Distant Dreams (48 page)

“When Papa returns,” she said aloud, though no one was there to hear, “I will assuredly tell him what was said.”

52

Loss

But her father didn’t return, and neither could a rider make it through the rain into Washington. The torrential rains had turned all of the roads into impassable boggy messes, and two main bridges had been swept away in a rush of water. Unexpected flooding became a serious problem in many places, including Oakbridge, where some low-lying areas needed to be evacuated.

Margaret refused to leave the nursery, and because of this, Carolina found herself in charge of the plantation. Their overseer, Walt Durgason, came to inform her that the lower row of slave quarters was now mired under several inches of water from the rising creek. She instructed him to see the slaves moved to share quarters elsewhere and to keep her apprised of the situation.

The rain continued into the next day and the next, and so, too, did the fever. Penny and Mary seemed to grow weaker by the minute, and Carolina received word from Walt that over twenty slaves were sick as well. Among them was her beloved Hannah. It was clear now why Hannah had so quickly relinquished care of the children to a doctor. Carolina wanted desperately to go check on Hannah but found herself forced to address other matters instead. She was exhausted and had endured much beyond what she’d thought herself capable of. With each bleak and hopeless day that passed, Margaret would allow no one but Carolina to enter the nursery. She asked often for word of her husband, but Carolina had none to give. This only caused her mother to slip further into despair, and sometimes Carolina thought her mother had lost touch with reality altogether. Once she referred to Mary as Tennessee, thinking this was the same epidemic that had taken her two sons.

Another grave concern Carolina felt she must shoulder alone was the fear that the fever would strike other members of the family. Margaret had all but forgotten about her other children, so focused was she on the sick ones and the ones long dead. But Carolina lived daily with that gnawing fear. What if her mother caught it from her close contact with the sick ones? Or Georgia? Or herself? Will they die? she pondered. Will I?

Carolina tried to maintain some type of routine. She slept very little, taking only brief naps on a cot in the nursery. She had relegated Georgia to quarters on the third floor, much to her little sister’s dismay. Georgia feared the fever, and the distance placed between her and her family members gave her reason to believe they were sending her off to die.

“Georgy,” Carolina said, trying to soothe her sister’s concerns, “I don’t want to see you ill as well. Mother is so worried about Penny and Mary that it would kill her to have you come down with the fever as well.”

“But why can’t I stay in my room?”

Carolina gave her a hug. “Please just help me with this. I feel certain you should stay as far from the nursery as possible. Your room is only two doors down. I’ll send Miriam to stay with you. Will that help?”

Georgia nodded, but the tears in her eyes made Carolina feel she had been a harsh taskmaster. Using the edge of her apron to wipe the perspiration from her forehead, Carolina struggled to clear her mind and decide what needed to be attended to next.

Going to the kitchen, she was met with an eerie silence. After four days the steady downpour of rain had stopped.

Carolina knew it would be days before the roads were passable, maybe even longer for the flooded areas. But if the rain stopped long enough, they might be able to get word through to Washington City, and her father would return home. She found herself praying for that with all of her heart. Her father held the strength and hope she had seen drained away from her mother’s spirit. She hurried upstairs to impart the hopeful news.

“Mother,” she said, entering the nursery with a smile. “The rain has stopped! We can send a rider out in the morning after Papa.”

Margaret Adams said nothing as she moved from first one child to the next. Wondering if she’d even heard her announcement, Carolina wanted to say something reassuring, and Margaret desperately needed to hear something hopeful, but still her mother worked without a word and never stopped to comment on Carolina’s presence or the ceasing of the rain.

————

That night a shrouded silence held Oakbridge spellbound in its grip. The ragged breathing of Mary and Penny wore on Carolina’s nerves, and she prayed there would soon be an end to their suffering. Why didn’t God act and heal the bodies of her sisters? I’m tired, God, she prayed. Can’t this just be done with? Sweat soaked the back and neck of her dress. How she longed for a bath and a decent night’s sleep, but there appeared to be no end in sight. Then she rebuked herself for her selfishness.

Dipping the cloth again into a pan of cool water and placing it upon her sister’s forehead, Carolina said, “Penny’s fever is still high, Mother.” Not that it really needed to be announced, but the heavy silence in the room was too oppressive. She smoothed back dark brown ringlets from her sister’s forehead and frowned. Even in the poor light of a single oil lamp it was easy to see how much Penny’s skin had yellowed from the illness. Why wouldn’t the fever break?

