Faces of the Wind

Chapter 38

Irene stood in a field of long grass, staring at him. Adrian slowly walked towards her. In his ears was the sound of dry grass crackling beneath his boots. The wind whistled and the standing grass rustled, but otherwise, everything was silent and still. The sky was a gradient mist of mauve and grey. Once he was close enough to Irene, a fire erupted between them, burning his face and body.

In an instant, Adrian's eyes were wide open, his breathing fast and his neck and forehead soaked in a cold sweat. Surrounding him was a white curtain and covering his body was a thin grey blanket. He heard some coughing behind the curtain and human voices. The curtain opened to his right.

"Thank goodness, Adrian!" Lydia's face beamed and she hurried to touch the side of his neck with the back of her hand, "Have you been long awake?"

He wasn't sure how lucid he was, but seeing his favorite cousin's face was a consolation. His heart rapped and his breathing has not yet eased. He shook his head faintly, his eyes still wild.

"You're in the hospital," she smiled brilliantly and held his hand, "and, lucky you, I am your nurse."

He swallowed. "Water," his voice was a choking whisper. She turned and asked someone to bring some water then turned back to him and sat at the bedside. "You have been ill for almost two weeks," she said, "Arden sent for me and I had you transferred here."

Adrian lifted his head a little and frowned. "Does Aunt Catherine know?" The first thought on his mind. His breathing finally began to ease and his heart gradually lost its agitation.

Lydia shook her head. "It would've been more convenient to take you to her house, but I assumed you would not want her knowing of your... current condition."

"You've always been the smartest of us all... us Blackfords," he smiled and rested his head back on the pillow.

A young nurse arrived with a glass of water. Lydia accepted it and thanked her. She helped her cousin sit up and take a few sips. "You gave me such a fright," she said, her tone soft, "I'm so sorry I had to write to my father about this, but I did swear him to secrecy. I needed to tell someone... just in case—"

"In case I die," he interjected, and she nodded. "I wish you didn't have to see me like this."

Her smile faltered and she placed the glass on the small nightstand beside the bed. "Adrian, dear," she said, carefully choosing her words, "you do know you have a family, so if you're going through—"

"I'm fine," he interjected sharply, "I can manage."

"Well," she hesitated, "it's not what I heard."

"Please... just drop it."

"Alright," she raised her brows and pressed her lips, "but always remember it is fine to ask for help, especially from an older member of the family. We are young and inexperienced;" she narrowed her eyes, "wicked people can sometimes take advantage of this."

He nodded and lay back. "And please don't tell anyone I was calling on Arden alone or that she is in London," he said.

"Now you're offending me!"

"I assumed a reminder would not hurt."

***

As much as she once enjoyed living alone and being her own mistress, Arden was now beginning to resent it. Walking into the empty, quiet house made her throat swell. The moment she shut the door, she felt detached from the whole universe... as if she never existed - invisible and forgotten, living on the margins of life. There wasn't a place for her in this world. She weighed nothing in society. She was rejected as a writer, as a daughter, as a friend and as a lover. She was no one. Well, her disappearance must have brought a considerable amount of satisfaction to the many in Steventon who despised her young rashness and rebellious spirit.