“You may yet,” Easter said. “I’ve got to get back to the tavern.” She would have a lot of explaining to do if she was going to save anything of her friend’s reputation. “I’ll be back quick as I can. Tomorrow morning at the latest.”
Judy placed a cool cloth on Cornelius’s brow, which was nearly as hot as the kettle. The stubble on his chin was white.
He had grown so old, and yet she thought she’d never seen a more noble face.
Oliver brought back a piece of ham wrapped in paper, and he stood over the sleeping man.
“He looks better,” Judy said.
Oliver had been thinking how much worse he
appeared. “I’ll stop back later. I may even have a chicken by then.”
That evening, Easter sent over a boy carrying a pail of beer, a slice of pie, and a scrawled slip of paper that read,
“Keep up yr own strenth. ”
Judy was grateful for her friends’ attentions, but the truth was that she wished only to be left alone with Cornelius so that she could care for him without having to feign distance or disinterest. She wondered how she could feel so much happiness at such a terrible time. Cornelius had not opened his eyes all day. Her good name was lost,
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and with it her sinecure from Judge Cook. She would be destitute. And yet, as she climbed into the bed beside him and inhaled his still-familiar musk, she felt like singing.
He woke up near midnight, still feverish but
clearheaded, and returned the pressure of her fingers. They stared at each other by the candle’s light. The whites of his eyes were a frightening shade of orange, but Judy smiled into them with such tenderness, the stabbing pains in Cornelius’s back eased a little. Perhaps there was a God, he thought, returning Judy’s steady gaze. How else could he explain the miracle of her presence beside him?
“I must tell you,” he began, but a coughing fit seized him, wreaking new agonies.
“Hush, dear,” Judy urged him. “Don’t tire yourself.
There is no need to say anything now.”
“I have something I have to say to you before I can die. . . .”
She shuddered, but met his eyes and nodded.
Cornelius took a shallow sip of air and began.
“Abraham Wharf was mostly dead when I first saw him.
But the old man still had some life in him. I came upon him in the evening, and he was still warm. When I tapped him on the back, he didn’t wake up. And I left him there.”
“I don’t care,” she said. “Save your strength.”
“I could have shaken him,” Cornelius continued, taking breaths between every few words. “I could have carried him inside somewhere. I could have saved him. But I walked away, and I let him lie there, under those stones. Next morning, he was stiff.”
“Oh, Cornelius,” Judy said, stroking his cheek. “It was so long ago.”
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