Page 11

C lara spent her afternoon on the swing and let the late October sun warm her body. The sunlight pushed and prodded at her darkness, nudged at it until completely covering her. And then the warmth was gone. Grief scrambled to regain ground where peace had been but moments before.

One of the slave children came. “Want me to push you, miss?”

“No. But thank you.”

“Did you see that? I made a face.”

“Did you? What is your name?”

“Oscar.”

“Oscar, I’d like to be alone.”

He didn’t answer. The sneak. Was he crouching by the tree trunk? The thought unsettled her.

“Oscar?”

“I thought you was blind!” He sounded shocked.

“If you don’t leave me be, I’ll have Jenny come after you with a pear tree switch.”

“Yessum.”

Feet pattered away. “Wait! Come back.” Feet pattered back.

“Yes, Miz Clara?”

“Are Mother and Father about?”

“No—they went inside.”

“Take me to the stables. Now, Oscar.”

Silence met her ears .

“Oscar, take me to the stable.” She reached out for him. A moment later, his small hand slipped into hers and pulled her off the swing.”

“You wanna see your horse? You can’t. Ain’t here no more. Your father done rid of her.”

“What?” He wouldn’t have done that without telling her.

“She be done for, Miss. I ain’t allowed to help you to the stable. Massah’s orders.”

No. He wouldn’t do this. “Leave me be, then.”

She grasped for the swing ropes and lowered herself once again. Leaned her head against the rough fibers. Gone? Esther too? And Christian. Though faithless of character, yet she still longed for him. Hated herself for it.

Hope rose a little. Tomorrow Father would take her to the Louisville eye specialist. More than her sight may be repaired at that appointment.

Someone jarred the swing ropes still. “Miss Clara, yo mother wants to see you in the parlor.” Lewis took her hand.

Clara wrapped her arms tightly about her middle. The little warmth from the sun had abandoned her. The air now tight and frigid.

She entered the parlor to find further irritation. Mother’s voice lit a fuse. “It’s not that we don’t think you’d enjoy it, but we are afraid you won’t properly heal if you travel.”

Confusion abounded. “Am I not to go to the specialist after all?”

“What your mother is trying to say it that you won’t be going with us to London for the season.” Always blunt, Father never tip-toed.

Clara groped the air for them. Either of them. She grasped at nothingness. They hadn’t reached out for her. “London is just the thing I need! I’m desperate to get away from here. The sea air heals everybody.” How she needed the distraction of this journey .

Father measured his words. “Not this time. Your sisters are of age, or nearly. We need to make good connections.” More brutal truth.

So that was it. She’d be in the way. Needed to be hidden. “When are you leaving?”

“After the McPherson ball.”

“That’s only a few weeks away.”

Alice seemed annoyed. “You knew when we were going. We planned it last summer.”

“You did?”

Alice sighed. “Dear Lord, she’s lost her memory as well.”

Mother’s voice grew closer. “Don’t swear Alice. Yes, Clara, we did plan it.”

A shawl was draped about her shoulders by unseen hands. But no comforting embrace followed. “I haven’t lost my intelligence, I just don’t remember.” A lot had happened.

“We always go after hunting season is over. But don’t bother your brain about it, my dear.

Do your duty.” She jolted as her father lifted her by the hands out of her chair and guided her from the room into the large hall.

She must be careful how she spoke, the memory of his slap fresh.

“You and I are off to Louisville tomorrow. Get rest, it will be a full day. We’ll have to stay there over-night, Marie will have your bag ready and will accompany us. ”

“May we go shopping?” Her mouth formed a smile she didn’t feel.

He laughed. “Is that my girl returning to her former self? Of course. Anything you like.” He patted her arm and walked back into the parlor where the others continued to scheme.

He left her there, alone. Silent. She reached out for the chair railing and found a column. Her stomach squeezed and her head pounded. Tornadic thoughts swirled .

Little by little, her formerly happy existence was being denied her. Stripped away. As if life itself wished to spit her out like the lukewarm water that new preacher spoke of.

Everything rested on her doctor’s appointment. And if that failed, then the McPherson ball mattered a great deal. Christian would be there. Watching her. She’d win him back with her beauty and wit. “He won’t be able to help himself,” she murmured.

She stood a little taller as she climbed the stairway, as though a crown rested on her head. But such garlands slip lopsided when the head bows in humility. No London Season? She’d tried not to let that hurt. Perhaps she’d be better off under a headstone.

