Darkness

May 23, 1812

Rosy

I awaken to the sound of Gregor bringing Vernon to me in bed, and realize that it is morning. I sit up and smile at the sweet sight of them together.

“Good morning Mama,” Gregor says in a chirpy little voice, pretending to be Vernon speaking.

“I’m so glad to see you,” I tell my husband warmly. “I’ve missed this.” It’s been several days, between the cabin at Homochitto, and the infirmary Under-the-Hill, since we have been able to enjoy a pleasant morning together.

“Me too,” he replies, looking down at me with love in his beautiful dark eyes.

Vernon smiles at me but then squawks hungrily. Gregor bounces him, and tells me, “I’ll keep him busy for another minute.” I go to the back room to freshen up a little, hearing the baby giggle at Gregor, before returning to the bed.

We settle in together, and I nurse Vernon while Gregor leans against the headboard with me.

“You’ve been so busy lately,” I say, enjoying the feeling of Gregor’s arm pressed against mine as we sit side by side. “I feel like I’ve scarcely seen you!”

He leans over and kisses my cheek. “I know. It should be much better now. We can get back to normal soon. The cabin is finished, and I’m hoping the yellow fever outbreak is slowing down.”

“How did it go last night?” I ask. “Were you able to touch everyone?”

He shrugs, and I get the sense that he feels sad. It must not have worked for someone. “You know, Gregor, it’s not your responsibility to save the world. If you couldn’t heal someone, that’s not your fault.”

I reach over the baby and touch Gregor’s face, running my fingers along his sharp jawline, noticing that he needs to shave. He’s been too busy even for that. I think that he takes too much on himself.

He reaches up to pull my fingers over to his lips, and gives them a kiss. He says, “Wolk agrees with you, but he won’t tell me about what.”

Well good, maybe that wolf is more trustworthy than I give him credit for. “Never you mind,” I tell Gregor, but then he laughs, and I know that Wolk must have tattled on me after all. That wolf!

Vernon is patting me while he drinks, his eyes looking up at Gregor, who smiles at him and smooths his hand over the baby’s head.

I wonder who it was, whoever Gregor is feeling sad about. I’m not going to grill him about it, though. He might not feel like talking about it.

Wolk strikes again. Obviously. Gregor looks sideways at me, and says, “You know, he is just trying to help.” I snort, and he smiles, then says, “I don’t mind talking about it. I’m sure you’ll hear it from someone else anyway.”

I look up at him and wait. “One of Samuel’s patients died last night,” he says sadly. “It was after I left, Wolk told me later when it happened.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” I say, and wonder who it was.

“It was, um,” Gregor hesitates rather unusually, “it was Patrolman Smith. The one who, uh, was holding the whip in March when I, uh….” He trails off, clearly not wanting to remind me of that, as if I could ever forget it.

That horrible man died? I am no longer sorry to hear it. Good riddance! I don’t say it out loud, of course. No decent person would speak ill of the dead. But most people don’t have a Seer’s Guardian spying on them.

Gregor sputters out a laugh. “You too?” He rolls his eyes. “You aren’t the first person who has thought that.”

It makes me snort, now that my secret thought is out. Thanks again, you nosy wolf. “Well, just goes to show what sort of person he is. Was. If that many people are just as happy that he is gone.”

Gregor shakes his head, seeming half amused and half sad. “I can’t be happy about failing to help him.” He looks down at me, watching as I switch Vernon to my other breast. “I did try. I touched him, and it did make him feel better, for a time. But he was furious to find me there in his room, and he.…” He reaches up and runs his hand across his mouth. “He told me to leave.”

I shrug. “His loss.”

He sighs. “It made me feel bad. And his Guardian was sad enough to actually contact Wolk, to ask me to try again.”

I stare up at him. “Really? I thought Guardians didn’t talk to each other. Not normal Guardians, of normal people.”

“No, they don’t. But this one knew I’m a Seer and wanted me to help. So I tried again, but it just woke Smith up and upset him so much to find me there again that he felt even worse.” His face falls. “I shouldn’t have done it. It would have been better to just let him go in peace.”

