Category Archives: Americana

Porcelain (Part 33)

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Harriet had waited after that final breath, just looking at her daughter’s face.  She held Claudia’s torn dress in one hand and her fingers played with the ripped cloth as her heart, which had been hammering away for the past several minutes, slowed back down to its normal rhythm.  Finally she stepped away into the hallway, stopping in her own room to place the dress upon her bed before walking over to the doctor’s house.  She may have told him to stay away when he departed earlier that day; however, there now was nothing more to argue about in regard to Olivia’s care.  She also knew that in modern times such as the ones she now lived in, a doctor’s confirmation of a person’s death, at least in a town setting such as Hiawatha, was almost a requirement.  That, and she was going to need assistance again, as much as she was reluctant to admit it.  Closing her eyes briefly before doing so, she knocked on the doctor’s door.  As persons in that profession seem able to, he had sensed the situation without asking as soon as he opened the door, grabbing his medical bag and then Harriet’s arm as they walked back toward her house.  After confirming the death, he turned toward Harriet.

“Not exactly unexpected but rather abrupt.”  His eyes asked an unspoken question.

“Yes, well, I think we all know that she was in rapid decline.  It surely did not seem abrupt to me.  I feel as though she has been sick for ages.”

The doctor did not reply, continuing to look down at Olivia’s body on the bed.  Slowly his eyes wandered toward the nightstand, where the tea cup sat slightly off the edge, awkwardly balanced and threatening to fall.  Several seconds later Harriet stepped over and picked it up.

“I’ll just clean up in here then before I take care of her body.  Can you arrange a carriage for me doctor?  And ask Hank to send a casket over with them?”

“I don’t suppose you will let me send the undertaker then?  They can embalm,”

Harriet held up her hand.  “Let’s not talk of that foolishness.  I will wash her and dress her, just as my family always has, and then I will walk with her body down to the cemetery.  Now, can you arrange the other?”

“Very well.  I have to go out and see John Davis today, his wife is ill.  I’m sure he will spare the time to drive a carriage over.  I’ll have him stop at the general store for the casket.  What time?”

Harriet shook her head.  “Not today.  It’s late and anyway that wouldn’t matter.  I have to sit with her tonight of course.  Tomorrow morning at ten a.m. will be fine.”

Doctor Warren paused before leaving, looking down once again at Olivia’s body.  “Very abrupt,” he commented slowly, before turning and walking out.

It took the rest of the day for Harriet to clean and prepare her daughter for the grave.  As she had seen her own mother do, and had  done herself more times than she wished, she began by undressing Olivia and washing her body thoroughly with a sponge and warm water.  Standing up to go prepare a light oil infusion with juniper, she also took the clothing Olivia had been wearing out of the room with her.  Returning after giving the body time to dry, she rubbed the oil lightly over it and then carefully dressed her daughter in a dark blue, high-collared dress with long sleeves and lace cuffs.  Crossing the arms over the stomach, she slipped sprigs of rosemary into the sleeves before tucking Claudia’s picture behind the left arm.  With that work done, Harriet set the tea kettle on the stove and made a light lunch for herself before returning to sit with Olivia’s body.  She stayed that way, through the evening and night, falling asleep in the chair sometime after one a.m. and being awoken by the light of the morning.  With a slight flutter of her heart she looked over at the bed, seeing that all remained as it had been the night before.  Her daughter truly was dead.

Preparing herself for the walk to the cemetery, Harriet put on her mourning dress and veil, along with a pair of boots suitable for the walk and the weather.  Although little snow had fallen and the streets remained clear, the air was cold and regular shoes were not going to provide enough protection.  Donning a coat, and grabbing a cup of tea, she went to sit on the porch to await the carriage, which pulled up a few minutes before ten o’clock.

 

county wagon courtesy aaqeastend.com

county wagon courtesy aaqeastend.com

John Davis had driven a simple affair for the mission today, a county-style wagon with a covered driver’s seat and plenty of room for the pine casket that sat in the back.  He had another man with him, one that Harriet did not know, but the extra muscle would be useful today.

“Good morning ma’am.  Are you set then?  And don’t you have someone to go with you?  A relative or friend?”

Harriet rose and straightened out her dress and coat.  “No, no I do not.  I shall be walking by myself, but thank you.”

John glanced back at his carriage and gestured toward it with his thumb.  “You’re welcome to sit up on top with me.  Jimmy can sit in the back.”

“I will walk, as my family has always done on days like this.”

Shrugging, John looked up at the sky.  “Cold enough, but at least it’s sunny out.  I stopped by and spoke to Henry McClinton.  He says the ground was fairly easy to dig, so he’s ready for us anytime.  Is she, well, I mean, may we go in then?”

“Yes, yes you may.”

Harriet remained standing while John and Jimmy hauled down the casket and then went in to bring the body out, affirming with a slight nod their adherence to her other requests that the body leave feet first and out the back door.  As they passed by her she motioned them to stop, rearranging the dress on Olivia’s body and then securing the picture behind her folded hands.  After they had affixed the lid and placed the casket back in the carriage, Harriet walked down and stood behind it, head bowed and hands clasped over her heart.  As she nodded up at John she overhead, but ignored Jimmy’s mumbled comment.

“It’s gonna be one damn long ride over to that cemetery.”

…to be continued

Porcelain (Part 32)

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liverpool dock courtesy cumberlandscarrow.com

liverpool dock courtesy cumberlandscarrow.com

 

He and the young girl passed the remainder of the voyage on the deck and were among the first passengers to disembark in Liverpool.  The day was overcast and gray, smoke and other debris filtering down through the air as they stepped out onto the dock row.  The long storage buildings dominated their line of sight, with a tall smokestack looming up in the distance.  Wyatt mentioned to Claudia that he thought the air smelled like rotten cabbage, but the young girl just shook her head and replied, “Dirt.”

They waited together, pushed up against the side of a building by the rush of passengers and dockers.  About forty-five minutes later Isaac and his family finally made their way down the gangplank, Lydia once again dressed in the blue hobble-skirt.  Wyatt waited for them to make their way through the thickest part of the crowd before approaching with Claudia in tow.

“We will need to find some accommodations for the night, for all of us.  Then we can finalize a plan to get to London,” Isaac announced without preamble, and much more graciously than Wyatt expected.  Suppressing his own desire to be in charge he nodded and replied.

