Influences of Stars

Chapter 22

For the next few days, Tibby knows nothing other than sleep. She cannot think because the moment she wakes up, her mind is so clogged and heavy that it evaporates into slumber once more. She could be anywhere- floating. She could be twelve years old, or forty or seventy. She could exist in nothingness or everything.

Finally being awake makes it a thousand times worse. She can feel everything now. Sweat crawls over her body and heat burns in her head, crushing it until she could scream if only her throat were not trapped in on itself. Her heart beats so slowly, rising up to her chest and floating back down again, and her breath is laboured. She imagines being filled with breath.

The first thing she sees when she wakes up is Gideon. She turns her head on the pillow so she can see him properly. Once he notices she's awake, he kneels by her bed. "How are you?" he whispers.

She knows she doesn't have many words. "Has mammy been to see me? May I..." She has to clear her throat. "May I see her?"

"I'm terribly sorry, but Yeardley's ordered the sick keep away from other households. Your family and Constance have been stopping by each day to ask after you and leave food and everyone's praying...but you can't see her I'm afraid." Gideon has a habit of speaking quietly, but his words are even softer that time.

For the first time since she's fallen ill, Tibby begins to cry. Why is it that the searing agony all over leaves her unmoved, but the thought of not seeing her mam, or anyone else, tears at her heart?

She doesn't want to go. She doesn't want to go how Theo did- alone and pale in a cold room. Must she imagine togetherness, or beg kindness from Gideon to pretend they are with one another as friends?

The salt of her tears sears the tip of her tongue and as she tries to spit it out, she realises how dry her mouth is. She has no energy to cry anymore, so the tears fall in silence. When she tries to sit up, her head spins and, once more, she sinks into the night. It lasts only for a few seconds, but when she comes to again the edges of her vision are blurry and her head pounds. Gideon places his hand on her shoulder and gently lowers her down.

She has barely drank anything at all in the past few days. The healer came round once but said that there was nothing he could do; he said that Tibby is young and healthy and he needs to delegate his time to those most at risk. However, when Gideon asked if she would live, he said nothing, instead casting him an unknowing and pitiful look before leaving.

Gideon is at a loss at what to do. Mrs Abbot speaks to him at the table and she told him to keep her warm regardless of how often she complained of the heat. She told him to hold her up and force her to drink even if she was lost in sleep and to keep the shutters closed so no bad air could leak in and worsen her state.

But what is he to do when she cries, terrified and alone? How is he to comfort her? There is such a distance between them, in words and touches. He feels strange just helping her move downwards. They are still so unknown to one another, although he can feel her pain keenly. It is the same pain that Ruth felt- searing, confused and unknown- but a natural one this time.

He doesn't want to leave her side in case something goes wrong, but he cannot bear seeing her as she is now- so depleted. How easy it is to walk by her when she lives in herself, and how hard when she is drained of life.

It becomes worse the longer she is ill. She begins to stale; her bedsheets are soaked with sweat and traces of her watery vomit. When he approaches her the following morning, he notices her nightdress has been stained with blood as well and an earthy odour oozes from her. The colour red blinds him.

He shakes her awake as gently as he can, though his fingers are quickened with urgency. "I don't know what to do. Will you tell me?" He speaks as calmly as he can. His expression is cast down and stern, fearful over embarrassing her.