“Keep your guard up, Sammie.” Edward’s jovial voice carried across the lawn, disrupting a pair of nesting birds. They squawked angrily, flying over the lake toward a willow tree resting on the other side of the bank. Their displeasure echoed across the calm water.
“Sammie, do not drop your hand, it will make you an easy target,” Edward instructed. His eyes gleamed as he lunged toward Sam, the epee swung wide.
Sam ducked easily since Edward towered two feet above her. She giggled, returning with a thrust, which he neatly side-stepped. The warm sun shone on them like a spotlight, highlighting each block and parry. Flashes of light, momentarily blinding any observer, glinted like fireflies.
“Ah ha,” shouted Edward playfully. He lunged forward again, quickly catching Sam’s left shoulder with the tip of his foil. He laughed, pretending to remove an invisible hat before he bowed teasingly at Sam.
“Point and match,” he shouted, his adult frame galloping boastful circles around their make-shift arena. Sam glared at him, sticking out her pink tongue as he continued to dance around.
“Someday, I will beat you,” vowed Sam, her narrowed eyes following her older brother’s antics.
Edward stopped mid-celebration and chewed thoughtfully on his lip. “True, but you’ll have to catch me first,” he taunted and raced across the grass to a picnic spread under an oak tree.
Sam ran as fast as her little legs could carry her, a blur of motion and color on an otherwise peaceful day. She collapsed on the blanket, reaching for one of the sandwiches Edward had piled on his plate. He blocked her hand with his arm, a devilish grin on his face.
“Too slow again,” he teased. “To the winner go the spoils.”
“Edward Hastings,” Governess McConnell addressed him as if he was still her charge. “I do not think teaching a ten-year-old fencing is your Great-Uncle’s idea of helping me tutor.”
“Sure, it is,” Edward replied around the watercress sandwich stuffed in his mouth. “Father taught me at that age; both Uncle Ephraim and Father learned at an even younger age.”
“But Samantha is a girl,” Governess McConnell pointed out, her voice dripped with scandal.
“Are you really?” Edward turned toward his sister with a mocking expression. He grinned, then tickled Sam until she shrieked with laughter.
“Ladies should learn about tea and embroidery.” Governess McConnell’s pinched face glared at him sternly over Sam’s braided head.
Edward smirked, “I do not know anything about those activities. Uncle said to teach her about things I knew. And hey, come back here.”
Sam had managed to steal several sandwiches off his plate during the conversation. Leaping off the blanket, she ran for the lake, squishing the food in her clenched fists. She had almost reached the willow tree on the lake’s edge before Edward tackled her, scattering sandwiches in every direction.
“You little thief,” he said, hauling Sam to her feet by her wrists. “You are going to have to learn to run faster than that.”
Sam squealed with glee as he lifted her onto his shoulders. Dancing around the willow tree, Edward pretended to trip, almost dropping Sam into the lake’s still blue water. Laughing happily, she clung to his head, grappling fistfuls of his chestnut hair to regain her balance. They both ignored Governess McConnell’s criticizing commentary, a tirade of should-nots that leapt from her lips in a rapid staccato. Annoyed and frustrated, she marched into the house, her mouth pressed into a thin line of disapproval.
Edward whirled around in dizzying circles for several more minutes after the governess disappeared inside. As he danced, the hem of Sam’s dress fell in his face, blocking his view. Edward leaned precariously to his left, struggling to swipe the cloth from his eyes. He stumbled on an exposed root of the willow tree and caught his foot, falling forward. Edward landed on the grass with a loud thump, knocking the breath from his lungs. Sam flew off his shoulders, bouncing several times before rolling unceremoniously into the lake.
Freezing water shocked a screech from Sam’s throat. Her empty lungs filled with water just as her feet touched the muddy bottom of the lake bed. She clawed her way toward the sky, able to see Edward’s rippling face on the surface. Her water-logged dress, petticoat, and layers of underclothes provided strong resistance, and Sam felt herself sinking down into the reeds. Kicking her feet caused mud to swirl up around her, the view of Edward becoming distorted.
