Wither (21 page)

“You’re interested in a christening party?”

“Gabriel,” I say softly, “it may be my only way out.”

He looks at me for a while, face unreadable, and then he looks at his lap. “I guess it’s not the worst escape plan you’ve had, is it?”

“Hard to argue. I’m sitting here in four different casts.”

“Is it really so bad here?” he asks. Then panic fills his eyes. “Is the House Governor forcing you to do anything—you know—in bed?” His cheeks are on fire.

“No!” I say. I reach out and put my hand over his. “It’s nothing like that. Gabriel, I can’t stay here for the rest of my life.”

“Why not? What has the free world got that you can’t get here?” he says.

“My brother, for starters. My home,” I say. I squeeze his hand; he stares at it uncomprehendingly. “What’s the matter?”

“I think it’s dangerous,” he says. “I think you should stay.”

I don’t recognize this look on his face. It’s not cold or angry like that day by the pool. He’s not bitter. It’s something else. “What if I asked you to come with me?”

“What?”

“That night, in the hurricane. I stood on the lighthouse, and I saw you coming toward me, and I said ‘Run away with me,’ but you didn’t hear. I saw the fence. I was going to try and make it.”

“Right before a giant piece of windmill knocked you unconscious,” he says flatly. “Rhine, it’s dangerous. I know you’re not talking about running off into another hurricane, but what do you expect to do? Do you think he’ll take you to a party and you’ll just walk out the door?”

“Actually, yes, maybe,” I say. It sounded better in my head.

Gabriel moves the tray from between us, and takes both of my hands and leans close. This is a big risk with my door being wide open and everyone home, but for the moment it doesn’t seem to matter. “Whether it’s a hurricane or a party, it’s the same,” he says. “It’s dangerous. The House Governor is not going to let you just walk away, and neither is the Housemaster. It was months before he’d even let you open your window or leave the mansion, and guess what? Housemaster Vaughn is talking about revoking those privileges.”

“How do you know that?” I say.

“He told all the attendants that if you or Cecily or Jenna wants to use our key cards for the elevator, we have to clear it with him.”

“When was this?”

“While you were hooked up to five different machines fighting for your life,” he says.

“I wasn’t fighting for my life,” I say, squeezing his hands. “If I’d had my way, I would have died right there and it wouldn’t have mattered. But do you know what keeps me going every day? That river. Rhine. I think my parents gave me that name for a reason. I think it means I’m supposed to go somewhere.
This
is me fighting for my life.”

“Go where?”

“I don’t know!” It’s so frustrating to have logic thrown at me now. It’s making all my plans seem so hopeless.

“But not here. Anywhere but here. Now, will you come with me or not?”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’d leave without me?”

“No,” I say. “I’ll drag you kicking and screaming.” I’m grinning, and eventually he breaks down and flashes me his rare smile.

“You’re insane, you know that?” he says.

“It’s the only thing keeping me afloat,” I say. He leans toward me, and I feel that rush of exhilaration telling me we’re about to kiss. My eyes are just closing, and his hand brushes across my cheek, when a knock on the door frame interrupts.

“Sorry to intrude,” Deirdre says, indicating the tray in her hands. “Housemaster Vaughn asked me to bring you some aspirin.”

Gabriel withdraws, but I can see in his eyes that he wants to touch me. All he says is, “See you later.”

“See you.”

Once he’s gone, Deirdre hands me two white pills and a glass of water. “You weren’t intruding,” I say, once I’ve downed the pills. “Nothing was going on between Gabriel and me—I mean—”

My cheeks burn as I fumble for the right words, but Deirdre only smiles. “It’s all right,” she says. “Housemaster Vaughn isn’t even here. After he asked me to bring you the aspirin, he was called to the hospital.” She moves to my dressing table and returns with a tube of lip balm, which she smears across my chapped lips. Then she moves on to fluffing my pillow. “It’s a nice day. Would you like me to open the window?”

“I’m all right,” I say. She stops fussing over me long enough for me to see the concern in her eyes. My faithful little domestic. “Really, I’m okay.”

