Shadows Gray

Chapter Twenty-Four



The arrival of Luke has thrown a wrench in everyone’s plans. We meet up with Dad and Bea and Israel; sure enough we all gravitate towards the area we woke up and meet up there. Dad and Bea are more thrilled to see Luke than Israel seems to be, but Is has never been one to show much emotion unless it’s his Irritated at Sonnet Emotion which he displays with steady frequency and expertise.

“Well, he’s not coming with me,” Emme says cheerily. “Though I expect there’s a market for your type, it’s all girls where I’m going and frankly, I don’t want the competition.”

We ignore her.

“Maybe your doctor friend can squeeze in one more?” I direct this towards Israel who hasn’t contributed much to the conversation.

“I’m already asking a favor bringing your dad, so no.”

“That’s okay, folks, really!” Luke looks self-conscious. “I’ll figure things out.”

“Yes, he’s a big boy,” Israel adds, with little sympathy. I glare at him.

“I don’t want to lose track of you is all. You’re our family now. We don’t want to lose you.” I don’t want to lose you.

“You’ll be seeing me,” Luke replies. “I promise. I’ll find you.”

“It’s time to go, Sonnet. I told the doctor we’d be meeting him by now.” Israel looks down at wrist and speaks somewhat impatiently.

“You don’t even have a watch,” I point out, annoyed. “Fine. I’m ready.”

Emme turns her face up to Luke for another of her exasperatingly frequent kisses, Bea hugs him in a motherly way, Joe high fives him, Dad shakes his hand, Israel wanders off rudely, and I am left to say my goodbye to the friend I have only just found.

“Please come find me,” I whisper to his chest as he pulls me close for our second hug in one hour. “I worry about you.”

“I worry about you too. Are you sure this is what you want?” Luke’s eyes look over towards Israel, who stands several yards away watching.

“It appears to be my only option. And he’ll take care of me.”

Luke narrows his eyes. “I expect he will. Anyway, who’s going to take care of me? I feel like Oliver Twist, wandering the streets. I may break out into song at any moment or at the very least join up with a boy pickpocket gang. Think your dad would let me in on his secrets?”

“Funny again. Just try to stay out of trouble and don’t lose me!” Seized by impulse, I lean over and quickly kiss his cheek, as close to his mouth as my cowardice will allow. It’s fast, it’s light, it’s meaningless – I think – but my cheeks are ablaze when I pull away. “Bye,” I say, nonchalantly.

I manage not to trip as I don’t wait for a response and run to catch up with Israel and Dad. I push myself in between them and link arms with each. Dad pats my elbow absent mindedly.

The walk to our destination isn’t long, especially in comparison to the one I took before with Emme and as we walk I dutifully listen to Israel’s plan and story.

“Do you think you can remember all that?” He finally asks when he takes a breath and stops instructing me on every little detail.

“Something about you and me, a marriage, strife, job, dead family except Dad over here, all our belongings stolen, etc, etc, etc.” I reply cheerily. “Got it.”

“You better have it,” he answers, grimly. “We’re here.”

‘Here’ is a bricked building with a door that you have to descend three steps down to get to before you can knock on it. It reminds me of Bob Cratchit’s house somehow, or at least how I’ve imagined that house to look. The street is gloomy and narrow and I wouldn’t be surprised to see the ghostly hearse that holds Jacob Marley’s body glide by us. I’m finding London to be a sinister place and I shiver.

Israel raps on the door and it is opened to us directly. A man of medium height with sunken cheekbones and deep set eyes stands on the other side of the threshold and at first I am startled by his menacing appearance; suddenly then he smiles and it’s as though his face has transformed into something light and whimsical. The eyes that seemed so dark a split second before are dancing with warmth and he looks positively excited to see us, bedraggled and destitute, at his door.

“Ah, Dr Rhode! So good to see you! So good, so good indeed! Come in now, come in out of the cold and I’ll have Lu put the kettle on for tea.” He sweeps us in with long arms.

I take in my surroundings with the expertise of one who has taken in many and has practice at assessing situations quickly. The carpet is a red that once was most likely lush and bold in color, though it has faded with time and wear. The furnishings are clean but shabby. I am no expert at nineteenth century fads to know if it is dated but I would say that it is. The lighting is a simple oil lamp that gives off a softness but hardly any illumination and so everything looks darker than it really is without the glow of modern electricity that I have grown so accustomed to. It will take retraining myself, I think, to keep from entering a room and feeling for that familiar switch on the wall even if half the time I forgot to flip it when I had the chance.

“Dr Smythe, this is Noah Gray, and this is Sonnet. My wife.” Israel doesn’t even falter or shrink from the words. And here I thought he had a harder time lying than the rest of us.

I almost put out my hand to shake Dr Smythe’s but then remember that is probably not the greeting a woman in this age would offer. Instead I smile and drop the smallest of curtsies.

The woman he had referred to as Lu has tea in our hands almost instantly. She is petite and silent. She appears to be several years her husband’s senior although perhaps life has aged her prematurely. Or perhaps age has been uncommonly kind to the good doctor. I smile at her and thank her for the tea but she doesn’t lift her eyes to mine and she remains silent. Great, I think, I’ll be stuck here while Israel doctors every day and night with a silent unfriendly woman as my only friend. Well, maybe she can help me brush up on my Chinese…mine is terrible since I’ve hardly had a use for it until now.