Poor Gregor. He cares so much, about everyone, even terrible people like Smith. Why on earth does he even bother?

I can see when Wolk tells him that too. He says, “I can’t say that I have never been relieved to see somebody go.” His mouth twitches a little. “I wasn’t sorry to see the end of Mason, if you’ll recall.”

Ha!

“But normally,” he goes on, growing serious again, “I feel bad when someone’s life ends, after such a short time.”

A short time? “Well, how old was Smith? Like forty? Fifty even? That’s not a short time.” He’d lived long enough, as far as I’m concerned.

Vernon is finished, and Gregor reaches over to lift him away from me, and starts patting his back, as is his habit. I think it’s his way of participating as much as he can. He is silent for a minute or two, holding Vernon and thumping his back gently. Then he says, in a low voice, “All human life seems short to me.”

I look at him, not understanding what he means by that. He kisses Vernon’s head, hands him back to me, then gets up from the bed and walks back and forth across the floor, pacing as though trying to work up the courage to tell me something. I don’t know what this is about, but I can always tell when something is troubling him.

“Just tell me, Gregor,” I say. “I can tell there’s something that you’re afraid to say. There’s been times before that you didn’t think I’d want to know something about you. But that can never happen. Have you ever told me one single thing that made me run away screaming?”

He pauses in his pacing and looks at me with a wry expression. “Not yet.”

I snort. “Not ever. Spit it out.”

He gazes out the window, apparently unable to face me. “There is something I have never been really truthful about, Rosalind, a secret that I have continued to keep, despite my promise not to do it.”

Oh? I lay Vernon on the bed next to me and hand him a little wooden block to keep him occupied, and he grabs it with his chubby little fist.

“It is about why human life seems short to me. In comparison to my own life.” He turns around, meeting my eyes with a sort of wince. “I am old, Rosalind, very old.”

I shrug. “I know that. You already told me.”

He shakes his head. “Not really. I only agreed that I was older than Zadoc when you asked me.”

This is what is bothering him so much? Gregor can get so ridiculously nervous about the simplest things sometimes. “Good grief, Gregor, I don’t care how old you are. You could be a hundred and it wouldn’t bother me.”

It doesn’t make him laugh. “All right, fine,” I say, picking Vernon up and going to join Gregor as he stands at the window. “Just tell me. How old are you?”

He sighs, and can’t meet my eyes again. “I was born in the year ten fifty nine.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The year one thousand fifty nine.”

I shake my head. I don’t really know what this means. I never went to school, or learned how to calculate figures. “This is the year eighteen twelve? Right?” My mind can’t wrap around what he is saying. “So does that make you … older than a hundred?”

He finally turns to me, smiling sweetly, probably thinking it’s funny that I can’t figure out the numbers. He looks to the side. “It’s not funny, darling, I’m just glad that the running away screaming hasn’t started.”

I roll my eyes. “And it won’t. Just tell me the number.”

“That makes me seven hundred and fifty three years old.”

He watches me, warily, in silence. I stare at him, in silence. I have no idea what to say. I can’t even fathom this number.

Our baby breaks the silence, still holding the block that I had given him, cramming it into his mouth and blowing bubbles around it with a great deal of noise and slobber.

Gregor meets my eyes, and we both start laughing. He reaches out to take the baby, holds him in one arm and strokes my cheek with the other hand. “Are you all right, darling?” he asks. “You aren’t shocked?”

I snort. “It’s just a number. It doesn’t change anything at all. You’re still the same oddball that I love.”

His eyes are filled with love and relief.

“Well,” I say, figuring that he could use a diversion to make him stop being so foolishly anxious, “back to reality. I have to get ready to go. I have a lot of errands to run, and things to order for the wedding.”

“I’d like to come with you,” he says, his forehead wrinkled with worry over his pretty eyes, “if you’ll let me.” I think he’s afraid that now I know he is as old as the hills, I won’t want him. Pfsh.

“Of course,” I say. “You can carry the packages.”

He grins. “I am entirely at your disposal.”