Creators(22)

I’d knelt down beside my sister, hoping the action would quiet her unnerving, unceasing cries for me. Her bright, feverish eyes bore into mine. “Did she live?”

“She?” I asked skeptically.

Emma repeated her question. Her longing for an answer was evident in her voice.

“No,” I’d said. “It didn’t live.”

Now, I swallowed, forcing down the shame that washed over me every time I thought about how I’d acted during Emma’s final moments. That was the reason I couldn’t be any comfort to Louisa. That was why I had to wait. Let whatever ending fate had decided for her play itself out.

I wasn’t strong enough to be there for her. I could stand up to a room full of people I barely knew and threaten to sacrifice myself for the boy I loved. I could learn to shoot guns, willing and able to fight if the need arrived.

But I couldn’t be a good sister.

I cleared my throat. “I…I just can’t.”

Lockwood clenched his jaw and looked away from me. For the first time in our friendship, I felt his disappointment in me. He threw his hands in the air and walked away without saying another word.

As I watched him disappear back toward the infirmary where they had permanently placed Louisa, I felt my chest tighten. It heaved up and down, vainly trying to gather air. But I couldn’t breathe. I clutched at the collar of my shirt and pulled it from my neck, but still I couldn’t manage to force air into my lungs. I stumbled back. My eyes went wide, searching for someone, anyone to help me.

It had been so long since I’d had a panic attack.

I couldn’t watch her die. I couldn’t do that again.

Not again.

Not ever. Not ever again.

A gentle hand landed on my shoulder, and I spun around to find Robert. As soon as I saw him, I fell apart, crumpling into his arms.

“Let it out, Tess. Just let it out,” he urged.

And so I did. I sobbed and sobbed into the chest of my brother-in-law. The more I cried, let go, the better I felt, until my wild, incessant sobs turned into a quiet whimper. “I’m so sorry,” I managed, pulling back so I could look up at him.

Robert’s brow furrowed. “Sorry for what?”

“How I treated Emma during that last day. I should have been there for her. I was so selfish and scared. She took care of me my whole life, and I abandoned her when she needed me the most,” I admitted, my voice hitching as the tears started to fall once more.

“Abandoned her? What are you talking about? You think she didn’t know you were frightened out of your mind? The most important thing was that you were there. That’s always the most important thing,” he assured me.

As I stared up at the man who traveled with me into the unknown because he had once loved my sister, I knew he believed it with all of his heart.

He had always been there.

“I’m scared,” I whispered.

“So is she,” he answered back.

Later that afternoon, when I was sure any trace of my breakdown had left my face, I went to my sister’s room. As I moved to open the door, I heard Lockwood’s voice coming from inside.

“I brought a new book today. I think it’s right up your alley. It’s by a woman named Jane Austen. Quite a witty one, that Ms. Austen. The book is called Pride and Prejudice.”

I smiled to myself, remembering how a boy once tried to help me with books. Happy to know that even in the wilds of the community, people believed in the power of the stories of our past, the stories the council wanted to silence.

I knocked gently on the door before pushing it open. “Mind if I sit and listen? I’ve never read this one,” I said quietly, bracing myself for whatever Lockwood, or Louisa for that matter, had in store for me.

Instead of accusations or judgment, Lockwood smiled. “Not at all.”

I smiled back. It was shaky, but a smile all the same.

My sister lay on her cot, curled, like Lockwood had told me, in on herself. Her eyes stared vacantly into the distance. I took a seat on the edge of her cot.

Lockwood gave me a small nod and began to read the witty Ms. Austen’s work.

And somewhere between the arrival of Mr. Bingley and the Netherfield ball, Louisa took my hand in hers and squeezed it.





Chapter 9


The door to the infirmary flew open, banging loudly against the wall. I bolted up from the chair where I had fallen asleep watching over Louisa when Lockwood left to take a break, instinctively grabbing for the rifle I always kept at my side since Eric told me I was ready to carry one.

“Sharon needs you,” Lockwood panted, his face red from exertion. He had clearly run from wherever he was—and fast.

“What is it?” I asked, putting the rifle down and grabbing for my jacket, pulling it on quickly. Despite the nearness of summer, the air remained cool and crisp.