He lifted his head and saw Ravenhill standing in the doorway. The earl looked pale and grim, almost unnaturally self-controlled. “I don't know if she'll die,” Ravenhill said curtly. “She doesn't look nearly as sunken and emaciated as George did at this point. But I do know she's heading into the crisis, and you'd do well to send for the doctor.”
Zachary was on his feet before he had finished the last sentence.
Holly seemed to awaken in some blessedly cool dream, the pain and heat lifting, leaving her relaxed and more alert than she had felt in weeks. I am better now, she thought in surprise, and looked about eagerly, wanting to share the wonderful news with Zachary. She wanted to see him, and Rose, and to make them understand that the torment of the past days was finally over. But she was perplexed to find herself alone, standing in a cool, faintly salty fog that reminded her of the seaside. She hesitated, not certain of where to go or why she was here, but she was lured by faint sweet sounds ahead…it almost sounded like water splashing, birds chirping, trees rustling. She wandered forward, her limbs invigorated, her senses refreshed by the soft atmosphere. Gradually the veil of mist faded, and she found herself in a place of sparkling blue water and gentle green hills, with lush exotic flowers everywhere. Curiously she bent to touch one of the velvety peach-colored blossoms, and its fragrance seemed to surround and intoxicate her. Despite her puzzlement, she wanted to laugh in pleasure. Oh, she had forgotten how it had felt to be so purely happy, in the way that innocent children were. “What a beautiful dream,” she said.
A smiling voice answered her. “Well, it's not precisely a dream.”
She turned with a bewildered frown, hunting for the source of the tantalizingly familiar voice, and saw a man walking toward her. He stopped and stared at her with the blue eyes she had never forgotten.
“George,” she said.
Holly's fair, fresh skin had a plum-colored cast, and her breathing was alarmingly fast and shallow. The fever burned unbelievably hot, and her eyes were half-open in a strange, fixed stare. Dressed in her white gown, with only a light sheet to cover her legs, she looked as small as a child as she lay alone in her bed. She was dying, Zachary thought numbly, and he could not seem to think of what would happen afterward. For him there would be no hopes, no expectations, no future pleasure or happiness, as if his own life would end when hers did. He waited in the corner of the room silently while Dr. Linley examined Holly. Paula and Maude had also entered the bedroom, both of them obviously struggling to mask their grief.
The doctor came to Zachary and spoke very softly. “Mr. Bronson, there are several techniques I've been trained in, most of which I believe would finish your wife off quickly rather than save her. The only thing I can do is give her something that will make her passing easier.”
Zachary did not require an explanation. He knew exactly what Linley was offering: to drug Holly so that she would sleep peacefully during the last painful stage of the typhoid. He heard himself breathing in a too-rapid, too-light fashion that was not unlike Holly's. Then he heard the sound change, and he glanced toward the bed as Holly's breaths came in difficult, fitful sighs.
“The death rattle,” he heard Maude say fearfully.
Zachary felt his sanity snap, and he flinched under Linley's steady regard. “Get out,” he said hoarsely, almost giving in to the temptation to bare his teeth at them all and grow like an enraged animal. “Leave me alone with her. Leave, now!”
It almost surprised Zachary that they complied without argument, his mother weeping into a handkerchief as she closed the door. He locked the door behind them, secluding himself in the room with his wife, and went to the bed. Without hesitation he sat on the mattress and gathered Holly in his arms, disregarding her weak, protesting moan. “I'll follow you to the next life if I have to,” he whispered harshly in her ear. “You'll never be free of me. I'll chase you through heaven and hell and beyond.” He continued to whisper without stopping—threatening, coaxing, cursing—while his hands gripped her body close to his as if he could physically prevent the life from flowing out of her. “You stay with me, Holly,” he muttered savagely, his mouth sliding over her hot, wet face and neck. “Don't do this to me. You stay, damn you.” And finally when no more words would come from his aching throat, he sank down to the mattress with her, burying his face against her still breasts.
It was indeed George, but his appearance was altered in some way from how it had been in life. He looked so very young, his skin and eyes and hair radiant, every aspect of him glowing with strength and health. “Holly, darling,” he said with a quiet laugh, seeming to enjoy her surprise. “You didn't realize I would come to meet you?”
In spite of her pleasure at seeing him, Holly held back, staring, fearing for some reason to touch him. “George, how can it be that we're together? I…” She considered the situation, her happiness ebbing as she realized that she might have lost the life she had always known until now. “Oh,” she said, her eyes stinging and aching suddenly. No tears came, but she was filled with desolation.
George tilted his head and regarded her with loving sympathy. “You're not ready for this, are you?”
“No,” she said in growing desperation. “George, have I no choice? I want
to return at once.”
“To that prison of a body, and all the pain and struggle? Why not come with me instead? There are places even more beautiful than this.” He extended his hand invitingly. “Let me show them to you.”
She shook her head violently. “Oh, George, you could offer me a thousand paradises, but I could never…There is someone, a man, who needs me, and I need him—”
“Yes, I know about that.”
“You do?” She was amazed by the lack of accusation or recrimination in his face. “George, I must go back to him and Rose! Please don't blame me, you must understand that I didn't forget you, or stop caring for you, but, oh…how I've come to love him!”
“Yes, I understand.” He smiled, and to her relief, his hand fell back to his side. “I would never blame you for that, Holly.”
Although she had made no effort to step backward, it seemed that her anxiety had pulled her several yards away from him.
“You've found your soul mate,” he commented.
“Yes, I…” A wash of clear, bright knowledge swept over her, and she was relieved that he seemed to understand. “Yes, I have.”
“That's good,” he murmured. “It's good that you realize how fortunate you are. I had only one regret when I came here. I had done so little in life for other people. So much of what we concerned ourselves with was immaterial. There's only love, Holly…fill your life with it while you can.”
Her emotions tumbled over and over as she watched him walk away. “George,” she cried unsteadily, longing to ask him so many things.
He paused and looked back with a loving smile. “Tell Rose I'm watching over her.”
And then he was gone.
She closed her eyes and felt herself sinking, falling much too fast, back into the heat and darkness, where the air reverberated with savage, snarling words that caught around her like chains. The vehemence frightened her at first, until she understood its cause. She moved, her arms feeling wretchedly heavy, as if they had been encased in iron. After the wonderful floating lightness of her heavenly vision, it was difficult to accustom herself to this pain and illness once more. But she accepted it gladly, knowing that she had gained more time with the one she loved most, in this world or the next. She reached out and stilled the words on her husband's lips, and felt his mouth tremble against her fingers. “Hush,” she whispered, glad that his violent litany had quieted. It was so difficult to speak, but she concentrated fiercely on making herself understood. “Hush…'s all right now.”