“I will get us a cab then and hold it out by the street.  You follow along as you wish.”   He and Claudia stepped off briskly, reaching the edge of the row in five minutes and securing their ride in much less time than had been needed in their past experiences together.  By the time that Isaac and his family emerged twenty minutes later, the impatient driver had already needed to be bribed twice by Wyatt to wait.  Several stops and starts later, they had found a hotel that met Isaac’s frugal requirements, and they all quickly turned in without supper,  too exhausted to argue about anything.

grand hotel london courtesy fineartamerica.com

grand hotel london courtesy fineartamerica.com

 

The next day plans were made for train transport to London, and by  their third evening abroad they were ensconced at the Grand Hotel in London, occupying a family suite on an upper floor.  This was a luxury which Wyatt insisted on paying for, unable to face another night in a place selected by his son, and not wanting to start any kind of an argument.  His son had accepted with a muttered comment about wasting money, but at least they would be safe and comfortable until they left to cross into Germany.  During the days that they waited to arrange passage, Isaac spent most of his time at the telegraph office, attempting to arrange the final purchase of the land he had come over to Europe to establish his family upon.   Although he initially had his mind set on owning a piece of the island at Malchow, Isaac had later turned his attention to the small town of Lippelsdorf.  He had heard that a small estate was available there, right on the edge of the Thuringian Forest.  It came with both a main house and a smaller cabin that he planned to use to house his father and the girl.  All of the long distance planning had gone well, at least as far as he could tell, but he still worried that things would go awry before he arrived to secure his property and future.  He had sent money ahead, a down payment, on land he had never seen and was anxious to know that his investment was secure.  The replies that he was getting at the telegraph office were vague and noncommittal, a fact that drove him into a frenzy of worry and fear, and he stormed back into the hotel room on their third evening at the Grand.

“Have you secured the boat then?  When do we leave?”

Peering up from the newspaper he was reading, Wyatt replied, “What has you so agitated?”

“I asked about the arrangements!  When do we leave?”

“I haven’t quite finished looking into it yet, and I don’t see the need to hurry.  Or at least you shouldn’t see any need for it, as none of this is costing you a penny.”

“You are one to talk about money, but you should be saving it, not throwing it away on this place.  How much can you have left?  Not much I suspect, and there won’t be a penny to raise that girl up with. Now, when do we leave?”

Claudia had emerged from the bedroom and stood leaning up against the side of the doorway, taking in the argument.

“As I said, I have not yet finished looking into it.  You told me quite plainly to find the cheapest passage and I’ve been going to every place I can find to try to meet your wishes.  It takes some time.”

“Well we haven’t any more time left.  Take the money I gave you and go purchase the cheapest tickets you have found.  We leave tomorrow.”

Wrinkling his nose up slightly, Wyatt pulled his paper back up.  “Yes, well, I’ll go in the morning.  They’re closed after all, its evening.”

He made good on his promise, getting up early and heading out by himself as Claudia had not yet awoken.  He returned forty-five minutes later, opening the door quietly in case all were still asleep in the room, as they had been when he left.  As it opened,  he caught a flicker of movement in the dim light coming through the sheer curtains, a shadowy figure that seemed to disappear as he stepped into the room.  Putting the tickets he had purchased down on the table, Wyatt slowly took off his black overcoat and hat. He then quietly stepped toward his bedroom, as that was where the apparition had seemed to be headed.  As he entered he saw two things; Claudia still asleep and curled up on the small extra bed, and Ambrose, cowering against the near wall with the stick, from his hoop-and-stick game, tightly clenched in a small hand.

hoop and stick

hoop and stick

 

…to be continued

Porcelain (Part 31)

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“Come on Claudia, let’s take a walk.”  As he spoke, he shook her gently from her sleep.  “It’s about time we checked this place out.”

As they stepped out of the cabin, she looked up at him and spoke.

“Go to see Isaac?”

“No dear, we are just going to take a walk.  I will go see him myself later.”  He dreaded the thought of that meeting, as he had realized during the course of the previous three days that he had been most completely in the wrong and was going to need to apologize to his son.  Not only because it was the right thing to do, but also because he knew that he needed Isaac’s cooperation to care for Claudia.  He may be able to get them their own compartment on a ship, or take care of a few small necessities for the girl, but securing a place to stay, and maintaining it, was likely going to be out of reach financially for him in Europe.  Making the peace with his son was the only real option he had.

They walked for over an hour before heading to the dining area for breakfast.  There were a few passengers who seemed to recognize Wyatt from the boarding incident, small banter and pointing fingers following them as they made their way to sit down at a table.  Glancing backward, he offered a small salute to those people, an action which promptly made them return their attention to their plates.  Afterward, they headed back onto the deck and spent the next few hours leaning on the rail, Claudia staring at the ocean as Wyatt told her more gold-mining tales.

That day and the next passed in similar fashion, with the two of them spending most of their time out of the cabin, exploring the ship or watching the water.  Wyatt even managed to get Claudia to take part in some of the games arranged by the crew for the children onboard and she seemed to enjoy both the playing and the interactions.  The other youngsters seemed to take her missing arm as a matter of little concern, adapting themselves to whatever she was able to do rather than making her feel out of place.  They did not see Isaac or any member of his family, even at meals when most of the second-class passengers were in the dining area.  That suited Wyatt, although he knew that eventually he was going to have to brace himself and go talk to his son.  He procrastinated as long as possible, but in the mid-morning of the sixth day at sea, with their docking in Liverpool just five hours away, he asked a steward for his son’s cabin number.  After a short walk over, he took a deep breath and  knocked.  When Isaac answered the door, he stood there with his hand still on the knob, barring entry and looking coldly at his father.  Wyatt returned the look, trying to soften the anger that was boiling up inside as he was kept waiting.  Finally, Lydia, out of sight behind the door, spoke.

“Let him in Isaac.  It’s your father, I presume.”

With a final cold look the arm dropped, allowing Wyatt to step into the room.

“Right on time then, father.”

“Hmmm, what’s that?”

“Right on time, I said.  I figured that your stubborn pride was going to keep you away until you absolutely had to come over here and beg for my forgiveness.  And here we are, about to dock and have you and that wretched girl spilled out into Liverpool.  I’m sure you’ve realized that you have little choice but to get back into my good graces.”

Sitting in a chair, knitting by the light of a small lamp, Lydia smirked slightly before turning her head away from Wyatt’s view.  Taking a breath, deeper than the one he had braced himself with before knocking, Wyatt replied.

“Yes, well, here I am indeed.  I hope that you understand that my actions the other day, my words toward your wife and you, were delivered out of frustration, and not intended to insult either of you.  I hope that you will accept this as my apology to you both.”

