Page 40 of Night Falls on Predicament Avenue
Dr. Reginald held up a hand to stop Effie’s mother from having to explain it again. He chose his words carefully, aware that Polly could hear him. “While there are similarities with tuberculosis, after my examinations, I am confident we’re dealing with encephaloid cancer of the lungs.”
Effie’s chest convulsed at the diagnosis.
The doctor continued, “Her symptoms support my research and my correspondence with other experts in the field. There are other factors at play with her symptoms that rule out tuberculosis and support my diagnosis. I did read of a case where this happened with another gentleman who had moments of increased ability. However, Polly is experiencing considerable dyspnea now. That difficulty to breathe is enhanced by pain in specific regions, which again leads me to believe the diagnosis is correct.”
“But—”
“Effie...” Polly’s voice was strained. Her fingers squeezed Effie’s weakly. “We cannot fight this.” Her eyes slipped shut as she struggled to inhale a deep enough breath to satisfy her lungs. “You need to be safe.”
Polly was concerned for Effie’s safety even as she lay there preparing to meet her death. Polly opened her eyes and peeredinto Effie’s. Effie saw concern reflected there, an understanding of what she’d witnessed and what might yet come. “Effie, don’t go back...”
“Young lady,” Dr. Reginald inserted, leaning over them, “do you remember what you saw?”
Effie looked sharply at the doctor. Now was not the time! The shock of remembering could send Polly back into a catatonic state.
Polly paled more than Effie thought was possible. She looked past the doctor, past her mother and Effie. She shook her head. “No. I don’t.” She coughed, then sucked in another breath. “I-I just know that Effie needs to be safe.”
“Youneed to be safe!” Effie pulled Polly gently into her embrace. She gave the doctor a glare over her shoulder. “No more questions.”
“Euphemia.” Her mother’s voice reminded Effie that she wasn’t in charge. And yet she had to say something to protect Polly from further trauma. Effie leveled another look on the doctor, who had probably been coached by the constable to question Polly should she regain consciousness.
“My sister need never revisit that night again.” Effie was firm, though every part of her was shaking on the inside. She felt Polly relax into her, and Effie glanced down quickly. Her sister had fallen asleep. Effie looked between Dr. Reginald and her mother. “Don’t ask her any more questions. Let my sister live her remaining days in peace.”
Effie plunged into the depths of her soul to find the courage Polly had shown, the bravado that had taken them on their midnight jaunt to 322 Predicament Avenue. She tried to summon hope, some sort of faith that all could be made right. But Effie could not find it. Any of it. All she could find was the feeling of desperation. Desperation to avoid the truth that Polly was dying from her disease, or because of whoever had decided she’d witnessed their crime and so must be silenced. Effie wanted torewrite that night at Predicament Avenue, to turn today into a dream of beauty and not a dreaded nightmare.
Yet that was what fear was after all. When a person lived afraid of death, when they could feel death’s cold breath on their neck every moment of the day, there was no courage left to be had. No anticipation. No hope. Only the force of one’s own will to try to outrun the fear before they were eaten alive by it. Before their greatest fear became their worst reality.
Effie slipped from her sister’s room, leaving the doctor and her mother behind. As she made her way to her favorite spot beneath the willow tree in the backyard—so much like the one in the front yard at Predicament Avenue—Effie prayed for a miracle. She prayed that God in His mercy would reach down and with a slight touch of His hand spread healing through Polly’s body. She wanted to believe it was possible. Didn’t the Bible say “ask and you shall receive”? She had asked, begged, pleaded, even mustered the faith that God would answer her prayers.
But He hadn’t answered her prayers, which had left her faith shaken. The unfairness of having her best friend ripped from her life was an agony Effie couldn’t bear. She was terrified of the day when Polly’s eyes would close and never open again. What hope was there when God remained still and refused healing?
“Effie?”
She issued a garbled cry as she spun. The touch to her shoulder was light but unwelcome. Her face was wet with tears, her soul tearing in two, and she didn’t desire anyone’s company or comfort. There was no comfort that could be given. None.
Anderson stood beside her. Effie wiped at her tears with the heels of her hands, ducking her face away from this stranger who had entered her life as unwelcome as Polly’s imminent death.
“Please, leave me be.” She tried to be polite despite her tears.
Anderson didn’t move, nor did he say anything.
Effie lifted her face and beseeched him more urgently. “Please, Anderson. I want to be left alone.”
He remained silent, but there was gentle understanding in his eyes she didn’t expect. Concern, yes, but there was more. There was solidarity in grief. In loss. In the awfulness of death’s march on life.
Effie turned away, bracing her palm against the trunk of the willow tree, her back to Anderson. She spoke to him over her shoulder. Not because she wanted to, and not because he deserved to know, but because something inside of her compelled her. A magnetic pull toward Anderson with no explanation other than that she knew he grieved the absence of his wife.
“My sister, she is ... dying.” Effie said the words aloud for the first time. “Nothing can be done to save her.” The finality of the statement sent Effie collapsing against the tree. She wrapped her arms around the trunk, though she could not reach around its circumference. The bark felt rough against her cheek. “I’ve prayed. I’ve pled. Why won’t God answer?”
She didn’t expect a reply from Anderson. He wasn’t part of this struggle.
“I know,” he said quietly.
Effie turned to gaze at him in disbelief and with mutual understanding. “But your wife—”
“Is dead,” Anderson finished, a placid expression on his face.
His matter-of-fact tone bothered Effie. “We don’t know that yet.” She shook her head, somehow wanting more than ever to find holes in their suppositions and conclusions. To find some reason to believe Isabelle Addington might still be alive or that maybe it hadn’t been her at all. “No one has found a body. We don’t know for certain it washer.”
