Page 52 of So Close To Heaven
“Don’t force it,” Ivy said gently, reaching to smooth the blanket at the woman’s side. “Memories will come back when you’re stronger. Right now, all that matters is you’re safe.” But curiosity edged through her restraint. “Do you remember where you were last? What you were doing before you were separated from your husband?”
“I can’t,” said the woman, noticeably frustrated by this.
“Maybe you were hiking near the mountain?” Ivy suggested. “Where you were found?”
She shook her head, having no answer, it seemed.
“Did you notice anything...odd before you were separated?” Ivy persisted. “Like, something felt off, or odd?”
The woman’s gray eyes cut to hers, sharp despite their weariness, the question appearing to have unnerved her.
Ivy smiled and waved a dismissive hand. “Sorry, I don’t mean to sound like I’m interrogating you. I just... thought it might help you, to talk it through.” She reached for the cup again and offered it with both hands, softening her voice. “Here. Another sip. You can rest, and when you feel stronger, we’ll talk more.”
The suspicion in the woman’s gaze lingered, but after a moment she drank, then let her head sink back into the pillow. Her eyes closed, lashes trembling with exhaustion.
Ivy settled quietly in the chair again, chiding herself. Too much, too soon.
When next the woman woke, the room was subtly changed. A fresh rush of cool air drifted in from the open shutters, the sky outside painted with the colors of dusk. A faint fire burned in the hearth, not for warmth so much as to keep the damp at bay. The woman was no longer lying in a fever-sweat but propped carefully against pillows, a long linen chemise softening the starkness of her thin frame.
Ivy had been in and out all day, and returned to find her thus, upright, looking almost expectant. She was relieved now to see a bit of color in her cheeks. She carried with her a tray containing a round of bread, a few slivers of soft and hard cheeses, and a cup of watered ale, having entered the kitchens for the first time to request just this, something gentle for a stomach so long empty.
She smiled at the woman and approached the bed, saying, “Sorry, there’s no legs on these trays,” as she set the light supper down on the woman’s lap.
One of the younger maids popped inside, nodding politely toward the bed though her eyes didn’t stray there. She stooped at the hearth, laying in more peat and a few sticks of kindling until the fire caught, then smoothed her apron and slipped out again. Ivy studied the woman in the bed, gauging her reaction. To her mind, Claire seemed... unaffected. Her gaze had followed the maid, but without surprise, no widening eyes or startled flinchat the sight of a girl dressed straight out of a tapestry. Maybe her brain was still sluggish from fever, or maybe she hadn’t yet had the strength to grasp what she was seeing.
No sooner had the door closed behind the maid than the healer entered. Her brows rose when she saw Claire upright, but she said nothing, moving instead with purpose across the chamber. She laid the back of her hand against Claire’s brow, then gave a satisfied little click of her tongue.
“Aye, the fire’s gone from her.” A curt nod, then a glance at Ivy. “Keep her drinking, even if she grumbles. She’ll be weak as a newborn lamb for a time yet. Nae meat, nae heavy stew. Just this, bread and soft cheese,”
she lectured, pointing to the tray of food. “'Twill serve her better till her strength returns.” She paused, glancing between Ivy and Claire for a moment, her sharp gaze seeming to assess them. Finally, she said to Ivy, “Ye’ve done well, mistress. Few watch as constant as ye have.”
Ivy blinked.Mistress?
When the healer left, Claire’s eyes darted toward Ivy. “Why—who was that?”
“The healer,” Ivy said, before adding vaguely, “Kind of the local doctor since we’re...pretty far out in the middle or nowhere.”
Ivy believed it was helpful for Claire to have seen them, the maid and the healer. Nothing dreamlike about either one of them—the woman would need those little pieces to hold on to later, when Ivy had to explain more.
“Are you a nurse?” the woman asked once the healer had gone.
“Me?” Ivy gave a short laugh and thumped her chest. “Oh, God, no. I’m just a—” The words faltered. What am I? A farm girl from Indiana. A failed vet student. A pregnant woman strandedin the wrong century. Nothing she could say would make sense. Finally she managed a wry smile. “I’m just me. Ivy Mitchell.”
“I’m Claire, by the way.”
Ivy was thrilled with the introduction, and then sorry she’d not thought to even ask the woman’s name yet. “Hi, Claire. Nice to meet you.”Sorry for the earthshattering news I’ll have to eventually deliver to you.
The woman studied her, gray eyes curious even in fatigue. “How far along are you?” She asked, gesturing toward Ivy’s belly, with half a chunk of bread in her hand.
“Oh, um, almost eight months now,” she answered, smiling.
“Your first?”
Ivy nodded and then her heart leapt with alarm. “Do you have children?”Please say no. Please say no. She couldn’t stomach the idea of the woman being separated by more than seven hundred years from her children.
“No. Not...yet.”
“I’m so glad to see you sitting up and eating,” Ivy remarked, simply making conversation.