Silence between them followed, the gentle clicking of Lydia’s knitting needles sounding out of time with the ticking of the wall clock.  She continued to look at the floor, a small, sarcastic smile on her face, while Isaac slowly sat down on a stool.  Keeping his back straight and head turned up slightly, pompous and resentful, he seemed content to let the uncomfortable tension linger in the air.  Wyatt realized that this was just as difficult as he had expected it to be.  Finally, with a sarcastic smile of his own, Isaac spoke.

“And the boy?”

“Ambrose?  What of him?”

“His apology.  You must apologize to him also, he was there when you degraded our family so hatefully.  You surely owe him also.”

Now Lydia could hardly contain herself, a triumphant grin on her face, although she did mange to avoid making eye contact with Wyatt, who looked at her with a certainty that this last stipulation was her idea.  Turning his head toward the bed, he saw the pale-skinned boy sitting in the corner, wrapped up in a blanket, beady eyes peering over the top.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am father.  You owe us all an apology and so far you have only offered it to me and my wife.  Do you not think that my son was just as humiliated as we were?”

“I hardly,” but Wyatt caught himself before finishing with his own assessment of the boy’s ability to comprehend much of anything.  Turning his bottom lip inward, he bit down hard, a small amount of blood trickling into his mouth.  He had, however, managed to suppress his anger.  After several more moments of composing himself he turned toward Ambrose.

“I do apologize to you also boy, and hope you will accept it.”

With that, he turned and left the room, slamming his hand into a bulkhead several steps after exiting the cabin.  He had done it for Claudia, and that was enough to satisfy him.

…to be continued

Porcelain (Part 30)

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The next morning, a sunny November the thirteenth, Wyatt and Claudia got up early and were at the dock well before Isaac and his family showed up.  As they approached the wharf where their ship, Marathon, was docked, they walked hand-in-hand with Claudia pointing at each new curiosity they passed.  Wyatt had started to explain to her exactly what she was seeing but soon realized that the young girl was far too distracted to listen.  When they finally saw Marathon, they both stopped to admire the ship as it received the hurried rush of departure day loading and final touches.

cunard ship marthon in east boston harbor

cunard ship marthon in east boston harbor

 

Wyatt had looked up some information on the vessel prior to leaving Denver; however, those facts proved to be no match for the experience of actually seeing her in the water.  First launched in 1860, the Marathon was over two thousand four hundred gross tons and three hundred and thirty-six feet in length, with an iron hull and room for nine hundred and twenty passengers, most of them in third-class berths. Painted mostly a dark red, the brilliant white deck rails and superstructure stood out starkly as the sun struck them from the east.  It was a fine looking ship.

Sitting down on a bench near the entry to the wharf, Wyatt and Claudia watched the traffic, both people and boats, until Isaac and his family alighted from a hansom cab twenty minutes later.

Lydia was dressed in her very best, a blue velvet hobble-skirt clinging to her body and her face shielded from the sun by a  straw hat tied under her chin with a white ribbon.  Wyatt shared a private joke with himself as he envisioned his son trying to strap his wife into a corset  tightly enough to get her into the dress, some version of Isaac’s foot planted in her back continuing to dance around in his head.

“Is something funny father?” Isaac asked this as he stepped out into the street to pick up his son’s jacket, which had fallen from the boy’s grasp as he exited the cab.  He and Ambrose were dressed much more modestly than his wife.

Realizing that his own wry amusement was showing through, Wyatt removed his smile and replied, “No, nothing at all, just happy to be starting our trip.”

As they made their way toward the line to board for the second-class section of the ship, Claudia stayed firmly by Wyatt’s side, ensuring that her great-uncle was always between her and Ambrose.  The boy occasionally would poke his head around, trying to get into her line of sight; however, for once Isaac seemed determined to keep the boy at bay and retained a tight grip on his collar.  The jostling and maneuvering of the other passengers in the line kept them all in continual motion and Wyatt was fairly tired and irritated by the time they arrived at the front.  Turning over his tickets to the porter, he heard a woman several places behind them mention that perhaps the “woman up there in the blue hobble” was in the wrong line.  Turning back toward the voice with a sneer, he shouted, “No, she’s in the correct damn line, just over-dressed, that’s all!”

As he turned back, he realized that his outburst had made a profound impact on his son and daughter-in-law, one red-faced in embarrassment and the other seething in anger.  With a shrug, he grabbed Claudia’s hand and pulled her forward, past the porter and onto the gangplank to board the ship.  They had taken only five steps when Wyatt felt a tug at his sleeve and turned, expecting to face bluster and indignation from Isaac.  Instead, his son threw a punch that cracked across Wyatt’s jaw and sprawled the older man over the edge of the raised gangplank rail.  Claudia let out a shriek as Isaac followed up with two more punches to his father’s stomach before a tall man, who was boarding after Lydia, push forward and pulled him off.   Leaning on the plank rail for support, Wyatt straightened himself up as the line to board started to back up behind them.

“You’ve done it father, your last and worst, you’ve finally done it!  I won’t have you insulting my wife like she is some common street woman!”  As he spoke, Isaac continued to struggle to escape the hold of the tall man.  Wyatt took one step forward but then stopped and replied while holding his hand against his rapidly swelling jaw.

“Not me.  It’s you that have finally done it, boy.  Your wife is common, just as common as they come, that’s plain enough to see!”  His entire body was shaking in anger and he fought to control it.  “I’m done with you all!”

Isaac, equally shaky and furious, spat in his father’s direction as the older man turned and walked into the ship with Claudia running to catch up.  When the tall man finally released him, Lydia came forward and took her husband’s arm, guiding him into the ship with her head held high.

Despite Wyatt’s previous determination to ensure that Claudia had some fun on the voyage, they did end up spending the first three days in their small cabin, with the ship’s medical staff checking in on Wyatt twice daily and bringing meals for them both.  Although his bruised jaw was healing well, his humor was not, and all of Claudia’s attempts to cheer him up were unsuccessful.  He spent most of his time sitting in the one chair in the room, a straight-backed and uncomfortable affair, staring at the wall and smoking his pipe. Claudia amused herself as best as she could, drawing on the slate they had brought along and singing songs to her dolls.  When he awoke on November sixteenth, Wyatt realized that his mood had finally improved.

