Read Online The Hawthorns Bloom in May by Anne Doughty - Free Book Online
Authors: Anne Doughty
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more silent than usual.
She put down her document case in the dining room where the big table was covered with neat piles of papers. Across the hallway, the door to the sitting room stood open, a pleasant room with its well-polished furniture and marble fireplace, now filled with sunlight, the grate laid ready with sticksand fir cones. She moved back into the hallway, and stood for a moment, looking at the spill of brightness from the fanlight and the pattern it made on the carpet, unsure of what to do.
In all these months, she could not recall being completely alone in the house before. Elizabeth had stayed with her for a few days after the funeral. She herself had honoured the entertainment of Friends from various parts of England to whom Hugh had already offered hospitality. The children had come for holidays. Mrs Beatty had remained, steady and reliable, saying little, ensuring that she ate what she put in front of her.
Sarah made up her mind and walked quickly upstairs. She crossed the landing to the bedroom she and Hugh had shared, kicked off her shoes and lay down on her own side of the large, high bed. She closed her eyes, felt tears press through the lids and trickle past her ears.
The August night had been dark and airless, the windows open wide to catch any breath of air. Hugh lay motionless, beads of moisture on his forehead, his breathing shallow.
‘Now, Mrs Sinton, you must go and get some rest. I’ll come for you immediately if there’s the slightest change.’
The night nurse Richard had found for Hugh was both efficient and kind. Neither she nor Elizabeth ever tried to send her away when she satthrough the long hours of the day with Hugh. They just encouraged her to walk in the garden when he was deeply asleep and to eat her meals downstairs while they washed his fevering body and changed the sheets.
But that warm August night, despite her weariness, she could not sleep at all. Hugh was slipping away. Even without Richard and Elizabeth’s cautious words, she could see that for herself. His body was weary, flagging, bathed in sweat. There was nothing anyone could do. Nothing. No magic potion. No miracle.
She’d got up and dressed, gone to their bedroom, pushed open the door and seen the white-clad figure sitting by the bed, reading in a tiny pool of light. To her surprise, the nurse said nothing when she appeared, merely got up from her chair, nodded to her and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
Very carefully, so as not to disturb him, Sarah had climbed on to the bed and moved herself slowly across till she was close enough to put her ice-cold hand on his hot, damp forehead.
‘Sarah, my love …’
‘Hush. I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep,’ she said softly.
‘I don’t think I was asleep. Or perhaps I was dreaming of you. I was thinking of you. I’m so glad you’ve come.’
His voice was weak but perfectly clear. She sensed that each word was an effort, but an effort he chose to make.
‘Sarah, I have been so happy since we married,’ he said, turning his head slowly to look at her, as she took his hand. ‘I can hardly believe how happy. There is only one darkness on my spirit. Were it gone, I could go in peace, though it is not my will but God’s.’
‘What’s that, Hugh? What darkness?’ she asked quietly, as she gazed at his worn and ravaged face.
‘Your grief, Sarah,’ he said steadily. ‘I cannot bear the thought of your grief, but I cannot ask you not to grieve for what we have lost.’
He paused, as if to gather the little strength he had. ‘I would be so happy if you could promise me to live in hope,’ he continued, his voice now a whisper. ‘To love again wherever love is to be found.’
He stopped, totally exhausted by this longer effort. Sarah leant across his body to the bedside table, dipped her fingers in a glass of water, moistened his lips and then wiped the sweat from his brow.
‘I can never love anyone as I have loved
She put down her document case in the dining room where the big table was covered with neat piles of papers. Across the hallway, the door to the sitting room stood open, a pleasant room with its well-polished furniture and marble fireplace, now filled with sunlight, the grate laid ready with sticksand fir cones. She moved back into the hallway, and stood for a moment, looking at the spill of brightness from the fanlight and the pattern it made on the carpet, unsure of what to do.
In all these months, she could not recall being completely alone in the house before. Elizabeth had stayed with her for a few days after the funeral. She herself had honoured the entertainment of Friends from various parts of England to whom Hugh had already offered hospitality. The children had come for holidays. Mrs Beatty had remained, steady and reliable, saying little, ensuring that she ate what she put in front of her.
Sarah made up her mind and walked quickly upstairs. She crossed the landing to the bedroom she and Hugh had shared, kicked off her shoes and lay down on her own side of the large, high bed. She closed her eyes, felt tears press through the lids and trickle past her ears.
The August night had been dark and airless, the windows open wide to catch any breath of air. Hugh lay motionless, beads of moisture on his forehead, his breathing shallow.
‘Now, Mrs Sinton, you must go and get some rest. I’ll come for you immediately if there’s the slightest change.’
The night nurse Richard had found for Hugh was both efficient and kind. Neither she nor Elizabeth ever tried to send her away when she satthrough the long hours of the day with Hugh. They just encouraged her to walk in the garden when he was deeply asleep and to eat her meals downstairs while they washed his fevering body and changed the sheets.
But that warm August night, despite her weariness, she could not sleep at all. Hugh was slipping away. Even without Richard and Elizabeth’s cautious words, she could see that for herself. His body was weary, flagging, bathed in sweat. There was nothing anyone could do. Nothing. No magic potion. No miracle.
She’d got up and dressed, gone to their bedroom, pushed open the door and seen the white-clad figure sitting by the bed, reading in a tiny pool of light. To her surprise, the nurse said nothing when she appeared, merely got up from her chair, nodded to her and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
Very carefully, so as not to disturb him, Sarah had climbed on to the bed and moved herself slowly across till she was close enough to put her ice-cold hand on his hot, damp forehead.
‘Sarah, my love …’
‘Hush. I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep,’ she said softly.
‘I don’t think I was asleep. Or perhaps I was dreaming of you. I was thinking of you. I’m so glad you’ve come.’
His voice was weak but perfectly clear. She sensed that each word was an effort, but an effort he chose to make.
‘Sarah, I have been so happy since we married,’ he said, turning his head slowly to look at her, as she took his hand. ‘I can hardly believe how happy. There is only one darkness on my spirit. Were it gone, I could go in peace, though it is not my will but God’s.’
‘What’s that, Hugh? What darkness?’ she asked quietly, as she gazed at his worn and ravaged face.
‘Your grief, Sarah,’ he said steadily. ‘I cannot bear the thought of your grief, but I cannot ask you not to grieve for what we have lost.’
He paused, as if to gather the little strength he had. ‘I would be so happy if you could promise me to live in hope,’ he continued, his voice now a whisper. ‘To love again wherever love is to be found.’
He stopped, totally exhausted by this longer effort. Sarah leant across his body to the bedside table, dipped her fingers in a glass of water, moistened his lips and then wiped the sweat from his brow.
‘I can never love anyone as I have loved
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