Leaning back, I relaxed my shoulders and took a deep breath. I stayed where I was and watched her rest. She looked so peaceful. Yet, her awful health stained this peaceful image, made it morbid, and gave her mortality. My breath held. Slowly, but surely, all the muscles in my body grew cold and tense as a chill went down my spine. Not even this hot summer afternoon could save me. I was frozen stiff with the dreadful thought I could be witnessing her final moments. Like a child laid to rest. It dawned upon me the possibility she could be sick. Maybe she was too sick to eat. Maybe that was it. How foolish was I to have overseen such a sign. All this time I was fussing about her starving, I hadn’t even given it a thought.
What was I to do next? Could I really treat her? I was no good at medicine. As I determined before, bringing in a doctor was out of the question.
Abruptly, I stood up. The stool tipped over, thumping the carpeted hardwood floor. I stared at her intensely, almost wanting to grab her and shake her alive. I tried to think. What was it that Father did whenever I got sick? A towel on the forehead, of course. I could replace the towel. I retrieved it from the kitchen and did just that. Her chest was still breathing, I noticed. It was breathing regularly, without any wheezing. I’ve been giving her plenty of fluids. Does she need more? Or does she just need to rest.
There was another thump as my foot hit the leg of the dining room table. I stumbled forward a bit, shaking it off. Off to the side, I saw Abbey, eyes intently watching me. I paused to think for a moment, realising I had started pacing around the room. My face grew hot, even though there was no one else around other than the black cat. She flicked her tail, continuing to stare at me for a little longer, before eventually losing interest and returning to her bowl.
Bringing my arms to a cross, I squeezed them against myself, letting out a sigh. I leaned to the right and brought my left foot over the right to rub it with my toes. Quite quickly, the cat lifted her head from the bowl and sat down nearby, grooming herself. Silence resumed. My gaze turned to the glass door, watching the shadows gradually lengthen across the flower field behind the cottage. The sun kept dipping in and out the clouds, dimming the brilliance of the field over and over.
What else did Father do? Memory failed me. All I could remember was the affectionate smile and attention he gave me while I was ill. Open the windows, perhaps. If it was temperate enough. He would bring me presents as well. Try and cheer me up that way.
Sliding the back door open, my attention was drawn to the table in the back corner. Cleared bare from my house cleaning, there were still a few good looking flowers, even if they were dry. Perhaps those could cheer her up. I gathered most of the flowers and arranged them in the best bouquet I could with what little I had.
Dropping off the vase by the end table, I busied myself with other tasks. Picking up the spare towels by Alice’s side, ones I used to dry her, I took them upstairs and threw them in the basket. Taking a glance, I grabbed the basket with both handles and lifted it. It was about time to do the washing.
Carrying it down the stairs, I stopped for a moment. Alice was awake again, turned to her side, her head tilted up, gazing around with tired eyes.
“… Alice?”
She turned to me, reaching out with both hands in a grabbing gesture, her fingers curling in and out. A little perplexed, I set the basket down on the floor and kneeled down beside her, taking her hands.
“What is it?”
She pulled them back, prompting me to let go. Then, she reached out again, repeating the motion, this time reaching above her shoulders, towards the other end table. I glanced over and saw the empty bowl with the spoon in it.
“It’s empty,” I told her. “Are you hungry, still? Do you want me to make more?”
For once, she responded, shaking her head and reached higher, before bending her elbows and collapsing her arms over her head. It was a real strain to reach for whatever she was grasping for. Looking more carefully this time, I observed a book, another towel, and the flower vase. An idea dawned upon me as I reached out for the vase.
“The flowers?” I asked.
Brightly, she nodded, drawing her fingers back forward as I brought over the base. She picked out a flower, the same blue Hyacinthum she seems to love, and brought it to her chest, laying back once more. Shutting her eyes, she went back to sleep, and I went outside, leaving the basket by the door.
Out by the stream, near the watermill, was where I washed my clothes. There was a metal stool, a washboard, and wash tub in the shack that I would take out and set on the grass. First, however, I took two of the three buckets in the shack and scooped up water from the stream, bringing them back to the cottage. I had four more tubs under the porch that I brought out onto the stone pathway, and dumped two buckets worth of water into each. Taking a bar of soap and breaking a third for each, I rubbed them in the tub until they dissolved. I retrieved my basket and dropped in a few articles, leaving them to sit overnight.
The sun came out and stayed while I was outside. On the second trip back from the stream, I stopped and listened to the wind, letting it gently sway my hair around my shoulders. I breathed, letting the sun bask my face as I watched the puffy white clouds amble. Pulling my shoulders back up, I continued on with the task.
At suppertime, I could not wake her up. No amount of prodding or nudging would get her to wake. Her forehead was very hot, which was concerning. She was still breathing, however. Rather peacefully, too. It took myself some convincing to leave her alone to rest. I could make sure she gets a bite to eat in the morning. Knowing I was going to have trouble sleeping and I could not really afford to be so languid with the shop schedule two days in a row, I went to bed early. After a few tosses and turns, I managed to exhaust any capacity to think, blanking out.
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