…to be continued

Porcelain (Part 29)

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Harriet stood there for a few long moments, a series of memories from her daughter’s life flashing by in her mind.  As they did, she kept her hand on the doctor’s arm, as he seemed torn between going to help her and turning away in embarrassment.  She knew that despite the uncomfortable nature of the situation, she was going to need his assistance with Olivia.  Taking a deep breath, and dismissing the memories, she stepped forward and grabbed the quilt to wrap around her daughter.  Once she had it situated in a way that provided some modesty to the situation, the doctor came over to assist her.  Working together, and against the dead-weight of Olivia, who seemed oblivious to the struggle, they managed to get her into the bed and covered completely back up.  Falling with a sigh into a chair, Harriet wiped the sweat from her forehead before speaking.

“Thank you doctor.  I think I’ve got it from here.”

“Yes, well I will check up on her just for a minute.  Just to make sure that she didn’t injure herself.”  He started toward the bed but Harriet raised her hand to stop him.

“Really doctor, it won’t matter, doesn’t matter anymore.  Leave her to me as she is.”

“Ma’am, I know you are tired from all of this.  Go lay down and I will check on her.  A little rest will do you well.”

“You’ve been good to her, you really have.  And me.  All of us. You truly have done your best to help and I appreciate it.  But we both know that there is nothing that can be done for her, nothing of substance anyway.  She is as she will be, and there cannot be much of life left for her.”

The doctor had started shaking his head half-way through Harriet’s comments and continued as he replied. “You are over-tired and despondent.  There is no reason to despair here.  She is ill, that is certainly true, but good medicine can assist and I am here to provide it. We owe,”

Harriet interrupted him, her voice starting to harden.  “You owe her nothing.  You have provided well for her and I release you from your service to her.”

“I cannot just walk away from this.  I have an obligation to provide my best care.”

“Doctor, I release you and bid you farewell.  You need to learn to understand when you are wasting your time.  Such a lesson will serve you well through your medical career.  Some living things cannot be saved.”  Harriet’s eyes, more a metallic steel now than their usual soft grey, met his, and they silently considered each other for several moments.  Finally he dropped his eyes and replied.

“My time is never wasted on trying to preserve the life of any person.  I do see here that you no longer want me to look after her and I will go, for now anyway.”  As he turned and picked his medical bag back up, Harriet briefly closed her eyes, steeling herself to dismiss him.  As he walked out of the room she called after him, her voice filled with a bitterness that reflected her own distaste for having to say it.

“Stay gone.”

The room closed in on her after that, the dreariness of a day that had turned from sunny to overcast adding to the somber feeling she felt in her heart.  It was just her and Olivia, her daughter, whom not so many years ago had been such a vibrant young woman, one full of enough adventurous spirit to strike out from the east coast toward the unknown territory of Kansas.  Harriet’s other cares and worries slipped into the background as she concentrated on being right there, next to and with her daughter, who had faded back into sleep.  She rose and went to sit on the bed, stroking Olivia’s hair, feeling her face and breathing in the slightly musty odor that emanated from her skin.  Her finger traced the ridge of her daughter’s nose, a sharp edge that had always given Olivia a slightly hawkish look.  She remembered when she would tweak it when her daughter was a little girl, calling her bird-beak in a way that would send Olivia into a playful pout.  Carefully she turned her daughter’s face, so she could see all of it, the way the wisps of her hair hung down and tickled her cheeks, the slight downturn of her lips, the mole next to her left eye.  It was so peaceful as she saw it now, soft and relaxed in repose.  She could feel her daughter’s ribcage against her own side as Olivia’s shallow breaths continued without seeming to notice her mother’s attention.  Leaning over, she kissed her daughter on the forehead, a kiss she held for almost an entire minute before rising and walking to the kitchen.

Once there, Harriet set about her mission without any delay or hesitation.  Taking out her remaining supply of dried belladonna, she began crushing it in her mortar, her strong but thin hands working the plant over and over again, until it became a fine powder.  Finally satisfied that is was soluble, she poured it into a tea cup and then added warm water and several teaspoons of sugar.  As she stirred this solution, she watched out the window as a large crow bobbed up and down on the top branches of a Inkwood tree.  Setting down the spoon, she walked back toward the bedroom, where she set the cup down on the nightstand.  Pulling the portrait from under the covers, she tucked it in her daughter’s arms after slowly pulling Claudia’s torn dress out of her hand.  Waking Olivia up with a sharp shake of her shoulder, she coaxed her into a partial sitting position before placing the cup to her lips.  Taking it without question or even a glance at her mother, Olivia drank it down quickly, choking slightly as the last of it crossed her lips.  Laying back down, she pulled the portrait of Claudia close into her chest with a small smile on her face.  A short time later, with her mother watching her from the doorway, she trembled briefly and took one last troubled breath.

… to be continued

Porcelain (Part 28)

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The time since Claudia’s departure had passed slowly and less than gracefully, both for Harriet and Olivia.  Although her daughter’s condition did continue to deteriorate, Harriet remained adamant that she stay at home.  Doctor Warren had argued, vigorously at first, and then in a way that seemed determined to satisfy his professional conscience.  He did continue to provide what help he could, although that of course fell short of bathing Olivia and cleaning her up when she refused to get out of bed to relieve herself.  Those tasks fell to Harriet and she performed them as well as she could, given her age and remaining strength.  Olivia’s lack of grace during this time was about more than her physical needs, as her mistreatment and abuse of her mother escalated sharply once Claudia was gone.  As Harriet had described it to the doctor, her daughter was always either asleep, delusional or frothing at the mouth with rage and obscenities.  Olivia was most quiet when she was lost in that fantasy world she had constructed, carrying around her daughter’s portrait and dress.  She would talk to these objects constantly, or set them up somewhere and play a game of marbles or jacks.  Never once, among all of that illusion, did Olivia ever ask about Claudia or how she was actually doing.

The weather had turned cold by the fourth week after Claudia left, and several wood stove’s were going all of the time to fight off the unseasonable chill.  She had been up late, sitting near the cooking stove and sipping tea when a piercing scream from Olivia cut through her reverie.  Reaching her daughter’s bedroom door, she found her thrashing about in bed, the double quilt she usually covered up with hastily strewn off to the side.  Wanting to avoid Olivia’s flailing arms, she stopped several feet short of the bed.

“What is it?  What is wrong?”

“The cold is coming for me, it comes for me again!  Bring me to the fire to warm my bones!”

These words brought Harriet abruptly back to that scene in the bedroom following Claudia’s birth, those similar strange visions that had accompanied her high fever.

