Thus does the hour of reckoning approach. Unto God I issue my just complaint; ’twas he who cruelly dangled love before our eyes, like a brightly colored toy above a baby’s crib. From nothing he made this world of woe; to nothing it shall return.
I know she’s here, you said. I can hear it in your voice.
And I in yours, my Alicia. I in yours.
* * *
62
Two soldiers, rifles dangling, stood at the end of the walkway. As Peter approached, they stiffened, popping quick salutes.
“All quiet here?” Peter asked.
“Dr. Wilson went in a while ago.”
“Anyone else?” He wondered if Gunnar had visited, or maybe Greer.
“Not since we came on duty.”
The door opened as he mounted the porch: Sara, carrying her small leather satchel of instruments. Their eyes met in a way that Peter understood. He embraced her and backed away.
“I don’t know what to say,” Peter began. Her hair was damp and pressed to her forehead, her eyes swollen and bloodshot. “We all loved her.”
“Thank you, Peter.” Her words were flat, without emotion. “Is it true about Alicia?”
He nodded.
“What are you going to do with her?”
“I don’t know at this point. She’s in the stockade.”
Sara didn’t say anything; she didn’t have to. Her face said it all. We trusted her; now look.
“How’s Amy?” Peter asked.
Sara heaved a sigh. “You can see for yourself. I’m a little out of my depth here, but as far as I can tell, she’s fine. Fine as in human. A little malnourished, and she’s very weak, but the fever’s gone. If you brought her in here and didn’t tell me who she was, I’d say she was a perfectly healthy woman in her mid-twenties who’d just come off a bad bout of the flu. Somebody please explain this to me.”
As compactly as he could, Peter related the story: the Bergensfjord, Greer’s vision, Amy’s transformation.
“What are you going to do?” Sara said.
“I’m working on it.”
Sara seemed dazed; the information had begun to sink in. “I guess maybe I owe Michael an apology. Funny to think about that at a time like this.”
“There’s a meeting in my office at oh-seven-thirty. I need you there.”
“Why me?”
There were lots of reasons; he went with the simplest. “Because you’ve been part of this from the beginning.”
“And now part of the end,” Sara said grimly.
“Let’s hope not.”
She fell silent, then said, “A woman came into the hospital yesterday in labor. Early stages, we might have just sent her home, but she and her husband were there when the horn went off. Along about three A.M. she decides to have her baby. A baby, in the middle of all this.” Sara looked at Peter squarely. “Know what I wanted to tell her?”
He shook his head.
“Don’t.”
—
The bedroom door was ajar; Peter paused at the threshold. The drapes were shut, bathing the room in a thin, yellowish light. Amy was turned on her side—eyes closed, face relaxed, one arm tucked beneath the pillow. He was about to retreat when her eyes fluttered open.
“Hey.” Her voice was very soft.
“It’s okay, go back to sleep. I just wanted to check on you.”
“No, stay.” She cast her eyes groggily around the room. “What time is it?”
“I’m not sure. Early.”
“Sara was here.”
“I know. I saw her leave. How are you feeling?”
She frowned pensively. “I don’t…know.” Then, eyes widening as if the idea surprised her: “Hungry?”
Such an ordinary want; Peter nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
In the kitchen he lit the kerosene stove—he hadn’t used it in months—then went outside to tell the soldiers what he needed. While he waited, he washed up; by the time they returned, carrying a small basket, the fire was ready to go. Buttermilk, eggs, a potato, a loaf of dense, dark bread, and mixed-berry jam in a jar sealed with wax. He set to work, happy to have this small chore to take his mind from other things. In a cast-iron pan he fried the potatoes and then the eggs; the bread he cut into thick slices and smeared with jam. How long since he’d cooked a meal for another person? Probably for Caleb, as a boy. Years ago.
He arranged Amy’s breakfast on a tray, added a glass of buttermilk, and carried it all to the bedroom. He’d wondered if she’d fall asleep again in his absence; instead he found her alert and sitting up. She had pulled the drapes aside; evidently the light had ceased to trouble her. A smile blossomed at the sight of him, standing in the doorway like a waiter with his tray.