River

Margaret

I love Stephen more than ever. He simply trusts my increasing sense of urgency, tries to accommodate me in my possibly insane drive to get to Ellis Cliffs. We have had to stop several times to let the stagecoach drivers trade places and switch horses, but we have hardly left our seats. Not to eat, certainly not to sleep. Only to relieve ourselves and stretch our legs briefly while the transitions are occurring, and to obtain some food to eat along the journey from the inns and stagecoach stops that we pass by.

It has been two full days and nights, rumbling along in the stagecoach, listening to the horses’ hooves pounding against the roads. I am relieved that by not stopping, we are already nearly there.

I don’t know where this is coming from, this sense of dread. But from the time that I first started feeling it, every hour it has gotten more extreme, to the point that my heart is pounding, my palms are sweaty, I am all but gasping for breath. Stephen keeps watching me, concerned. It helps when he holds my hand, or pulls me against him in the carriage.

I know, somehow, that there is something terribly wrong, and that I must hurry. Hurry back to my family, before…

Before what, I don’t know. But I just know that, whatever it is, I have to be there before it happens.

Margaret’s

It is deeply gratifying to know that she is getting my message, perceiving it as nothing more than an instinct. An instinct that she and her husband are following.

When their keelboat passed by Ellis Cliffs on the way to New Orleans, I observed in dismay the situation within. So much had unfolded since the wedding, and the entire place was in an uproar. Dalila was seriously injured. Marguerite was unconscious, her serious illness finally overwhelming her ability to power through and ignore her symptoms. Abraham was sulking in his study. The visitors were there, Thomas and Gregor, trying to help as best they could before departing with Margaret’s belongings to Homochitto.

Margaret was disappointed not to see her family lined up along the river waiting to wave as they passed by, as she had discussed with her sister.

This was best, though, I felt, preferable that Margaret not know of the affliction visiting her beloved family. I was pleased that she would be able to proceed with her enjoyment of her new husband on their honeymoon.

However, after a few days passed I realized that Margaret would regret never having the chance to say goodbye to her mother. I grieved, anticipating her sadness when she learns that her mother is gone, having had no idea how ill she was.

I decided to start whispering to her of the situation, warning her, trying to let her know that a problem has arisen at home requiring her attention.

The message has been received, unknowingly, but surely. I hope it is in enough time for her to be able to see her mother one more time.

Ben

I’m not sure that David got any sleep last night. I know I didn’t. In the boarding house room we share, he spent the night tossing and turning, sweating and moaning. He is sick, and getting sicker. I think that Mason really hurt him, even without puncturing his artery or anything else important. I think the cuts are probably going bad. I am very worried, and I wonder if there is anything that can be done. I’ve heard stories about festering wounds killing people. Once they go bad, if it gets into the bloodstream, there isn’t much that can be done.

Samuel pops into my mind. I wish he was back in town. He’s a doctor, maybe he’d have some poultice or something he could use.

Then I remember. Didn’t David say that Gregor was talking to a friend of his in town, making plans to have dinner at the club? Well, that could be Samuel, couldn’t it? I know Samuel’s brother is gone on his honeymoon. I don’t know how many other gentlemen friends that Gregor has that he’d be dining with. But it might be Samuel, which means he could be back.

There’s just a little early dawn light filtering in through the window, and I sit up again to look at David.

He is staring at me, but his eyes are so glazed and feverish that I’m not sure he is actually really awake. I lean over and touch his forehead, and sure enough it feels like I could bake hotcakes on it. He’s burning up. I don’t even have to check under the covers to look at his wounds to know. They’ve gone bad.

Anxiety washes over me. David is dangerously ill. And Mason is dangerously still looming over everything. He won’t care that David is sick, he’ll still demand that we obey his commands or he’ll turn us in. I don’t know how I am going to cope with everything today.

I refuse to let myself panic. That wouldn’t help. I have to stay calm. I have to try to prioritize. First things first. David needs a doctor. It won’t matter if Mason turns him in if he dies from these wounds first. All right. I’ll have to tell Gregor after he gets down Under-the-hill that I want to go up into the town to find a doctor. If Samuel is back, Gregor might even know that. I wonder how early would be too early to go to Samuel’s office.

It’s barely dawn. I’ve heard a couple of rustlings coming from the other boarding house rooms. People are just now starting to wake up. Work won’t start for another hour or two.

David’s eyes are closed again, but he is restlessly shifting on his mattress, tossing his head, his nightclothes plastered against him with sweat. Maybe I can go find a cloth and put some water on it, drape it over his forehead, try to cool him off a little.

Just as I stand up, there is a knock on the door, then it opens.

I am stunned to see Gregor come into the room.