Waiting For The Moon Part 9

"Quiet!" Johann hissed. "What is it, Ian?"

He lifted his head slowly, stared at the faces around him. Surprisingly, it was Johann alone who looked as if he understood.

"When I got into the room," Ian said in a tired voice, "she was playing with a dead mouse."

Maeve looked up. "Really?" She reached for the doork.n.o.b.

Ian started to grab her wrist, then realized what he'd been about to do and yanked his hand back. "You can't have the mouse, Mother." He looked at Edith. "Take care of it, will you?"

The older woman bobbed her head. "Certainly, Doctor. And I'll feed the poor girl in there."

Ian sagged back against the door. He'd never felt so old and beaten and alone. "Yes, please do."

"What are you going to do, Dr. Carrick?" Andrew asked timidly.

"I'm in over my head, Andrew," Ian admitted, his voice trailing off. It humiliated him to even say the next words. "Maybe an alienist could help. . . ."

"You'll have to speak to one, then," Maeve said. "One with orange hair."

"There's Dr. Wellsby at the asylum in Pollusk," Johann said in a quiet voice.

Ian flinched. Yes, he knew there was Dr. Wellsby.

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"Wellsby." Maeve said the name in a quiet, shaking voice, her eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g suddenly with tears. "He doesn't have orange hair."

Ian sighed and closed his eyes. He didn't want to go see Wellsby-the thought of going back to that h.e.l.lhole scared Ian to death. But he couldn't just forget about Selena, just pretend she'd never existed.

Maybe there was something he'd overlooked, some radical treatment to the brain Ian didn't know about.

Wellsby would have the answers Ian needed.

If only he had a friend or family member to accompany him, but of course, his years of isolation had robbed him of any support he'd once had.

Johann stepped forward. "I could go with you."

Ian swallowed hard, his eyes opened slowly. He wanted to make some smart, cryptic comeback that would put Johann back in his place, but he couldn't.

He didn't have to go to that h.e.l.lish place alone. He could at least sit in the darkened carriage with another human being. . . .

He nodded curtly and looked away, hoping Johann hadn't seen the naked grat.i.tude in his eyes. "We'll leave in the morning."

Chapter Seven.

Selena couldn't seem to stop crying.

She'd done something horribly wrong, and she had no idea what it was. She wiped the moisture from her slick, swollen face and flopped back on the bed. At the contact, pain exploded in her head.

She stared up at the cracked white ceiling, feeling the tears slide down her cheeks.

Ian had given up on her. She had seen the disappointment in his eyes when he looked at her, the burgeoning disgust when she touched him. She saw it, understood it, but there was nothing she could do about it, no way for her to tell him how sorry she was ... how much she missed his smile and his voice in the darkness.

He wanted her to care who she was, but she didn't. Those feelings just weren't inside her. Everything before waking up in this bed was gone, like that candle flame when she touched it. Gone.

She'd tried. For Ian, she'd tried to find some answers in the garbled mush that was her mind. But there was nothing inside her except for a great gaping hole where the memories should be.

She was bad. Stupid.

And she wanted another chance. "Please ..." Please what? She didn't even know what to pray for, what to hope for.

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She rolled onto her stomach, burying her ugly face in the soft quilting.

A quiet rat-ta-ta-tat roused her.

Blinking, bleary-eyed, she crawled to a sit and looked around, trying to find the source of the noise.

"Ian?" She said his name and felt a surge of hope.

The doork.n.o.b turned, the door opened.

The fat woman-Edith-stood in the doorway, holding a silver tray filled with steaming bowls. There were a few of the strangers behind her. The fragile-looking woman with rust-colored hair and the thin girl who sucked her finger. Thumb. The girl who sucked her thumb.

Edith made a quiet tsking sound. "Poor thing. 'Tisn't your fault you're feebleminded."

Selena sniffed and wiped her runny nose on her sleeve. She got to her feet and moved toward Edith.

Words floated through her dazed mind, formed themselves into blurry sentences, questions. "Why?" was the only word that made it past her lips.

