Chapter Ten

The winter days were long and somber. Nancy read anxiety in Judy's pale face, in the way she held herself and the way her hand went often to her back or side in reaction to some nagging pain. She retired early and rose late. At other times, her sister broke off mid-conversation and placed both hands on her growing waistline. She'd turn her head, like a small creature listening to the wind, and then resume their conversation as if nothing had happened. It was a source of mystery and fascination. Sometimes, at night, Nancy lay in the darkness with her hands on her own flat stomach and imagined something stirring inside her. But that brought other thoughts, vague and disturbing, for before there could be a child, there must be a man, and Aunt Page's words haunted her. Scenes played in her mind where she left Bizarre, and it wasn't Judy's eyes that filled with tears to see her go, but Dick's. Although she snuffed out such visions as sharply as she would her candle at night, the rush of feeling and longing she had whenever they crossed paths, the tightness in her chest, the heat on her skin — all these things and her own good sense were like hammers in her brain, insisting her aunt was right and she must not stay at Bizarre.

Theo kept more and more to his room. He refused offers of help and saw only Dick, his man, Paul, and Syphax. On the first day of February, he didn't come downstairs at all. Dick's face was gloomy when she enquired after his brother. She did not like to press and didn't linger, afraid to be alone with him. Nothing was said, but he stared at her mouth whenever they spoke. The coldest of rooms grew hot when they were together. And still, she hoped that Aunt Page was wrong about Theo.

Ten days later, Dick rode for the doctor. Nancy and Judy waited for news in the parlor. Soon enough, she heard the echo of boots down the hallway and the thud of the door. Later, came the crunch of gravel as the doctor's carriage rolled away, and still they waited. When Dick finally joined them in the parlor, his face was ashen.

"I must write to the family. I do not know if Jack or Tucker can get here in time, but the doctor says to try." Nancy rose, but he waved her away. "No. Theo will see no one. He doesn't want to be seen. He looks—"

Dick broke down. He leaned his forehead against the doorframe, and his shoulders heaved as he tried to regain his self-control. Judy went to stand by him, one hand on his back, gently circling. Tears spilled down Nancy's cheeks. The Lord knew she did not love Theo as she once imagined she might, but he was so young, only a couple of years older than she was herself. This was to be his life? The unfairness of it floored her.

Three days passed. The doctor came twice a day. The house fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the sounds of footsteps and quiet murmurings as food was brought and removed. Phebe moved around her room like a ghost. Dick sent Sarah's husband, Ben, to collect their letters each day and grabbed what he brought back only to discard them all when he didn't find Jack or Tucker's handwriting amongst the folded pages.

On the fourteenth, in the morning, as she and Judy sewed nightcaps for the baby, Dick came slowly into the room and sat down. He looked hollowed out. Her heart wept in silence at the sight of his sorrow and pain.

"He's dead."

She sat frozen and cold as Judy went to embrace her forlorn husband. Then she followed them upstairs in silence to Theo's room.

All was tidy and light. Only a faint smell of sickness lingered under the heavier scents of lavender and cedar oil, indicating that the room had been cleaned and all the linens changed. Syphax and Paul would attend to everything, Dick muttered as he bade them say their farewells.

Theo's face was pinched and withered. Nancy remembered him at Tom and Patsy's wedding — his face ruddy with liquor, his breath warm and sweet and his eyes roving over her. It made no sense to see him so reduced. In turn, the sisters took up Theo's right hand and kissed it. His skin was thin, loose over his bones, and yet his hand was heavy in its lifelessness. A tear dropped from her lashes and settled on his wrist. She dashed it away and stepped back from the bed.

Dinner was a gloomy affair. Dick pushed the food around his plate, and Judy ate mechanically. Nancy chewed on a mouthful of chicken that tasted of nothing and lay in her stomach like a stone. She soon set down her fork. Comfort was needed. Affection. Expression of shared loss. Something. But Judy and Dick were silent, and she didn't dare reach her hand across the table to Dick, although she longed to. Just a touch. Just a token. Nothing more. Nothing wrong.

After Lottie removed their dishes, Dick declared he had letters to write and bade them goodnight. Unable to think of reading alone in the parlor, Nancy followed Judy upstairs. They parted in the hallway without a further word or touch between them. In her room, Phebe took her dress and brushed her hair. Her face was soft, concerned.

"Would you like me to sit with you a little, miss?" Nancy was about to answer yes, when they both turned at the sound of a light tap on the door.

"No. You may leave now." She opened the door as she spoke. Dick stood there, head bowed. Her heart hammered in her chest as he entered and walked to the window. "Leave us, Phebe. See if Sarah wants you in the kitchen house. Mr. Randolph will only stay a moment, and I won't need you again tonight." Blood drummed in her ears. Her lips were dry. She barely knew how she managed to speak and didn't look at Phebe's face. When the girl was gone and the door was closed, she turned.

Dick stood with his back to her, staring at the blackened windowpane.

She went to him.