“I know,” Margaret replied from where she rocked Maryland. They were the first words she had spoken in hours. “Perhaps I should have allowed the doctor to bleed them.”

“I doubt bleeding would have cured them,” Carolina spoke in a weary voice. “Father would say we are to trust God for our direction.”

“Yes,” her mother replied with a suddenly bitter voice. “He would. But your father is not here, and he doesn’t have to watch them suffer.”

“Papa has no way of knowing they’ve fallen ill.” Carolina found her mother’s tone alarming. “I’m certain he’d be here now if the roads were passable.”

“Perhaps . . .” Margaret replied, but the word only betrayed more bitterness and doubt.

The night dragged on forever. Carolina heard the clock in the hall chime one and then two. It was difficult to stay awake, but whenever she dozed, hideous visions clouded her sleep. She imagined heavy blackness smothering her, and always she awoke panting for her very breath. Penny cried out and thrashed from side to side, bringing Carolina instantly awake. “Mother!” she exclaimed, pulling her hand back from her sister’s forehead. “She’s perspiring.”

It was a good sign, and Margaret got to her feet, still holding Mary. “Keep wiping her body with the water,” Margaret ordered. “I’m going to put Mary in bed.”

Carolina nodded and started the procedure of care once again. Her arms ached from the work, but she continued faithfully in hopes it might save her sister’s life. She thought about her father and wondered when he might return and if he were praying for them even now.
Trust God for direction . . . His will, not our own . . .

Oh, Papa, I need you so!

She wondered if her father would claim those words now while two of his children lay so close to death. She put the cloth back in the water and got up to stretch. Her back was cramped from hours in the awkward position in which she’d held her vigil over Penny’s bedside. She glanced across the room to where her mother had resumed rocking Maryland.

“Why don’t you rest?” Carolina said. “I can watch them both while you sleep.” Her heart filled with concern for her mother.

“No,” Margaret said in a wavering voice. “I need to be here. Mary’s so weak. I don’t think she’s going to live long.”

Carolina masked the shock. As bad as she knew it was, she had not wanted to believe it was
that
bad. “No, Mother . . .”

“She’s so frail and little. She’s more angel than person now.”

Carolina shuddered at the thought. Guilt racked her conscience. Perhaps she could have done more. She looked over helplessly at her baby sister. Her small body truly did seem lifeless in sleep, her tiny eyes closed behind long brown lashes. Reaching out, Carolina ran a finger along one flushed cheek. Her fever still raged.

“Can’t we do something?” Carolina asked with tears in her eyes. Her desperation was a sharp contrast to her mother’s seeming calm.

Margaret shook her head. “She’s in God’s hands now.” Her voice was unemotional.

Carolina gained no peace from her mother’s calm. It was in fact more frightening than inspiring. It was not real calm at all.

Carolina touched a hand to her mother’s arm, but Margaret did not acknowledge the supportive gesture. Her eyes were vacant, and Carolina feared that should Mary die, her mother might well be incapable of dealing with it. I doubt I will be able to deal with it myself, Carolina thought.

“It’s hard to watch your children die. . . .” Margaret said, but more to herself than to her daughter. “I’ll always wonder if I did enough. Was I careful with them? Then there are the times I scolded them. The times I was too busy to stop and listen to their chatter. As I watch their lifeless bodies in sickness I know now there is no price I would not pay to see them laughing and chattering again.”

“You’ve been a good mother. . . .”

“And yet, they linger. . . .” Margaret went on, oblivious of Carolina. “Death mocking me, haunting my memories with reminders of inadequacies. They hurt and suffer, and I’d gladly offer myself in their place.” Suddenly Margaret broke into tears.

Carolina had never seen her mother cry, and it only confirmed her fears that things were terribly wrong. “Don’t cry, Mama,” Carolina whispered. “We only need to get through the night. Maybe Father will return in the morning.”

“Curse your father for leaving me to bear this alone,” Margaret spat out. Even her anger didn’t cause Mary to stir. “At one time the rain would never have kept him from home. He would have moved heaven and earth to be at my side.”