Maybe I’ll just live with the mermaids, Sam’s oxygen-deprived brain decided. Her legs kicked off from the ground again, but the weeds wrapped tightly around her boots. Struggling, she stretched her arms to Edward. Blackness clouded her vision, creeping in slowly from the sides. She extended her fingers a bit more, the bones seeming to pop out of their sockets. The shadows closed quickly, leaving Edward’s blue eyes burning in her mind.
There was so much pain in the blue, colored with a touch a fear that circled around his pupils. Sam wished she could take Edward’s pain away. Perhaps he could live at the bottom of the lake with her. Her eyes closed.
A rock poked unmercifully at her spine, threatening to pierce her skin. Her head rolled sideways, and she opened her eyes. She stared in confusion at the blurry colors, which dripped down her face, gathering under her cheek; her vision cleared. A thick green canopy captured her attention. It seemed such a lovely color to be growing under the water.
Sam’s eyes refocused, and she realized she was staring at a tree, more specifically, the willow tree at the edge of the lake. Edward’s worried voice called to her faintly as if trapped in a deep hole. Suddenly, a rush of sound and color overloaded her senses, making her woozy. Soft hands lifted her head as she vomited lake water.
“Sammie,” Edward sighed. He wrapped her in his wet arms, his hair dripping onto her face. So much emotion was packed in that one word, Sam felt as though her heart would break in two. Cradling the mess of curls to his head, Edward whispered her name continuously. They sat motionless in the cold sun. He cried, and Sam cried. She clung to him as he breathed for her.
Governess McConnell found the two of them curled on the ground. Her pursed lips showed her displeasure, but she wisely held her tongue. She lifted Sam from Edward’s lap, after prying his fingers from her head. The three sloshed silently toward the front of the house, ignoring the picnic still spread carelessly on the lawn.
As the trio rounded the corner, they were greeted by a freezing wind. Shivering in Governess McConnell’s arms, Sam coughed several times, shaking her tiny frame.
“I want to walk with Edward,” whined Sam.
“Quiet child. I need to get you out of these wet clothes before you catch a chill.”
Quickly bustling Sam into her bedchamber, Governess McConnell stripped Sam of her ruined dress and tucked her under a heaping pile of blankets. Sam–lost in a sea of white linen–became delirious from fever within the hour. She rambled about mermaids and fencing.
The fever she contracted took a bad turn around midnight, and its tiny victim, already weak, now struggled to survive. Fretting with worry, Edward sent for the doctor as well as Uncle Ephraim. Ephraim arrived early the next morning when the moon was still visible in the sky. He brought with him several trunks, two more doctors, and one specialist. The diagnosis was the same; they would have to wait for the fever to break.
Edward spent the day holding Sam’s hand. Her skin, as pale as the sheets, burned under his touch. She tossed fitfully, calling his name in a hoarse voice. The darkened room reeked of sweat and sickness, the combination stinging his nostrils. Sam’s hair, dull against the white pillows, clung in patches to her cheeks and forehead.
Taking a cool cloth, Edward gently dabbed her forehead and tried to force lukewarm broth down her throat, stroking her throat softly to help her swallow the liquid. He vowed not to leave her side, reading to her continuously, books from his classes, books from their library, even books he found hidden in the governess’ room. He prayed, lips moving fervently, eyes cast upward, and he swore such blasphemies even the doctors blushed.
After two days of pacing and cursing, Edward exhausted himself beyond reason. Unable to keep his tired body awake, he passed into a dreamless slumber. The gilded armchair stationed by the bed provided a cocoon for him to rest. His head drooped to his chest as fatigue claimed him.
A little voice traveled across the sleep-veiled barrier. Softly at first, it grew more insistent, waiting for a response. Edward mumbled incoherently and smiled in his sleep.
“Edward.”
Awakening with a start, Edward fell out of his chair. Placing both hands on the bed, he heaved himself back into a sitting position. His eyes flicked to the bed where Sam sat, propped against the headboard. She studied him with a concerned look on her face.
“Edward, I have been calling your name for nearly five minutes,” she scolded, placing her hands on her hips.
“Sammie!”
Leaping on top of the bed and haphazardly knocking books onto the floor, Edward threw his arms around his sister. He buried his face in her little neck, wetting her nightdress with tears, sobbing uncontrollably.