CLARA HAD NO TIME TO rest. Once they’d stepped foot off the train in Louisville, her father hired one cab to take Marie to the hotel—that was a relief, and another to take them directly to the doctor.

Thank goodness Marie took care that each hair was in place and her complexion well powdered before debarking. Really, what else was she good for? She was certain that Marie hated her.

The only good thing about her family leaving for London was that they would take Marie with them. Mother wouldn’t miss her eldest daughter but she could not bide without her servant. Could Clara bide without London? She stifled the jealousy.

A throat cleared to a tenor voice. “Doctor Rosenthal is ready for you. Come this way.”

Without warning her father pulled her along. She tripped on her own feet as the pair abruptly turned another direction.

“She may sit here.”

A kind voice came from her left. “Good afternoon, I hope your travel was uneventful? ”

Clara turned her head where she thought Dr. Rosenthal stood. Drat, what did he look like? His voice seemed young. “Yes. Thankfully the train wasn’t too crowded.”

“So, tell me about the accident.”

Clara began, but her father immediately interrupted and gave a version she had never heard before. In truth, she didn’t remember much. Just Christian’s horse, hers going too fast. Colliding. Apparently no details were required from her, the victim.

“How many months has she been blind?”

“Going on three.”

Had it been that long? Clara shivered. “Three months...”

“I see.”

Clara’s chin jerked. “Of course you do. Will I?”

“That is up to Providence. Let us reason with Him, shall we? Can you see shadows at all?”

She shook her head.

“Head aches?”

“At first.”

“You say she was in bed for a month?”

“A fever took hold. Doctor Brown let some blood. Weakened her, I think.”

Clara did not remember that, but rather a haze of events. Slaves coming in and out. Darkness. Screaming...were they her screams or another’s?

A soft hand took firm hold of her chin. The doctor had minty breath. He moved her face slightly to one side, and back again, an unfamiliar inspection by this stranger. Only Christian had taken her face in his hands like this. She remembered how tender he was.

Her father spoke. “What is that? I fancy I’ve never seen one.”

“An ophthalmoscope. Let’s me see deep into her eyes.”

Father laughed. “If only you could read a woman’s mind with it, we men might get somewhere. ”

“Father!” Clara wondered what the tool looked like. How far could he see? Would it hurt? Father should not jest. She’d tried to show them her mind the other day and received the back of Father’s hand for her honesty.

“There’s definite optic nerve damage, I can tell that from your description alone. The fever must have been a coincidence. Swelling... No blood circulation. I’m afraid now it’s been too long.”

“Too long for what?” Clara’s voice cracked.

“If your eyes were going to heal, that process should have already started.”

“No...hope?” Her voice wavered. No. Please God, no. Tears swelled.

“I wouldn’t say that. Your vision may come back—but only if God wills it.”

“Father?”

“I’m sorry, dear.”

“But we’ve been here no longer than ten minutes. Surely there’s some sort of surgery? Medicine?”

“Not for this, not yet.”

“You’re an eye doctor, for heaven’s sake. Fix this. I beg you.” Clara pleaded for a sliver of sunshine.

“Excuse my daughter, she hasn’t been herself.”

“I understand. I think I’d be angry too, if it happened to me.”

Clara bit the inside of her cheeks until she tasted blood.

“Is there any tonic that might soothe her nerves?”

“Take your pick from the apothecary. Be sure she doesn’t take it more than three days a week.”

“YOU CAN FEEL HOW SOFT it is, no?” A woman with a voice as rich as chocolate pressed the cloth into her hands .

Clara stroked the silk, feeling its quality, tangible richness in juxtaposition to the doctor’s devastating news.

“Is it very fine silk? You are certain the color is my best?” Grief welled up her throat and choked her words.

Focus on the fabric ... Clara held it close to her skin, imagining.

A threadbare hope, but a hope nonetheless.

Blindness could be bearable if she were at least seen, loved.

“You shall be ravishing, I promise.”

“I want the artistry to be in the cut of the dress. No lace, but as many fine tucks as possible. My father will pay you double if this is done and delivered to my door in two weeks.”

“I shall work in all haste.”

The bolt was pulled from her roaming hands. “See that you do.” She reached for the modiste. “I want suitors without looking like some dance hall girl. You understand.”

“A woman of your beauty should have no trouble.” She laughed.

“Thank you. Please, will you guide me to my father? He stands outside the door.” Her father had said she could buy anything she wanted. By golly, she would.