Invisible World (9 page)

W
ITH A POUNDING HEART, I FOLLOWED SISTER MARY CARMEN
down to the lower deck where her patient lay, still on her pallet, unconscious. The older nun, Sister Costancia, sat slouched against a wall, snoring loudly.

My breath caught in my throat. “Bronwyn!” I gasped.

Sister Mary Carmen whirled toward me in shocked surprise. “You know this woman?”

Rushing to Bronwyn, I knelt at her side. There was life in her! “She has been my governess since I was born. We were lost at sea when the
Golden Explorer
sank. We have to get her above deck.”

“But it's windy and cold there,” Sister Mary Carmen said. “Wouldn't she be better here?”

“No! No! She is searching for herself!” Without waiting for Sister Mary Carmen, I grabbed Bronwyn under her arms and began to lift.

“No, pick up the entire pallet,” Sister Mary Carmen advised. “It will be easier.” Each of us took an end and lifted.

Carrying Bronwyn was alarmingly easy — she had lost a great deal of weight in the time since the wreck. “Has she been eating?”

“We get broths and other liquids into her,” Sister Mary Carmen replied, “but that's all.”

We bumped and banged our way out of the tiny room, fortunately not waking Sister Costancia, although she sputtered and repositioned herself several times.

“Betty-Fatu, Father Bernard will not be pleased about this,” Sister Mary Carmen said as she hoisted Bronwyn and her pallet up the hatch while I pushed from below. “What will I tell him? Why are we doing this? I don't really understand.”

I climbed above while Sister Mary Carmen pulled Bronwyn away to the side. As soon as I caught my breath, I explained. “Bronwyn's body has been separated from her spirit for a long time. Her spirit is searching and needs to return to her body.”

With serious eyes, Sister Mary Carmen searched my face, deciding what to think of such fantastic words. “My mother claimed to travel on the astral plane,” she said at last. “I never knew whether to believe her or not.”

“It's real,” I said. And instantly I doubted my own verification; I wasn't sure my experience was authentic, and not a dream or delirium. “I think it's real, anyway,” I amended. “I hope it is.”

“I hope so too,” Sister Mary Carmen said.

We carried Bronwyn to a side of the ship that was relatively quiet and unvisited by crew or passengers and set her down next to a cabin wall. Although I knew I would not see it with my eyes, I gazed to the sky searching for some sign of Bronwyn's spirit presence.

Turning my sight back to Bronwyn, I was appalled at how wan and brittle she appeared. Her closed eyes were sunken; her skin had a translucence that gave the impression that one was seeing the skeleton below. It terrified me to see my earthy, vibrant governess looking so fragile and gray.

“I'll be right back,” I said as I ran for my bag, which I'd stashed beside some barrels. I returned instantly and dug out my jar of honey. Sister Mary Carmen cast a quizzical glance my way.

I dashed a finger of honey into my mouth and offered the jar to Sister Mary Carmen, who did the same. The honey's sweet goodness suffused me and I was sure Bronwyn would benefit from it. “How should I feed this to her?” I asked.

Pulling a clean white handkerchief from her sleeve, Sister Mary Carmen swiped it through the honey and then put it to Bronwyn's lips.

“What is the meaning of this?” Father Bernard towered above us, his cassock tossed behind him by the wind.

Sister Mary Carmen inclined her head respectfully toward him. “Please forgive us, Father, but this is Betty-Fatu, and our patient is her governess.”

The balding priest assessed me with his piercing eyes. “What sort of name is Betty-Fatu?” he inquired of me.

“In England, my name was Elsabeth James,” I replied, getting to my feet. “Betty-Fatu is a nickname bestowed on me by a loving friend.”

Father Bernard nodded, his expression still stern, and inquired why we had moved the patient.

“I thought the fresh air might do her good,” Sister Mary Carmen fibbed on my behalf.

“See that she's never alone,” the priest commanded before he left us.

