Page 82 of The Condemned (Echoes from the Past #6)
SIXTY-NINE
Aboard the Constance
Mary lay back on the hard berth and closed her eyes.
The ship seemed to be rolling beneath her, and her stomach was rolling right along with it.
She thought she was going to be sick again, but there was nothing left for her to vomit into the bucket that was her constant companion.
She’d expelled everything she’d eaten, and then some.
Her face was hot to the touch, blood pounded in her veins, and her heart thudded in her chest. She gulped air like a landed fish, but only a small portion of it seemed to reach her lungs.
The sickness had set in shortly after they left Virginia and had grown worse over the past few weeks, making Mary’s life aboard a living hell.
She’d lost weight, and her normally wholesome shape had been reduced to her round belly and stick-like arms and legs that ended in grotesquely swollen ankles and feet.
Her only respite was sleep, which thankfully came easily enough.
Dr. Paulson had been kind enough to give up his berth after seeing Mary struggle to get into her hammock.
He now slept in the hammock, and swore he preferred it as the motion lulled him to sleep.
“Mary, can you hear me?” Dr. Paulson asked as he reached for her wrist. He held it between two fingers, checking her pulse. He did this several times a day and his face grew grave as his suspicions were confirmed again and again.
“Yes,” Mary muttered.
“Mary, I’m going to have to bleed you again.”
“No, please,” Mary whimpered. She felt so listless she could barely lift her head off the pillow .
“If I don’t do something to relieve the pressure, you’ll suffer an apoplexy.”
“Doctor, please. I feel so weak.”
Dr. Paulson nodded. He’d attended her day and night, and he looked weary and frustrated with his inability to help. He put a cool palm on her forehead. “You rest now. I’ll have Collins bring you some broth. Let’s see how you feel toward the evening, shall we?”
“The baby,” Mary mumbled.
“The baby does not seem to be affected by your illness.”
“I don’t want to lose the baby,” Mary pleaded.
“It’s you I’m worried about,” Dr. Paulson replied kindly. “I only wish to help you.”
“I know and I’m grateful,” Mary said. Her voice faded out as her eyes closed of their own accord.
She felt as if she were falling, spinning in slow motion as she was sucked into some great vortex that threatened to swallow her whole.
Strange images danced before her eyes and John’s face loomed before her just as she began to drop off to sleep, his eyes bulging, and his tongue protruding, the rope still around his neck.
His wild gaze seemed to be fixed on her, accusing her of allowing him to be executed.
She couldn’t see Travesty, but she heard her laughter.
It was coming from a spot just behind Mary, and she knew with absolutely certainty that Simon was with her, chuckling with mirth as the rope tightened around John’s throat.
“It’s not my fault,” Mary muttered. “It’s not my fault.”
“Of course, it’s not your fault,” Dr. Paulson replied in his deep, reassuring voice. “Try to sleep.”
Mary moved her head on the pillow, unable to chase away the horrid image. “Go away, John,” she mumbled. “Go away. There was nothing I could have done. ”
But John wouldn’t leave. He seemed to be haunting her from the grave, tormenting her.
Mary’s mind conjured up an image of Walker, but when she tried to get to him, he moved out of her reach.
Blood trickled from the wound in his side and a crimson stain bloomed on his chest, like a deadly bud opening its petals to the sun.
He seemed to be hovering between life and death, between reality and fantasy.
“Walker,” she mouthed. “Walker, come back. Please, don’t leave me.” But Walker hadn’t left her, she’d left him. She was halfway across the world, the distance between them growing with every mile. He was alive, but he was dead to her now, just like she was dead to him.
“Mary, who is Walker?” Dr. Paulson asked gently.
“A spirit that walks between worlds,” Mary muttered.
“You can see spirits?” She heard alarm in the doctor’s voice, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. The baby was the only thing keeping her tethered to this world.
What will happen to it if I die? Mary thought desperately as she fought the encroaching darkness . I must not leave my baby .
Dr. Paulson slipped his arm beneath her shoulders and lifted her so she could take a drink.
She tasted the cloying sweetness of laudanum on her lips and welcomed the oblivion it would soon bring.
Dr. Paulson had a limited supply, but he gave her a few drops from time to time when she was particularly agitated and couldn’t settle down.
“You sleep now, Mary. I will watch over you.”
Mary tried to answer, but the opium was already taking effect.
The all-consuming vortex seemed to have become a puffy cloud.
Mary relaxed into its comforting folds and its softness enveloped her.
She began to drift, her anguish forgotten.
She felt so peaceful, so free. If only she could feel this way forever.