The rest of the evening is dull and slow. We are stuck in that place between boredom and politeness and forced manners that you always find yourself in when spending time with new people. The doctor is friendly enough and he doesn’t pry too much but it is difficult making small talk when everything you’re saying is a lie. His wife, Lu, never speaks, but since I’ve had practice myself pretending not to understand a language when I do, I can tell she understands us all well enough. Her eyes narrow at certain spots in the conversation and once I see her mouth twitch when her husband is telling us an amusing tale of life in London.

We drink tea and eat a spicy soup with a clear broth that hardly seems to be anything more than water and spices with a few chunks of some sort of green leafy vegetables that float in our bowls, but it is surprisingly filling and tasty. I can’t help but be concerned that they will able to feed us; their place is shabby and their cupboards bare enough without three more adults. Perhaps that is why Lu is silent and pensive.

After supper and more painful small talk we can no longer hide our yawning behind our hands and everyone retires. Dad makes himself comfortable on the couch in the living area which I’m sure feels like our old house to him, except theirs is hard and unforgiving while ours back home was soft and could practically swallow you whole. Lu walks Israel and I up the stairs and to our room and exits again without a word.

It is very tiny, it would qualify as a closet in more modern houses, but it’s clean enough and it’s warm. There is a lamp and a small writing desk. The bed is small and covered in two quilts. I flop on it gratefully.

“I know this should be awkward but I’m way too tired and I suppose we’ve slept in more embarrassing places,” I yawn some more. “I get the fluffy pillow though.” I toss the other, more flat one, at Israel.

Israel doesn’t attempt to catch it, just lets it fall to his feet. He is looking…uncomfortable? Embarrassed?

“What?” I can’t help laughing at his pained expression. “This was your bright idea, remember? You can remember that when you’re trying to get comfortable on the cold, hard floor.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, finally shaking himself out of his stupor. “Can I at least get the fluffy pillow then if you’re going to make me sleep on the floor?”

“Heck no. Aw, look at the cute pajamas they set out for you!” I hold them up for his inspection. They’re less like pajamas and much more resemble a nightgown. I stifle another spurt of laughter but am unsuccessful and I giggle like a school girl while Israel grabs them out of my hands.

“Are you sure this isn’t supposed to be for you?” he grouses, holding it up against himself.

“Nope, this one’s mine,” I gesture to the other folded pile next to me. “I don’t have quite as many ruffles,” I erupt in peals of laughter again and have to hold my stomach.

“There’s no way I’m wearing this. It’s too short anyway. My legs will freeze. Now give me a blanket; the big one.” He pulls it out from under me like a magician who yanks out a tablecloth and leaves all the place settings. I am left on the bed, trying to get my giggles under control.

“What are you doing now?” I lean over and watch Israel as he is gingerly pulling back the dust ruffle on the bed and peering under. “Looking for bogey men?”

“Spiders,” comes the muffled reply. “I despise spiders.”

I start laughing again and only stop when my breath runs out.

********************

The next couple of days are long and slow and dreadfully monotonous. I help Lu around the house as much as I can but it is obvious she is a loner and I am only in the way. I spy her with a basket of clothes and surprise her by speaking enough broken Chinese that we can get a sort of hobbled conversation going. The clothes, she says, are either forms of payments from patients of Dr. Smythe’s, or hand-me-downs. They are for Dad and Israel and I, and she apologizes for their condition. I thank her graciously (dear old Lady Halloway’s muslin is getting a bit of a funk to its smell so I am rather grateful). I am not so grateful when Lu informs me I need to be wearing a corset.

“You’ll need it anyway to get into this one; it’s very small,” she holds up a yellow dress with a million tiny buttons. It looks like it would fit Emme, not me. Lu sees my doubtful air and presses it into my hands along with the blasted corset. “You’ll look very nice,” she says, and I see her smile for the first time in the three days I’ve known her.

“Yes, I’ll make a very nice looking corpse,” I agree a few minutes later as Lu yanks on the laces of the corset. “Holy Moses, woman! I can’t breathe!”

As a parting shot, she pulls them another centimeter tighter and pats my head in a mothering way. “You’ll live,” she replies, cheerfully. My, my, Lu just needed to see someone in pain for her mood to lighten. I must introduce her to Prue soon. Prue and Lu. They’ll be quite the vaudeville act in my sorry life.

While standing in the yellow dress and instrument of torture that is my corset is painful enough, trying to sit in it, with the whale bones poking into each and every rib and my lungs collapsing in agony and surrender is even worse, and so I decide to walk for the afternoon and try to find Bea or Emme or Luke. I have seen Bea once the day before yesterday, along with Joe, but I can’t help worrying both for Emme, who is playing a dangerous game in a dirty city, and for Luke, who is attempting to live through his first travel as a Lost. He must be so bewildered.

I retrace my steps as best I can, from the afternoon we left Luke and walked to Smythe’s place. I am sure I probably walk in circles and am getting myself hopelessly lost, but it seems right. I seem to think I remember this particular storefront, and that particular cranky looking man who barks at me to buy his fish. I am almost certain this is the neighborhood we woke up in and I believe I can see the blue doorway that Emme said she arrived near. There’s the store across the way that Luke said he found himself behind. I remember the smell of sweated cabbage that is the Thames and since my breath is coming in short shallow gasps now, I think I’d better stop and take a rest. Since sitting is too desperately uncomfortable, I choose to lean against the nearest building and stare out at the water. I hear the barking of the fish man from a block away and since the day is bright and sunny – somewhat of a rarity in England, especially in rainy December – the street is bustling with people. I hardly notice when someone slows their walking and stops a short distance from me. Out of my peripheral vision I see a figure in a charcoal gray cape but that is all I see until the person speaks and I spin to face the speaker.

“Hello, sister,” says Rose. “I knew you would find me.”