Sam stroked his hair, her arms wrapped tightly around his head. Ephraim discovered this odd picture ten minutes later—a child comforting an adult. He entered the room silently and waited quietly for a moment. Clearing his throat to announce his presence, Ephraim allowed Edward to regain his composure before stepping forward.
“Samantha, I am pleased to find you awake.”
“Uncle Ephraim,” her eyes crinkled in confusion. “What are you doing here?”
He crossed the room, leaning heavily on his left leg. With a grunt, he sat in the chair recently abandon by Edward, rubbing his knee with a mutter about cold weather. He gazed at Sam for a moment with the same blue eyes, although slightly dimmer, as both his niece and nephew.
“Well, my dear, you almost died,” he stated in his gruff voice. “However, it seems as though you are much stronger than the doctors supposed.” He paused at that moment and withdrew a handkerchief. Coughing several times into the cloth, he refolded it and placed it back in his pocket.
“Uncle Ephraim,” began Edward. “She is too young to hear things like that.”
“Ridiculous,” replied Ephraim in a tone indicating the much-conversed subject was closed. His eyes never left Sam’s face. “It is important to deal with reality, and I do not have time to cater to your overprotective tendencies, Edward. Now, Samantha, you are on strict orders to remain inside for the next few weeks.”
“Yes sir,” replied Sam, her face unreadable.
Ephraim coughed again, a deep, throated sound which reverberated through his chest. “I have been speaking with Governess McConnell, and she has brought to my attention you have been practicing fencing. She has expressed her concern about the inappropriate tutoring you have been receiving from Edward. I am sorry to inform you that Governess McConnell will no longer be offering her services. I shall see about finding you a proper tutor.”
A wide grin split Sam’s face. “Thank you, Uncle Ephraim.”
Ephraim leaned forward with a wink. “I have added a few more books to your library. They are on the large table downstairs. However, this one is special; it was your father’s favorite.” He pulled a small, leather-bound book from his coat pocket and placed it carefully on the bed.
“I am residing here at Hastings Manor for a week at least, possibly longer, just to ensure you are in full health. Nevertheless, at this moment, I have some business that needs tending to if you would excuse me.” Ephraim stood with a groan, stretched out his legs to relieve the stiffness in his knees and shuffled toward the door. He paused at the frame and turned around with a mischievous grin. “Samantha, once you are feeling better, I expect an exemplary demonstration of your fencing skills.”
As Ephraim opened the chamber door, he was met by the butler who had just raised his arm to knock on the door. Ephraim nodded politely and continued his heavy step down the hallway.
“Lord Hastings, a Mr. Reid and his luggage have arrived.” Edward glanced up at the butler who stood waiting in the room for further instructions.
“Damn,” Edward cursed under his breath. “I forgot I had invited him for a hunting weekend.”
“Who is Mr. Reid?” asked Sam. She stopped leafing through the book on her lap and regarded her brother with a curious expression.
“An old friend from school,” replied Edward. “Perhaps I should send him away.”
“There is no need,” answered Sam with a wave of her hand. “Uncle Ephraim is here to watch over me. Enjoy your weekend.”
Edward nodded and turned back toward the butler. “Show him to the informal sitting room and prepare some food. I’m sure he is hungry.”
“As you wish,” the butler nodded. “Glad to see you awake, Miss Hastings.” He smiled a rare smile and disappeared out the door.
“Sammie, if you feel even the slightest bit dizzy or sick, please let me know.” He placed a gentle hand against her forehead, judging the strength of her fever.
She nodded, returning her attention to the book. Edward remained immobile on the bed, studying Sam.
“Edward,” Sam spoke quietly after a few moments without even glancing up from the page. “You have a guest. It is impolite to keep him waiting.”
“Can I get you anything?” he asked, standing suddenly.
“Please open the drapes,” Sam decided after a moment. “I want to see the sunshine.”
“Certainly.” Edward glanced at the book in her lap as passed beside the bed. “I remember that story. You’ll love it, it’s about pirates.”
“Is there sword fighting?” Sam’s eyes shone.
Edward laughed. “There may even be a curse word or two.”