“Please stop throwing yourself around like this.  I cannot help you unless you stop.”

“You cannot help me mother, not now, not ever!  It’s the cold that comes for me and I need the fire to warm my bones.  Find me the god-damn fire!”  Olivia finished with a howl while reaching upward with her arms toward the ceiling and beginning to bang her head backward into the headboard.  Seeing her opportunity, Harriet dove onto her daughter, attempting to grab her head while Olivia bucked in rage underneath her.  Ultimately, her strength failed, and Olivia was able to cast her off the side of the bed, where her head slammed into the nightstand and she was knocked unconscious.

When she came to, the house was quiet but getting cold and her daughter was asleep, curled up with Claudia’s portrait and dress.  Easing herself into the chair, Harriet felt the gash in her temple and then attempted to stretch out her limbs.  Finding herself relatively intact, she walked slowly to the kitchen and tended to herself as best as she could.  When the doctor asked her the next day what had happened, she merely shrugged and waved off his attempts to look at the dressing she had placed over the wound.

Following that event, Olivia’s moments of wakefulness decreased significantly.  Her mother, relieved of some of the strain of constant care by this change, was able to tend to a few details that had been neglected.  One of these was to send a telegram to Wyatt, inquiring about her granddaughter’s welfare.  The reply she received, which reflected the better parts of the situation in Denver, cheered her up significantly.   It had been the right thing to do, the correct decision, to send Claudia to her brother.  Certainly there would have been nothing good that could have come from having such a young child endure the continued downward descent of her own mother.

The final day of that descent was signaled in a way that Harriet understood could mean the end was very near.  Just after midnight she was awakened by a sharp, high-pitched whistle, one that seemed close-by, just outside the house.  Instantly wide awake, her heart beating rapidly in her chest, she held her breath and waited.  The whistle sounded again and this time she rose, grabbing her blanket around her and sitting down in the rocking chair.  She whispered quietly to herself.

“Not again, not the third time.  Not again.”  She knew that three strange sounds in the night, if they came closely together, foretold the death of someone.  This signal had announced the death of four other people close to her, and each time it had been a similar whistle.

When it did sound the third time,  Harriet shuddered, her teeth briefly chattering as she fought the realization that this may well be the last day of her daughter’s life.  When she had stopped trembling, she went to check on Olivia, who remained alive and asleep in her bed.  Too much on edge to sleep, Harriet waited in the sitting room for the sun to come up while keeping an uneasy eye on her daughter’s bedroom door.  It was past ten a.m. before she gave up her vigil, after once more checking on her daughter, and went to sit on the porch.  Nibbling on cold toast, she passed the remainder of the morning in an effort to convince herself that this one time the omen was going to be wrong.  As Doctor Warren strode up toward the house she rose to greet him.

“You look worried, and worn out ma’am,” he stated, jumping past the usual formalities.

“I am.  It has been a long evening.”  Her voice was barely a whisper and the doctor had to lean in to hear.

“Olivia then?  Another episode?  Is she ranting again?”

Harriet shook her head.

“What then?  Are you ill?”

A long moment passed, one in which she considered telling him about the whistle and what it meant, or could mean, but she knew it would have no effect on him.  He was not someone prone to believing in such things.

“Just a long night.  Sometimes I cannot sleep well, you know.”

“Yes, well, it will not do to have you getting ill.  Come inside and rest and I will look in on her.”

As they walked into the house a sound from Olivia’s room was followed by a cry, one that sounded more like a child than a grown woman.  The doctor pushed Harriet into a chair.

“Please, I’m sure she is just getting herself wound up again.  Sit here and I will go see.”

Harriet reluctantly complied and her weary eyes followed the doctor.  He was one step into the room when he stopped short with an exclamation.

“What the devil is this?”

Quickly getting up, Harriet was at the door several seconds later, to find her daughter sitting on the floor.  Olivia was naked, except for the small dress, which she had somehow managed to get over her head, with one arm also burst through where the armhole used to be.  The portrait was held against her chest.  As Harriet entered the room, her daughter looked at her, eyes younger than her years and an innocent but hurt tone to her voice.

“Mommy, my dress doesn’t fit.”

Porcelain (Part 27)

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The train ride to Boston passed in much the same manner as the six weeks at the house had, with Ambrose taking whatever opportunity he could to torment Claudia.  The boy, cruel but clever enough, had realized that he did not need to touch Claudia to get her to tears.  Instead, he would just maneuver himself into her line of sight whenever he could, and then mock her, usually by pulling his arm out of his sleeve and then trying to pick things up with the empty cuff or poking himself where his arm used to be.  Although Wyatt saw great strength in the girl when dealing with adult condescendence and mistreatment, the actions of children around her own age had a very great effect on her, although she always refused to speak with him about it.   In the final weeks at the house, Wyatt had foreseen that the coming trip was going to present such opportunities for abuse and torment toward Claudia and had managed to change his ticket to a separate compartment for himself and the girl.  Such arrangements did minimize the chances that Ambrose had to torment her; however, the boy took full advantage of what he did get and by the time the train pulled into Boston, Claudia had not not spoken in five hours.  Her face had remained pressed up against the window for that entire time, her fist curled in a ball as she wet herself, refusing to walk out and down the corridor to the restroom, where she knew the boy would be waiting.

As the whistle of the locomotive shrilled to announce the train’s arrival, Wyatt stepped out of the compartment after handing Claudia another dress to change into.  Standing outside the door, he glared at Ambrose, who stood near his parent’s compartment playing with a tin whistle.  The smirk on the boy’s face had Wyatt clenching up his own fists, trying to resist the impulse to walk over and box the youngster’s ears.  Isaac and Lydia emerged moments later and walked past him without a word.  Wyatt collected Claudia up several minutes later, hoping that his son’s family had gone far enough ahead to be lost in the crowd, a wish that fortunately came true.  That left Wyatt and the girl once again standing together outside a busy station looking for a hansom.

