The laugh bubbled up. I coughed and choked on it. Mama stopped her wild gestures, an expression of joy flooding her face. She rushed to me. Her blurry figure left trails across my vision.
I gazed at Daniel. His face was twisted with pain, and that wrung my heart with guilt and yearning. His beautiful face. I wished I could make him feel better. I parted my lips to tell him, but the doctor poured a cloying liquid in my open mouth.
Bitter! It was so bitter. I sputtered, swallowed, and a new wave of warmth spread over me.
Laudanum. It must be laudanum. How nice.
I awoke with the sunlight streaming into my bedroom. It hurt my eyes, piercing my skull, and I had to squint to see.
That sun meant late afternoon. But what day? I blinked, and though I successfully cleared the haze from my eyes, my mind remained cloudy.
I smacked my lips. The taste in my mouth was rotten, as if someone had stuffed cotton balls between my tongue and gums and then left them there for days.
Despite the burning protest in my muscles, I heaved myself onto my elbows. The movement made my stomach curdle, but I forced myself to keep going. I wanted to sit fully upright.
I brought my right hand to my face and found bandages wrapped over my palm. When I inspected my left arm, I found it wasn’t bandaged; but the skin was scraped off—as if I’d fallen and tried to catch myself.
No. Not fallen. Propelled.
And then I remembered everything. A fresh set of sobs erupted from my chest. My heart was ripped in two all over again. I started to shiver uncontrollably.
Clarence... Clarence... poor Clarence. And Elijah—oh God, Elijah. It couldn’t be. This nightmare would end. It had to end!
Make it stop, make it stop!
I called out, but my voice sounded faint, as if miles away. The explosion must have damaged my hearing.
I called again and again, sobbing and desperate, but no one came.
At last I fell back onto the bed and cried until sleep and exhaustion overtook me.
“Eleanor.”
Mama’s voice. I could hear Mama. I could hear.
“Eleanor. Are you awake?”
“Yes,” I breathed. I snapped my eyelids up. Mama was there, her face eaten by exhaustion. Heavy pockets were beneath her eyes, wrinkles lined her mouth, and her skin was papery.
“Why are you crying?” I asked. Did she know of Elijah?
“Because you are all right, my darling. You are all right.” She laid a cool hand on my brow. “Oh, my Eleanor, I was so frightened.”
I moistened my lips, which were cracked and raw. “What day is it?”
“Wednesday. You have been asleep for two days. Doctor Mitchell said you must rest to heal. He thinks you might have suffered a mild concussion.”
“Oh.” I lolled my head to the side and tried to swallow. “I’m thirsty.”
“Yes. Mary will be here any moment with soup.” Mama tipped her head and caught my gaze. “What happened? Why were you at the Exhibition, Eleanor?”
I grunted. I didn’t want to think about it ever again. And I never, never wanted to talk of it. If I stayed in bed forever, I wouldn’t have to.
“That blond man brought you home again,” Mama said. Her voice was calm, but I sensed a tightness there. She was gauging my reaction. “He said things.”
“That’s nice.” I twisted my head as far from her as possible and stared at the wall. “Can I be left alone now?”
“No.” Her voice turned hard, and she wrenched me by the chin back toward her. “You must eat, and you must answer me. How do you know that young man?”
She had been mulling this question for the last two days. I could see it in her frayed desperation. Without answers or understanding, she had driven herself to hysteria.
“I don’t know that young man,” I said.
“You do. He called you Eleanor, he knew how you’d been hurt, and he cried—are you listening?” Mama squeezed my chin with her fingernails. “Were you seeing that man?”
“No.” I lowered my eyelids in a slow blink. A tiny spark of anger ignited between my shoulders. “If I had, though, why would it matter? Especially now?”
“Because Clarence Wilcox is dead.”
“I know.” I held my breath and forced my mind into submission. I would not think of it. I would not let my thoughts go to that darkness. I must stay in this lethargic apathy. But the anger was growing, spreading from my shoulders into my neck.
“You do not care?” she asked.
“Of course I care.”
“Well, you should care a little more, Eleanor. He was your best chance at marriage, and now he’s gone. If anyone should find out about you and that man”—she thrust her finger in the direction of the Exhibition—“all your chances—our chances—will be ruined.”
I laughed. It was a bitter rasp filled with disgust. “Is that all you care about, Mama? Clarence was murdered. I was in an explosion. Still, all you can think about is marriage? Money?”