Sister Mary Carmen breathed out a gust of relief. “That went better than I would have expected.”

 

Whenever the weather was fair, Sister Mary Carmen and I carried Bronwyn's senseless body out on deck, bundled in blankets for warmth. Her limp form worried me tremendously. Only the honey we fed her seemed to rouse any color to her cheeks.

Sitting on the deck by Bronwyn's pallet, I spoke to her in a low, confiding voice, hoping to reach something inside that might prevent her from slipping away altogether. I also wanted to occupy my mind so I wouldn't long for Aakif, whom I missed so deeply, and Kate and Father, lest I be filled with an inconsolable sadness.

Sometimes I would try to use my power of mind reading to search into Bronwyn's inner thoughts. All that came to me was a whooshing sound, like wind, and a thumping like distant thunder. Was all that remained of Bronwyn breath and heartbeat? It seemed so.

One morning, as I was keeping my vigil, Sister Mary Carmen came to sit beside me as she usually did, but this morning she was especially animated.

“I have been thinking,” she told me. “If we sang very loudly, would it help attract Bronwyn's attention? Might it guide her to her body?”

“It sounds possible,” I said.

“Is there a song she would recognize as coming from you?”

For a moment I looked blankly at my friend, not sure what to answer. But then I tossed my head back, singing “The Water Is Wide” at full volume into the wind.

My voice croaked and tears welled as I sang the verse, “
Build me a boat that can carry two, and both shall row, my true love and I
.” It made me long for Aakif. Where was he now? Was he all right?

As I repeated the song again and again, striving to sing above the wind, my voice picked up strength. I scanned the sky as I sang, searching for any sign of Bronwyn. Could I really sing her down out of whatever astral plane she was now on?

By sunset that night, I had sung the song without stop until my throat was a rasp. Sister Mary Carmen brought me a bowl of chicken broth from the ship's galley and insisted I eat. As I devoured the golden soup, she took up the song, taking it an octave higher in a voice of pure crystalline beauty.

Finishing the soup, I set the bowl aside and sat mesmerized by the loveliness of Sister Mary Carmen's voice. The daylong vigil of song had left me weary, and I laid my head on Bronwyn's bony shoulder and drifted into sleep.

When I woke, I saw that it was fully night. Sister Mary Carmen's otherworldly singing still filled the air.

Something in the sky caught my attention. A shooting star arced, sparking through the blackness. And then another and another. My father would have called it a meteor shower.

Instantly, I was on my feet, clutching Sister Mary Carmen's wrist and pointing to the lights. “It's her! She's found us! Sing louder!”

Together we raised our voices to top volume, straining to sing even louder. The shooting stars shot through the sky ever lower and larger to our sight.

“Put your hands on her,” I urged Sister Mary Carmen.

Still singing, Sister Mary Carmen knelt beside Bronwyn, one hand on the top of Bronwyn's hair, the other on her bony chest.

The lights in the sky blinked out.

Turning, I was in time to see Bronwyn's eyes open. I knelt at her side. “Bronwyn, you're back,” I sobbed. “You're back.”

“Do I know you?” Bronwyn whispered, her voice low and hoarse.

“It's me, Elsabeth!”

Bronwyn sat up and her eyes shone with a ferocity I had never witnessed before — not from her, nor from any other living creature. The blue of her eyes appeared to spin, rotating ever faster.

I froze, mesmerized by the sight, unsure if what I was seeing was real.

What remained after the spinning ceased was a void, as though there were no eyeballs in her sockets at all. Her eyes were completely black.

Jerking back in terror, I looked to Sister Mary Carmen, but she was paralyzed with fear, mouth agape.

“Bronwyn, what's wrong?” I shouted.

Pivoting toward me, Bronwyn opened her mouth as though to scream, but no sound emerged from her mouth.

Alarmed, I looked once more to Sister Mary Carmen and saw that she was clutching her ears, cringing in horrible pain.