The rosy color seeped out of Edith's fleshy cheeks. She paused, her kind eyes fixed on Selena. "I can't answer that for ye, la.s.sie. 'Tis G.o.d's way to make some people sick."

The red-haired woman walked toward her. "Selena?" Her voice was lovely and lyrical, more song than spoken.

Selena tried to ask the woman's name. "Bottle .. . answer." She groaned in frustration. She couldn't do it, couldn't find the right words to express her thoughts.

"Maeve." The woman answered the question Selena had meant to ask. When Maeve reached Selena, she slipped her small, cold hand into hers and gave a rea.s.suring squeeze. The touch was soothing. "I understand."

Selena looked down into Maeve's sad hazel eyes and believed her. Somehow, this woman did understand Selena's pain and fear. The realization was so powerful that Selena's knees buckled. For the first time since Ian left, she felt less alone. Thank you. The words blossomed in her mind, full-blown and understood. "Sea ..." She squeezed her eyes shut, ashamed that she couldn't even express the simple acknowledgment.

"Don't worry, child. You'll get better. And if you don't-" Maeve shrugged her slim shoulders. "You don't. Believe me, you can get used to anything."

"Come on now, Maeve," Edith scolded. "Don't depress the la.s.sie. She might not know she's ... you know ..." Her voice fell to a stage whisper. "Braindamaged."

Maeve gave the housekeeper an arch look. "She does now."

Edith blanched, then bustled forward and set the tray down on the bedside table. A foreign aroma wafted to Selena's nostrils, and she had a vague recollection.

"Food," she said suddenly, remembering what it was, but not what to do with it.

"Aye, la.s.sie. Food. We have a lovely fish stew for you."

Selena didn't understand the words, but the scent brought back a deep-seated instinctual need. A strange rumbling moved through her stomach. She moved toward the tray, dragging Maeve along behind her.

Selena hiked up her nightdress and sat down on the straw-seated chair, scooting in close to the table.

Maeve sat down beside her, and the thumb-sucking child stood behind Selena, hovering and silent.

Edith dished a bowl full of the steaming red and white stew and set it down in front of Selena. "There ye go, la.s.sie. Dig in."

Selena frowned. Dig? She pictured a shovel and mound of dirt, a headstone.

"Eat," Maeve whispered.

Selena wasn't sure what eat meant, but her stomach rumbled again and she reached for a floating chunk of whitefish. The broth scalded her fingertips. With a yelp of pain, she drew back and plunged her burnt fingers

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into her gla.s.s. Milk sloshed over the sides and spilled across the table. The relief was instantaneous and she was proud of herself for remembering the remedy. She smiled.

Maeve gently eased Selena's hand from the gla.s.s and gave her a flat metal strip with a round end. A spoon, Selena remembered suddenly.

Maeve kept her fingers coiled around Selena's and showed her how to dip the spoon into the soup, pick out a chunk of fish, and bring it to her lips.

Selena recalled what "eat" was. She breathed in the thyme-sweet scent of the stew and smiled. She opened her mouth, then recalled the burn on her fingers. "Hot," she said, pulling back.

"Good," Maeve said. Then she blew on the broth in the spoon.

Selena watched in fascination as the clear, reddish liquid swirled and rippled in the silver hollow.

"Not hot," Maeve said. "Eat."

Selena could barely contain her excitement. This felt so normal, so right, as if she'd done it a million times in her life. She could almost bring those pictures to mind, almost remember eating before.

She leaned forward and tasted the soup.

Nothing. There was no taste at all. She frowned. Something was wrong. She turned to Maeve, trying to find the words to ask the question and failing. 'Taste," was the only word she could manage.

Maeve smiled brightly. "I know. It's good. Now, eat up, child; you need some strength."

Selena shook her head. "No ..."

Maeve looked her directly in the eyes. Her smile faded slowly. "Eat."

Selena felt a sharp stab of fear. She didn't want this beautiful lady to turn away from her, too. Then she'd be utterly alone. What difference did it make if the food had no taste, if something about that seemed wrong? She gazed into Maeve's hazel eyes and nodded slowly.

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