance, intelligence . . . Something more from him for a love note.”
“No criticizing. That’s exactly why I like it.” Lucy slid the card into the front of the book. “It was silly to bring it, though . . . On to our happy ending.”
Lucy trained her eyes on the book as if the physical action could keep her emotionally anchored to the hope of a glorious reveal and a satisfying ending.