In the next second, I heard it too. Screaming filled my head as though a thousand voices howled in unbearable pain while another thousand moaned in despair. The sound became so shrill the vibration caused my bones to quake.

Bronwyn rolled from the mat and in an instant was standing.

Father Bernard turned the corner and witnessed Sister Mary Carmen and me writhing in pain. His eyes darted to Bronwyn and he tensed.

He spoke urgently to Sister Mary Carmen and me, but the sound in my head was so great I couldn't hear his words.

Father Bernard grabbed my arm and that of Sister Mary Carmen, yanking us away from Bronwyn before hurling us even farther down the deck. The screaming dimmed enough for me to hear his words. “Get away from her. Stay away!”

Bronwyn glowered at the priest, her eyes radiating fiery pin-pricks at the center of their blackness.

Father Bernard lunged at her, grabbing her shoulders, but Bronwyn lifted him effortlessly above her head.

I was thrown across the bow of the ship as it spun counterclockwise at an incredible speed. I hit the deck hard and then slid, banging off the sides of ropes and barrels, unable to regain my footing.

I screamed as Father Bernard hurtled over my head, his arms and legs flailing.

“Father!” Sister Mary Carmen screamed, reaching out. But she was unable to help him, since she too was sliding across the ship.

Father Bernard hit the side wall of the ship at incredible speed and was shot into the air, falling down into the black ocean below.

And then everything was suddenly quiet and still.

Bronwyn stood with her arms folded, seemingly unfazed by the ship's bizarre spin. Her eyes had returned to their blue, but there was none of Bronwyn's warmth in them.

They were the coldest eyes I had ever seen.

A
MAN OVER!” THE FIRST MATE BELLOWED, RUSHING TO
the side of the ship and peering over. Sister Mary Carmen and I followed him but spied no sign of Father Bernard.

The captain assigned crew members to check for structural damage to the ship and told the passengers not to worry. My eyes were riveted on Bronwyn the entire time and I was sure I saw her lips twist into the slightest smirk as the captain spoke. I had never before seen her wear such a contemptuous expression.

The father and daughter who had boarded in Charleston were also staring at Bronwyn. When Bronwyn sensed their gaze, she snapped around in their direction. The father wrapped a protective arm around his daughter's shoulder and hurried away with her.

Without a word to us, Bronwyn headed belowdecks.

As everyone slowly dispersed, Sister Mary Carmen and I stayed at the side of the ship, watching vigilantly for any sight of Father Bernard. “What have we done? What's happened?” I asked.

“Maybe the weather caused the spin,” Sister Mary Carmen suggested hopefully.

“You know that's not so. You saw what happened. She is completely changed. She raised me since I was born and — you saw — she didn't even recognize me.”

Sister Mary Carmen sighed in distress. “Well, she has been asleep for a very long time. It could be that her mind is not right.”

“But her eyes! And what was that screaming?”

“Perhaps she has a medical condition due to her long sleep.”

“And the screaming?”

Crossing herself, Sister Mary Carmen said a prayer for Father Bernard's soul as tears came to her eyes.

Putting my arms around her, I murmured my condolences. “I am going to check on Bronwyn,” I said, thinking Sister Mary Carmen might want a moment alone with her grief.

As I headed belowdecks, I fought down an inexplicable sensation of growing dread. It was silly, I told myself. This was Bronwyn, after all, dear Bronwyn who was like a mother to me. She was simply changed — as Sister Mary Carmen had suggested — by spending such a long time in an unconscious state. The separation of her body from her soul for so long a period had altered her in strange ways, perhaps, but still, she had just now awakened. By morning she might be recovered.

I found Sister Costancia once more asleep against the wall. Bronwyn lay in Sister Costancia's narrow cot with her back to me. The slow rise and fall of her back made me sure she was sleeping.

The ship rocked and I held onto the doorjamb to steady myself. Sister Costancia listed to her right and then fell out of her chair. Hurrying to help her, I recoiled in surprised horror.

