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She felt a hand cup around her shoulder and squeeze reassuringly. "He woke up?" the doctor asked.
Selena turned to him. "Is he . .."
The doctor touched Elliot's wrist, then shook his head. "Not yet. See? His chest is still moving. He's breathing."
Selena's shoulders sagged with relief. "Thank God."
"But it won't be long now. A couple of days, maybe, before the infection kills him." He stared down at Elliot, wincing at the sight of the scar. "Maybe it's a blessing. Brother Elliot has been in pain all of his life."
"A blessing?" Selena repeated the words. At first she was incredulous, and then, slowly, she became angry. "A blessing?"
The doctor shrugged. "Children in the world used to run from him, screaming. Did he tell you that? Even here there were people who crossed the road to be away from him. As if that damned scar was the mark of the devil. Why, once I saw-"
"Can I take him to a worldly doctor?"
The doctor frowned. "Can you take him? What do you mean?"
"I mean the rules. Will Elliot still go to Heaven if I take him to a worldly doctor?"
A quick smile quirked the doctor's mouth. "We call in worldly doctors all the time, but-"
Selena jerked to her feet and spun around. "I shall be back in forty minutes with a wagon. Make him ready to move."
"But, Sister Agnes-"
She smiled. For the first time, she felt a flash of hope
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for Elliot. She knew there was one man who might be able to save her husband. "Perhaps I am God's hands, Doctor. Make him ready."
Ian was in the parlor, sipping coffee, reading Henry Cunningham's latest treatise on the treatment of female mental disorders. Johann and Andrew were on the settee, sharing pages of last week's New York Times. The last time Ian had seen Maeve, she was spouting Shakespeare and reprimanding her stuffed owl for cussing. The now familiar sound of hammering was a dull, echoing reminder that the asylum's addition was nearly complete.
Maeve flitted across the room, one arm bent dramatically across her chin. 'To thine own shelf be true." She paused suddenly and cocked her head. "Someone's coming."
Johann looked up. "I believe Laertes has the next line."
Maeve's arm fell to her side. "No. Someone is really here." She traipsed out to the entryway, her diaphanous cape trailing behind her, and peered through the window beside the front door. "Oh, my."
"Kind of late for a delivery," Ian said without looking up from his papers.
"Ian," Maeve said softly. "It's Selena."
Ian felt a rush of hot hope, even went so far as to lean forward in his seat before he realized the truth. Maeve had "seen" Selena a dozen times in the last few months. Slowly he resettled himself in the chair. "That's nice, Mother."
Andrew leapt to his feet and raced to the door, pushing Maeve aside so that he could see out the mullioned window. "Oh, my gosh."
The boy's voice, whispery and filled with awe, brought Ian to his feet in a rush. He looked at the two people, pressed side by side at the little window, their noses
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pushed against the glass, and felt a stirring of honest hope. He looked at Johann.
Johann put down the newspaper and rose. "Could it be?"
Ian was afraid to believe it. Even more afraid not to. He walked to the door, and with each step, his unreasonable hope grew. With a shaking hand, he reached for the cold brass knob and turned it, sweeping the door open wide.
The winter night was shadowy and dark. Moonlight reflected off the layer of new frost that clung stubbornly to the blackened, dying grass. A wagon was parked in the drive. Great plumes of breath shot from the horse's nostrils.