Before Carolina could say a word, Penny cried out, “Mama.” She whimpered and thrashed at the coverlet that Carolina had placed over her.

Margaret put Mary on her bed and immediately went to Penny. “Pennsylvania Adams,” she said, taking a seat beside the restless ten-year-old, “you must get well and wake up.”

“Mama,” Penny’s tiny voice croaked. “I feel so bad.”

“Hush, now,” her mother soothed. “You’re quite ill, but you will get better. Can you drink a little broth? It will help make you stronger.” Penny barely nodded her head. “Good girl.” Margaret turned to Carolina. “Please come feed your sister a bit of soup.”

Carolina was quick to pick up the task and went to retrieve the bowl from where it warmed by the fireplace. She watched her mother pat Penny’s hand reassuringly before going back to Mary. Carolina longed for the same reassurance for herself. Why did her mother react so coldly to her? She was, after all, offering her support and help. I’m here, Mama, she thought with a quick glance at her mother. I’m here, but you seem not to know it. Are you angry at me because I’m not Papa?

The aroma of the broth wafted up, and Carolina realized she’d not eaten a thing since lunchtime. Now, nearing dawn, she felt her stomach rumble in protest. Weakness from lack of food and exhaustion crept over her body. Carolina knew she would have to eat soon or risk becoming sick herself. Nevertheless, she spooned the thin broth into Penny’s parched lips, but after only three spoonfuls, Penny turned her face away and fell back to sleep. Carolina tried to console herself with the fact that her sister had taken at least some of the liquid, but the shadow of death still hung heavy over the room, and there was no solace to be had. Carolina walked over to the window and gazed out to find the pink glow of dawn on the horizon. They’d made it through the night, she thought. The morning had come and the rain had stopped. The skies were clear with the promise of a new day.

“Look, Mama, it’s morning.”

“The Lord is my shepherd,” Margaret whispered, hugging her baby to her breast. “I shall not want. . . .”

Carolina sighed. Papa would come today, she just knew it.

Margaret’s murmured prayer had faded from Carolina’s hearing, but suddenly her mother’s voice rose in intensity. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death . . .”

Carolina’s head snapped up.

Maryland! Her mother’s face had turned pale. Carolina trembled at the sight.

“Mama?” she said fearfully.

But Carolina did not have to hear the words from her mother. She knew her sister was dead. Tears streaming down her face, she hurried to her mother’s side. Margaret swayed on her feet, and giving her support, Carolina led her mother back to the rocking chair. Carolina averted her eyes from the bundle in her mother’s arms. She didn’t want to look, for she knew looking would make it real. Yet, in the end, she knew she must look or never truly believe her sister was gone.

She had never before witnessed death, and she now had to force herself to look death in the face. Oddly, it wasn’t the awful vision she had conjured in her mind. The child indeed appeared only to sleep, a peaceful rest that she had not experienced in five days. Carolina sobbed and fell to her knees. It was of little comfort that her sister was out of pain’s reach. The loss pierced through Carolina’s heart like a white-hot knife. Her sister was dead and nothing could change that fact. Laying her head on her mother’s knee, Carolina cried long and hard, though she had wanted so much to be strong for her mother.

“My baby is gone!” Margaret moaned.

Carolina tried to think of words of comfort. What were some of the things she’d heard people say at times like these?

“We must be glad for the time we’ve had,” Carolina heard herself say. But even as she spoke the words she could hear how empty they were. Still, she rambled on, “We must remember our joy.”

“What do I care for memories?” Margaret’s voice was dry and brittle.

Carolina lifted her head and wiped at her tears with her lace-edged sleeve. She reached out to touch Maryland’s soft brown curls. “It’s as though she’s only asleep.” More platitudes. Was there no real comfort to be had?

“She’ll never wake again.”

“She’s in heaven now, Mama. Maybe running up and down that grand stairway to heaven.” Through tears Carolina added, “We don’t have to worry about her falling anymore.”

“Sometimes our fears keep us safe,” Margaret spoke in a mere whisper. “And sometimes they keep us from ever doing the things God intends us to do. We mustn’t hide ourselves away while life passes us by. When God calls we must listen and respond. Don’t let fears keep you hidden from life, Carolina.” Margaret continued to rock, gently touching Mary’s cheek. “Were she back among us, I would gladly allow her to run on the stairs.”