“What did the Housemaster say to you?” she whispers, startling me.

“What?”

“While you were sleeping—at least I thought you were sleeping. I came to bring you a new pillow, but Housemaster Vaughn was in here and he told me to leave.” She looks guiltily at her feet. “I stayed in the hallway. I tried to listen in. I’m sorry; I know I shouldn’t have. It’s just . . .”

There are tears welling in her eyes. It’s so unlike her that at first I think my fever is back and I’m hallucinating. “It’s just that I thought he was going to hurt you.”

I reach for her hand, which is trembling. “Why would you think that?”

“Oh, Rhine,” she sobs. “If you were trying to run away, you can’t try it again. You’ll never get out, and he’ll make life here miserable for you.”

“I wasn’t trying to run away,” I say.

She shakes her head. “But if he thinks you did, that’s what matters. You don’t understand. You don’t understand what he’s like when he doesn’t get his way.”

“Deirdre.” I gently pull her toward me. “What are you trying to tell me?”

Tears are streaming down her face. She hiccups.

“Lady Rose never wanted a baby—she never did. She and Housemaster Vaughn used to argue all the time. She didn’t believe he was going to find the antidote, and she didn’t want another child to be born just so it would die. He called her a pro-naturalist. I could hear them screaming at each other. Once, I had to hide in the closet while I was putting away her laundry, I was so afraid to get in the middle of it.”

She sits down on the edge of my bed, swipes the tears from her eyes, but more come. “And when she got pregnant, even though she hadn’t planned on it, she was excited. She asked me to teach her to knit, and she made a blanket for the crib.” The memory makes her smile, but that smile is quickly gone. “When she went into labor, Linden was away at an expo. And her pain was so extreme that Housemaster Vaughn kept her heavily sedated. When she came out of it a few hours later, and he told her the baby girl didn’t make it, she didn’t believe him. She said she’d heard the baby cry. He told her she was delirious, that the baby was born dead.”

The room suddenly seems darker, colder. Deirdre says, “But I was changing the incense in the hallway, and I heard it cry too. Housemaster Vaughn told Lady Rose, ‘You want the human race to die, and it looks like you got your wish.’”

I can hear Vaughn’s voice in the words, and my heart breaks as though the words were meant for me. I can see Rose, alive and bereft, touching her stomach where hours earlier her child had moved inside her. I wish she’d told me this story herself when she was alive, because now I feel an overwhelming need to hug her and tell her how sorry I am that it happened. I sense that the fire she felt toward Vaughn is as strong as mine. Maybe the only reason she endured him at all was her love for Linden.

And maybe she was hoping I’d learn to love our husband so I’d learn to endure Vaughn as well.

“Oh, it just destroyed her. She was never the same after that,” Deirdre continues. “She had her own domestic, Lydia. But it was too much for Rose to have a young girl around reminding her of the daughter she would have had. Eventually she convinced House Governor Linden to have her sold off. She couldn’t even look at Elle and me.”

“Does anyone else know about this?” I say.

“No. They all believe the baby was a stillbirth. Or if they don’t, they keep it to themselves. Please don’t tell.”

“No,” I say, handing her a tissue from my nightstand.

“No, this will stay between you and me.”

She dabs at her nose, folds the tissue, and tucks it into her skirt pocket. “I’ve never told that to anyone before.”

Even through the tears, I can see that some of the weight has been lifted from her shoulders. It’s a terrible secret for such a young girl. In this place—no, in this world—it’s impossible for a child to be just that. I put my arm around her, and she grants herself an uncharacteristic moment of weakness and collapses onto my chest, hugging me.

“He always gets the final say. So whatever he asks of you, please, for your own good, listen to him.”

“Okay,” I say. But it’s a lie. If anything, this story has reinforced my need to escape, to be like the river in Linden’s atlas. Because things here are more frightening than even I could ever have imagined. Life is much different from the days when there were lilies in my mother’s garden, and all my secrets fit into a paper cup.