boston 1883 courtesy geographicus.com

boston 1883 courtesy geographicus.com

Having come in on the New York & New England Railroad, the final transfer of their long journey to the coast, they emerged directly into the heart of the wharf district in Boston.  The sharp smell of the salty air was mixed with the pungent odors from the wet docks and the decaying fish that pooled along the edges.  The noise was startling and overwhelming, both to Wyatt and the young girl, and they both simply stood on the edge of Atlantic Avenue for fifteen minutes, wide-eyed and slightly slack-jawed.  The water traffic along the wharf was varied, with fishing boats, tugs and small sailboats competing with cargo ships that seemed to move in slow-motion compared to the other boats.  Slightly farther off in the distance were several large passenger ships, moored at the foreign docks and awaiting the crowds that would soon temporarily move in for their voyage across the ocean.  Behind them, toward the land side, all kinds of large buildings rose up, with the Old Colony Depot, the Post Office and the United States Hotel being most prominent.  Denver might have seemed like a large town to Wyatt, but he had to admit that this was beyond anything else he had seen in his life.  Claudia, initially just as shocked as her great-uncle, recovered more quickly and was well into asking questions before Wyatt shook himself and began to pay attention to her.  As they walked toward the U.S. Hotel, which Wyatt had arranged on his own after finding out about Isaac’s plans for their one and a half days in Boston, he had to admit that he was enjoying the experience despite its strangeness.  Having been on the move for much of his life, he thought that maybe he had been content for too long with his settled-down home in Denver, and that this trip was going to revive some of his spirit.  As they walked into the hotel Claudia had looked up at him with a one word question.

united states hotel boston 1883 courtesy goodoldboston.com

united states hotel boston 1883 courtesy goodoldboston.com

“Ambrose?”

Patting her hand, he happily replied, “Not here dear, he is most definitely not staying here.”

commercial and fleet boston

commercial and fleet boston

 

boarding house boston

boarding house boston

The next day, their only full one in Boston, Wyatt was determined to go out and walk the town with Claudia, and they had set off directly after breakfast.  Although he was pleased to be away from Isaac’s family, at least until they were aboard the ship, some malicious part of him wanted to see where his son had managed to put his own family up for their stay.  Knowing the address, but of course not the town, it took them two hours  of walking to find it, a dilapidated and leaning building on the corner of Commercial and Fleet Streets.  At first glance Wyatt could not determine which part of the structure was most likely to fall in first, although it all seemed to be leaning away from the water.  Shaking his head, the two of them kept on walking and were able to see many of the nearby sights, including Faneuil Hall and the famous Common and Public Garden.  When they returned to the U.S. Hotel that night, both of them worn out and hungry, they took advantage of the restaurant and ate well, with Claudia finishing up with two bowls of chocolate ice cream.  Before they retired for the night, Wyatt asked the girl to sit down on his bed.

“You know that tomorrow we are going to be sailing away, across the ocean, on a ship.  I won’t bother to promise you that this trip isn’t going to be rough.  Although we have our own compartment on the ship also, it is small and we certainly cannot stay in it for all of the six days we will be aboard.  Besides, I want you to see the ship and have what fun you can.  I am certain that Ambrose will be up to his usual games.  You do understand me Claudia?”

The girl just nodded her head.

“So, let’s just promise each other this.  We stick together okay? And I will keep that boy off of you as much as I can.”

In response, Claudia just took his hand and squeezed it.  At about that same moment, her mother, one arm wrapped around the portrait of her daughter, shuddered and let out one last breath.

…to be continued

Porcelain (Part 26)

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And so went most of the next six weeks of Claudia’s time in Wyatt’s house.  Torment, outbursts and silence.  Isaac, his wife and son spent virtually no time with Claudia other than at meals, and the whispered conversations they had in the hallways were certainly pointed in her direction.  It had not been apparent to Wyatt initially; however, he soon grew to understand that Isaac himself considered Claudia to be a burden, both to his family and his future plans.  The discussion they had in front of the fireplace two weeks after her arrival was typical.

“I ask you again father, what provision have you made for this girl?  What about her care and room and board once we are away from this place and the two of you are living under my roof?”
“I have provided you and your family with a home for some time and you seem to be rather ungrateful for that consideration and kindness.”

Isaac wrinkled up his nose.  “That is hardly the point as I have done my fair share around here to earn my keep.”

“Fair share of eating for sure, and using my firewood and other provisions.  Certainly not your fair share of providing for your family.”

“I’ve done my part,” Isaac replied lazily, “but that’s in the past and we need to talk about the future.  What about that girl?”

Wyatt took a long look at his son and let the pipe smoke escape out his nose in a billowy wreath of contemplation.  The expectant look in Isaac’s eyes, one that demanded only the answer he was looking for, made the older man grimace in disgust.  Finally he snorted and replied.

“She’ll be provided for, don’t you worry your pitiless heartstrings about it.  I have money enough to provide for her room and board, and I’ll take care of her myself.  You can go about showing her no more attention or consideration that you have up to this point.”

“That you will do, but it’s not what I am concerned about.  What about when you die, and you certainly will, you’re an old man and have no business taking on a child.  What about then?  Whatever money you have won’t be enough to see me through the trails of raising her up the rest of the way.   Children are expensive.”

“Yes, they certainly are,” Wyatt replied ironically, a tone that was lost on his son.  “If I do go, and there is no saying I will before she’s grown up, then you damn well better believe I expect you to finish the job and see her into the adult world properly.”

“You expect too much father, much too much.”  With that, Isaac pushed himself out of his chair and walked from the room trailed by a wary look from Wyatt.

writing slate

writing slate

 

During those weeks leading up to the departure for their voyage, Claudia continued in her somber way, although she did at least begin to speak with her great-uncle, asking him questions about books he would read her and listening to his stories from his gold-mining days.  As the two of them spent most of their time together, either taking walks or sitting by the small stove in Wyatt’s room, he soon came to understand that Claudia was much more intelligent than she appeared.  She had a definite knack for assessing the world around her and was poignantly aware of the feelings that Isaac and his family shared toward  her.  As she had put it, they did not want her around, a truth that Wyatt reluctantly affirmed, not seeing the sense in disputing something the girl clearly understood quite well.  She also could talk much better than Wyatt expected from a three-year old and could make a decent effort at writing the letters A and B.  They were practicing that, sitting on Wyatt’s bed with a battered double-sided writing slate between them, when Isaac stopped outside the room on the night before they were to leave for Boston.

“Be ready at ten.”

“Yes, I know.  We’ve already packed.”

“More teaching of nonsense to that girl I see.  She’s too young to understand letters.”

“She does well enough,” Wyatt replied, lifting the slate up to show Claudia’s erratically drawn letters.

“Unrecognizable.  I know your answer but I must ask you again.  Have you considered my request that we drop her off at the Orphan’s Home tomorrow instead of dragging her across the ocean with us?”

denver orphans home courtesy denver library

denver orphans home courtesy denver library

A cold look from Wyatt was the only reply.

