She lay back and realized her breathing was ragged. Each breath was a battle for air. Each intake of the precious oxygen was accompanied by a whistle and a wheeze, and yet each mouthful brought with it pain.
“Mama?” Her voice was so small, and she then realized she was not at Goldclaw Manor at all. She was not Ruth as she was now. This, she realized with horror, was a dream. A memory within a dream. One she could not wake herself from.
What is this? Why can I not wake?
She knew this memory well, it haunted her all of her life. It was the memory of her first conscious night after the fire, when she’d woken in her sick room, not knowing what was going to happen to her, what had happened to her, and why her mother was not there.
She wanted to rise, to rouse herself from the terrible memory but could do nothing but lay there and wait. The crackle of the fire in the distance horrified her, the wind howling around her family home gave it an even more eerie sense of doom.
At last, a person stepped to her bed.
“Sophia?” She whispered, remembering how much she’d wanted to see her sister that day. But no. It was not Sophia at all. It was a physician. A man who’d reached for the bandage that kept her burnt face covered and set out to remove it.
Ruth’s stomach clenched as he removed it, her skin burnt as if it was being ripped right off her face along with the bandage. And then, the worst part of the night caught up to Ruth. The smell. That horrible smell made it impossible for her even now to be anywhere near a kitchen. The smell of burnt flesh. The smell of her own devastated skin.
“No, no. Please, no…” she whimpered, tears spilling down her face.
“Ruth!” A voice soared through her dream, two strong hands grabbed a hold of either side of her shoulders and shook her gently.
“Ruth. Wake up. Wake up now.” The voice was smooth and soft, like honey the bees from a much more pleasant earlier dream might one day produce.
Another shake and at last, the terrible nightmare was over. Her eyes opened once more and this time, she was in her bed at Goldclaw Manor. Before her was the owner of the soft voice, a pale-faced, wide-eyed Kenneth, the terror of the past day written all across his face. It was illuminated by candlelight, casting a shadow over it.
“Kenneth?” She whispered his name but that simple act of calling for him was enough to smooth out the wrinkle on his forehead and replace it with a slight smile of relief on his lips.
“Ruth, at last. I worried you would never wake.”
“I had a dream, a terrible… I was in a garden and then I was back at my childhood home…” Her head ached as she spoke, and her hand went to the spot on her head she’d injured. She detected wetness with the tips of her fingers and frowned.
“We have been placing ice on the bump on your head to reduce it. Charlotte just took it away and went to the ice-house to fetch more.” His face grew serious once more. “Do you know what happened?”
She frowned at the question, not having considered the circumstance that led to her present situation.
The stairs. The memory hovered into her mind, but it was unclear, hazy.
“No. I fell. I…I do not remember.”
He sighed and placed his hand on hers, gently squeezing it. “Do not strain yourself too much. It might be the laudanum the physician gave you that is causing you confusion. And the bad dreams.”
Her eyes widened. “No more, then. I do not want to dream anymore.”
He nodded and glanced out of the window. She followed his gaze. The stars were sprinkled across the sky and the moon hung low. It was nighttime. A familiar sound startled her, and she turned her head as far back as she could without the pain being too punishing.
A fire was going in the fireplace. She shuddered, not liking the idea, especially not after her dream.
“It is fine.” His tone in itself was soothing and even more so was his gentle presence. He ran the back of one finger down her cheek, a smile on his face and his eyes full of affection.
“I know you fear the fire. I will not sleep until it is out. And if I feel like I am drifting, I will wake your father.” He nodded with his head toward the armchair behind him. It was drawn from the fireplace to the back of the room, hidden from view almost entirely by the sideboard under the window.
Her father sat in it, covered with a blanket, his eyes closed.
“We have been taking turns, along with your sister.” The sound of her sister’s name caused her to blink.
We fought. I know we fought before I fell down the stairs. I thought she hated me, but he says she has been here, to look after me like she did when we were children. How could this be?
“What happened?”
Kenneth shrugged. “I am not sure. Charlotte saw you tumble down the stairs, but it was mid-fall. She did not see how you came to fall. Did you lose your footing?”