Two streams of blood ran from Sister Costancia's nose. Her eyes snapped open and there was a milky glaze over them. Kneeling to feel her pulse, I quickly knew she was dead.

 

We docked at the Port of Salem on a gray, rainy day in mid-November. Nearly everyone on board was ill with dysentery. It had killed a number of passengers and crew members. The cause of Sister Costancia's death was never determined.

Bronwyn had stayed on her cot for the remainder of the voyage. I watched her with increasing dismay as her altered personality did not show signs of fading away. She awoke at noon each day and ate the bowl of broth I brought her without saying anything to me and then resumed her endless sleep. It was as though she was in a waking but still comatose state. All her former emotion and warmth had deserted her. In its place was an iciness that frightened and pained me to my very depths.

If not for the companionship of Sister Mary Carmen, I don't know that I could have survived the journey. I had lost everyone I loved: Father, Kate, Aakif, and now Bronwyn. My former governess was so transformed that she was as good as gone, but having the image of her there in the flesh on a daily basis made it twice as hard. Each day I awoke hoping to see her smile and hear her lilting voice, only to be met with the same stone visage and fierce eyes.

Just before we were about to disembark, Sister Mary Carmen took hold of my elbow. “I've made a decision,” she said seriously. She pulled her veil off, revealing curly black hair cut to her chin. “I am not going forward with this idea of becoming a nun. My calling is not authentic, and to proceed just so I can use my healing powers is not right.”

“Are you certain?” I asked her.

“Very certain. From now on don't call me Sister, only Mary Carmen.”

“All right,” I agreed, “if you're sure.”

Mary Carmen left to gather her belongings, preparing to disembark, and I did the same. I didn't have much, so I planned to be done quickly and then go to help Bronwyn. I had no idea where she would go, since she had no money. My only idea was to ask Reverend Parris to help me in that regard. He was a man of God, after all, and hopefully charitable.

Mary Carmen returned before I'd even begun to pack, alarm written across her face. “She's gone! I've looked all over. She's disappeared.”

Instantly, I bolted past her in search of Bronwyn, racing to the galley, the captain's quarters, and then above deck. The gangplank was out and so I looked down at the busy streets of Salem Town.

“There she is!” I cried to Mary Carmen, pointing at the figure of Bronwyn moving serenely through the bustling crowd below, wearing the white nightgown she'd worn through the entire voyage.

Without a second thought, I bounded down the gangplank and darted through the crowd, running to catch up with her, shouting her name.

At a corner nearly two blocks from the dock, I caught sight of her and ran as fast as I was able, maneuvering around a man pushing a wheelbarrow, a woman selling bread, and a dog. “Bronwyn, stop!” I shouted.

Bronwyn ceased her progress and turned back toward me. I slowed, panting, about three yards away from her. But then I froze altogether. The look on her face was so filled with cruelty and hatred that I was afraid to go any nearer.

We faced each other for a long minute, our eyes locked. I couldn't move.

Once more, her eyes rotated, and when they settled, they were flooded with blackness.

The screaming began in my head, the same as before.

I crashed to my knees and closed my eyes.

It was only when the noise was finally over and my head rang with pain that I opened my eyes again. Mary Carmen's face hovered above me. “What happened, Betty-Fatu?”

Pulling myself up, I rubbed my head. “She stopped me with her eyes.” It was the only way I could describe it.

“What? How? That's impossible!”

Mary Carmen was right, of course. And yet it had happened. It had been so powerful, enough to drop me to the ground.

The memory of Bronwyn's face swam in front of me. In that moment I knew something so dreadful it caused cold gooseflesh to crawl up my arms.

“Mary Carmen,” I said slowly. “That is not Bronwyn.”

“What?” Mary Carmen gasped. “Surely it is!”

“No. It's not,” I insisted. “We have called down something evil and set it loose here in Salem.”