Taking out his watch and then snapping it forcefully closed, Isaac turned with a curt “Very well then,” and walked toward the kitchen, where his wife stood by the table with glowering eyes.  She started to speak to him as he approached; however, Isaac held up his hand and motioned her to silence.  Grabbing her arm, they both walked off toward their bedroom.

The next morning was warm for the season, and with winter having set in earlier than usual, the change was a welcome way to begin their journey.  Two hansoms and a larger cart for luggage had been arranged and there was much activity as drivers assisted with loading while sloshing through the melting snow with their stovepipe boots on.

stovepipe boots courtesy espinoza boots

stovepipe boots courtesy espinoza boots

Wyatt had arranged for his place to be sold once he was gone and the man who would be handling that for him was also there, with some last minute papers needing a signature.  Lydia had a firm hold of Ambrose, refusing to allow him out into the muddy roadway, where Claudia was walking around stomping into mud puddles and smiling to herself.  Her unusual activity and cheerful manner were odd enough to cause both Wyatt and Isaac to pause and watch, Isaac in consternation and Wyatt with a large grin on his face.  Turning to sign the papers, he muttered, “good to see that girl smiling,” just as Isaac announced they better all get aboard the hansoms or they were going to miss the train.  Wyatt lifted Claudia up, ignoring the mud-spattered dress and wet shoes she wore, and then climbed up beside her, patting her knee and chuckling.

“We’re going to be okay girl,” he stated as they pulled away.

… to be continued

Porcelain (Part 25)

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The trip itself, which should have been full of wonder and awe for the young girl, at least that was what the doctor had been expecting, passed instead in almost complete silence.  Although she would occasionally indicate that she was thirsty or needed to relieve herself, she asked no questions about the wonders of the large locomotive, spent no minutes wandering the cars of the train to admire the rich collection of persons aboard, and spent little time wide-eyed at the windows as the scenery flashed by their compartment.  Quiet and somber, Claudia sat with her hands in her lap, singing songs under her breath or staring at the floor.  When she slept, she did so curled up in her seat, drifting off without even a quiet goodnight to the doctor.  After exhausting what limited repertoire that he had for eliciting responses from children, and consulting quietly with himself in his head on how to get Claudia into better spirits, all to no avail, he turned to reading newspapers and smoking his pipe.  As the train pulled up in Denver, and the doctor assembled the young girl’s limited belonging and the packer trunk, he caught her looking at him with intensely curious eyes.

“What is it Claudia?”

Instead of responding, she pointed to his medical bag which was stashed underneath his seat.

“That?  I always bring it with me dear.  You never know when someone is going to need a doctor.”

“No.”

“No?  People need doctor’s all the time.”

“No.  Why you didn’t help her?”

Unable to give any answer that he felt would mean anything, he instead just shook his head and replied, “Let’s get you off this train.”

Although she returned to silence as they walked, she kept her eyes turned toward the doctor, a look that provided enough guilt for the doctor to remember the moment for the rest of his life.  Emerging out onto the station platform, he shaded his eyes from the sun and looked around.  Having been briefed only generally on what to look for, a tall man and he says he will be wearing a brown bowler is all Harriet had been able to provide, the doctor expected there to be several minutes of searching.  Instead, a tall man man with long sandy hair and a tan, weather-worn face approached them immediately with his hand out.

“Doctor Warren, I take it?”

“Indeed.  You are Wyatt Coburn then, good to find you so quickly!”

The two men quickly shook hands and then Wyatt knelt down to Claudia’s eye level.

“Hello Claudia.  I suppose that your grandmother has told you about me.  I’m your great-uncle Wyatt.  Did you enjoy the trip?”

denver map courtesy davidrumsey.com

denver map courtesy davidrumsey.com

Claudia’s silence caused him to glance up at the doctor who said, “Same way with me all the way out.  Hardly a word spoken.  I think she’s having a pretty hard time with what happened to her mother.  That and leaving Harriet, quite a bit of shock for such a young girl.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Standing up, he continued, “Well, thank you doctor for seeing her out here safely.  I hope your return trip is safe.”

Reaching out he grabbed Claudia’s hand and they walked away.  After about fifteen steps though, she pulled away and ran back, grabbing the doctor’s leg in a tight hug.  After a long moment, during which he stood there, slightly embarrassed and entirely unsure how to react, she let go, ran back to Wyatt and never looked back after that.

hansom cab courtesy getty images

hansom cab courtesy getty images

 

As they walked along, her great-uncle pointed out some of the sights along the platform as they waited for a hansom to bring them back to Wyatt’s house.  Having come in at the Denver and Rio Grande Depot near 19th and Wazee St., a busy place at almost every time of the day, there was a considerable crowd of people looking for transportation and the wait stretched out past thirty minutes.  Finally, with her great-uncle agitated by the delay and mutterings curses under his breath, Claudia was helped up onto the seat and they took off toward her new, although temporary home.  The transient nature of her current situation was made apparent as soon as they arrived at Wyatt’s house, after he had paid the driver through the trap-door in the roof without a thank-you or a good-day to you being offered in either direction.  As they stepped through the entry, Isaac appeared out of the study.

“So this then is your little burden from your sister.  She hardly looks sturdy enough to survive our journey but I will leave that up to your attention and worry.  Don’t bother settling her in too much as there won’t be time for feeling at home.  We leave in only six weeks.”

“Yes, I suppose we do,” Wyatt replied to the empty space where his son had stood, Isaac having turned on his heels immediately and retuned to the study.  “Come along Claudia.”

Dinner was called a short time later, Wyatt going to get the young girl who had remained sitting on the small bed he had purchased from a second-hand store for her use.  Her truck remained unpacked on the floor and the only concession she had made to having arrived was the removal of her bonnet.  Offering his hand, which the girl took, Wyatt escorted her to the table where she took her seat next to Isaac’s son Ambrose.  Lydia Coburn was at her insincere and ungracious worst right from the beginning.

“What a beautiful little girl you have brought us Wyatt.  It’s a good thing that Isaac was able to find that old chair in the shed or she would be sitting on the floor for her supper.  How are you dear?”

Met with only a stare as a reply Lydia muttered, “charming, a mute,” before stroking her son’s head and saying, “You be sure to play nice with this little girl Ambrose.”