When Cecily finishes playing her song, and the illusion shrinks back into the keyboard, she stretches her arms up over her head and cracks her knuckles.

“That was beautiful, love,” Linden says. He sits on the couch with his arm around me. Jenna is curled on the armrest, and his other hand absently traces patterns on her thigh.

“We have a little concert pianist,” Jenna agrees, and works one of Linden’s curls around her finger.

“Maybe not a
concert
pianist,” Cecily says, laying the dustcover over the keys.

“No,” I agree. “A concert hall is too sterile. Didn’t you tell me you wrote that song while you were out in the rose garden?”

“The hedge maze, actually,” Jenna says.

“You’re both wrong,” Cecily says, climbing into Linden’s lap. “I wrote it in the orange grove.”

“You wrote that by yourself ?” Linden says, surprised.

Jenna is still toying with his hair, and his head cants absently toward her.

“Yes. In my head. I remember them for later. Although. . .” Her voice trails off. She looks aside, sighs sadly.

“What is it, love?” Linden says.

“Well. It’s sort of an older song,” Cecily says. “I haven’t been outside in such a long time.”

“None of us have, Cecily,” I say. “It isn’t just you. It’s been so dangerous with the hurricanes. You saw how injured I was. I’m only just now getting back on my feet.”

“But we haven’t had any hurricanes in weeks,” Jenna says. “The weather’s been quite nice. Wouldn’t you agree?” She’s looking at Linden, whose cheeks have become flushed. The adoration of three wives at once is more than he can handle.

“I—I suppose it has.”

“But Housemaster Vaughn is only trying to keep us safe,” I say. “That’s why he escorts us outside.”

“He escorts you everywhere?” Linden asks.

“It does get depressing,” Jenna admits. “We adore our father-in-law, of course. You know that. But sometimes a girl needs some time alone.”

“To channel her creativity,” Cecily says.

“To think,” I add.

“And for girl talk,” Jenna says. “And Rhine and I haven’t been able to play a game of tennis or jump on the trampoline. The virtual games are all right, but we don’t get any exercise at all, really.”

“I wasn’t going to say this,” Cecily says, “but they’re both gaining weight.”

Jenna narrows her eyes. “Look who’s talking.”

Linden is looking a little red in the cheeks already, but when Cecily cups his face, kisses him, and asks if he thinks pregnancy has made her unattractive, it’s just about all he can stand. “Y-you’re beautiful,” he says. “All of you are. But if you think some time outdoors will pick up your spirits, I’ll talk to my father. I had no idea you were feeling so—uh—stifled.”

“Really?” Cecily cries.

“Do you mean it?” I say, cozying up to his side.

“You’re so sweet,” Jenna says, and kisses the top of his head.

He bristles and gently slides Cecily off of him, squeezes himself out from between Jenna and me. “I’ll talk to him as soon as he’s back from the hospital tonight.”

My sister wives and I listen until we hear the elevator doors close behind him. There’s a moment of silence, and then we collapse against one another on the couch, bursting with laughter.

“That was amazing,” Jenna says.

“Even better than we planned,” I say.

“Did I do all right?” Cecily asks.

“Forget music,” Jenna says, ruffling Cecily’s hair. “You should be an actress.”

We hug one another in celebration of our small victory.

And I can’t help enjoying this camaraderie. It’s the closest I’ll ever get to feeling like I’m in a marriage.

The night we’re supposed to attend the expo, Cecily starts having contractions.

“They’re only Braxton Hicks,” Housemaster Vaughn assures her. “It’s not the real thing.”

But she is in real pain. She’s kneeling by the bed, clinging to the mattress, and I can see the terror in her eyes, and I know she isn’t just doing this out of spite.

“We should stay home,” I tell Linden. I’ve been back on my feet for well over a week, which is about how long it took Deirdre to design and sew the beautiful red dress I’m wearing. And after enduring an hour of being buffed and waxed and polished by an overeager group of attendants, I was determined to make tonight worth it. Linden stands beside me in Cecily’s doorway, his mouth in a tight, worried line.