Wyatt remained standing behind Claudia’s chair as the meal was served and then went reluctantly to his place at the head of the table as Isaac also took his seat.  As usual the meal was filled with silence, although this one was interrupted several times by Ambrose poking at the empty spot where Claudia’s arm was missing in her dress and laughing in his high-pitched manner.  As the boy received only half-hearted admonitions from his parents to stop, and with the young girl not eating and in silent tears, Wyatt finally slammed his hand down on the coarse wood table loud enough to make Ambrose squeak in startled response.

“Enough boy!  Leave her along and eat your meal.  There will be no more of this tormenting you so enjoy!”

“It’s going to be a tough run for that girl if all it takes to get her to tears is a few pokes,” Isaac replied before they all returned to silence and then finished the meal overshadowed by tension.

…to be continued

Porcelain (Part 24)

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Shaking herself out of that reverie ten minutes later, she rose and went to look in on Olivia, who lay asleep in bed.  Leaning on the door frame, Harriet reached out her hand, mimicking touching her daughter’s face, something that she did not want to actually do as it might awaken her.  She was fairly certain that asleep was the best place for Olivia.  Turning away, she approached the doctor.

“Could you assist me in getting a telegram sent?”

“Well, of course, however, perhaps you should do it yourself.  Get out of the house for awhile.  I can look after her.”

“I, well, I have not done much of sending telegrams in my day.  I’m a bit behind the times.  It would probably be better if you went.”

Doctor Warren reached out and touched Harriet’s shoulder.  “It really is not that hard.  Just go down to the office and tell them what you want to do.  They will help you.  And you really do need to get out for a bit.”

With a small smile she turned away, grabbing a shawl to wrap around her shoulders before stepping out with a quick word back at the doctor.

“Thank you.”

 

leader dry goods and clothing courtesy hiawathapics.com

leader dry goods and clothing courtesy hiawathapics.com

As she walked the road toward Oregon Street, Harriet took time to enjoy both being out of the house and also the sights and sounds of the town.  Knowing that she would be unwilling to commit her daughter to any kind of a care facility, she understood that once the doctor left, her life would be bound to caring for Olivia.  It would certainly be awhile before she had time or opportunity to stroll along and admire Hiawatha again.  Arriving at the telegraph office forty minutes later, the clerk helped her send a short message to Wyatt informing him that Claudia would arrive in five days.  On the way back she stopped by the small park across from Leaders Dry Goods, sitting on the small bench and watching the pigeons scramble around after some loose horse feed that had been spilled on the ground.  As the sky started to darken with rain clouds, she sighed deeply and walked back home, arriving to find the doctor packing up his medical bag.  As he departed ten minutes later he promised to stop by daily for awhile and check on Olivia.

The next morning Harriet found Claudia sitting next to her mother in bed.  Olivia had been reading a children’s book to her, but closed it when she appeared in the doorway.

“Where is my picture, mother?”

There was an edge to Olivia’s voice although she appeared calm enough, running her hand through Claudia’s hair as she spoke.

“Yes, well, I have it. I will bring it to you.”

When she returned and presented the portrait of Claudia to her, Olivia looked at it for several minutes before turning to look at her daughter who still sat beside her.

“This will be all that remains of you my dear, all that I will have to remember you by.  This is what I will keep.”

With that, Olivia closed her eyes and began to hum softly, before drifting off to sleep, still clutching the portrait.

Over the course of that day and the next, as Harriet took care of the business of packing things up for Claudia, it became apparent that Olivia had no further interest in her real-life daughter.  She ignored all of Claudia’s attempts to speak with her, or interact in any way, spending time instead reading books to the portrait and carrying it around on the few occasions she did get out of bed.  Her discussions with Harriet during this time were curt, at least until she walked past as the last of Claudia’s clothing was being packed in a large leather packer trunk that had been purchased the day before by the doctor and brought over to the house.

“I hoped to get one thing before you finished up.”

“What is that Olivia?”

“The dress, her dress, the one you made.  I want to keep it here with me.”

“Maybe you should ask Claudia if she cares that you keep it?”

As Olivia glanced down at the portrait she held, Harriet cut back in.

“You need to talk to that girl Olivia.  The real one.  The one in that other room over there who you have been ignoring these past few days.  She leaves tomorrow and you need to say good-bye to her.”

“I won’t ever have to say good-bye mother.  I have her here with me always.  Now I want that dress please, just to help remember her.”

They locked eyes for several moments and then Harriet gave in, remarking to herself that the dress had little use left in it anyway.  She had made it big so it would last for awhile but now it just barely fit the young girl.  Although she worried that possessing it might remove Olivia even farther from reality, she also saw little point in arguing about it.

“Thank you.  I am returning to my room.”

“You do understand that she leaves tomorrow, early, and she won’t be coming back.

Met with only silence and her daughter’s back as a reply, Harriet finished up and then went to spend the remainder of the day with Claudia.  She also slept next to the girl that night, spending over half of the time awake, holding Claudia’s small body next to her and silently crying.  There was no doubt that she would miss her granddaughter, as they had grown very close over the three years she had been alive, especially as Olivia’s condition worsened.  Harriet also felt great sorrow for her own daughter, who she knew was unable to cope with Claudia’s leaving and would probably never truly understand, or admit, that the girl was forever removed from their lives.  So much loss and sorrow had washed across her life during the decades she had been alive, and yet there always seemed to be just a little bit more to bear.  First Olivia had disappeared into the fog of her present condition and now Claudia would fade off into a distant land.  This was for the best though, for her granddaughter anyway, and maybe this would be the last great heartache of her life.

As the sun came up, Harriet drew upon her inner strength and showed no more than surface emotion as she readied Claudia and saw her to the front door at nine a.m., where the doctor waited.  He had agreed to ensure that the girl made it safely onto the train and then to her stop in Colorado, even agreeing to purchase his own ticket.  He arrived just as Harriet and Claudia stepped out onto the porch.

Reaching down, he took the young girl’s hand.  “You look lovely today Claudia.  Are you ready for our trip?”

The girl just nodded and stared back at him, the look on her face similar to the one she had shown to the camera in the portrait.

“Thank you again doctor.  Please ensure she is safely to Wyatt for me.  I am certain he will meet you at the station.  He is a reliable man.”

“I’m sure he will.  Did Olivia?” and he finished with a downward glance at Claudia.

“She refused to open her eyes, so I left her in bed with her delusions.”

“Very well.  Then we must go.”

A final hug, as strong as she felt her granddaughter could bear, was given by Harriet and then she stood up to watch them leave, tears in her eyes, but frozen there, refusing to fall.

She whispered softly to herself.  “Good-bye.”

…to be continued