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“The baby moved last night.”
Frieda continued to stare out the window. Zeke could feel the irritation practically radiating off of her.
“So Carla said,” Frieda said numbly.
“I thought you might feel relieved.”
“For your sake, I suppose I am,” she said curtly.
Zeke joined her at the window. “What are you watching?”
She hesitated, but decided to respond. “The police are searching Montgomery’s caravan. They’ll probably take it into custody, not that there’s exactly much evidence.”
“Right…” Zeke murmured.
“I need to go. Carla might need help with her patients,” she said, starting to walk towards the stairs.
“Frieda, I’m not oblivious. I know why you’re acting so bitterly towards me.”
The assistant stopped, and turned to face Zeke.
“Oh? Do you, now?” Frieda crossed her arms and gave the doctor a hard glare.
“I realize our relationship isn’t purely pecuniary. You are my assistant, but I understand that you are also a dear friend and companion.”
Frieda’s eyes narrowed further.
“Why did you say what you said, then?”
Zeke sighed, “You’ve been so distressed by the idea of my death, I thought if I…weren’t so kind to you, you might be less upset if I were to die.”
“You wanted to anger me so I’d be less saddened by the idea of your death?” Frieda repeated in an incredulous tone.
“Sounds more ridiculous when you say it that way,” he said.
“I wonder why! Perhaps because the whole concept is ludicrous.” She snapped.
“I understand that, now. Listen Frieda, I might not be long for this world, and I want whatever time we have left as friends to be pleasant, not the opposite.”
“Zeke,” Frieda growled, at the end of her patience, “will you just stop sounding so morbid? Please? I understand that you’re worried about how all this will turn out, but I can promise Carla and I will try to make the rest of this gestation as smooth as possible.”
“You can’t control how this will all end.”
“We can’t control whether you’ll live or die, but worrying won’t do much either, right?”
He started to protest, but stopped. “You have a fair point,” he chuckled lightly.
“Remember how excited you were at the beginning of all this? As weird as I thought it was, it was much more encouraging than your current behavior, to say the least.”
Zeke showed hints of a soft smile, but it left as he remembered the encounter with Montgomery that had occurred the day prior. He felt the underside of his stomach, which was still slightly sore.
“You think the baby will be alright?” She inquired.
“I’m not sure, but in all fairness to your point, I suppose worrying won’t help,” he sighed.
A sudden commotion could be heard outside of the window. Before Zeke or Frieda could turn to look, Carla came clamoring up the steps.
“What is it?” Frieda asked.
“There’s some kind of mob outside. I don’t know what’s got them riled up, but they seem really upset. Come on,” Carla said, mostly out of breath.
Dr. Howell and his assistant followed Wilkins back down the stairs. They hustled to the front door, but stopped dead in their tracks at the front porch. A large crowd of townspeople were galloping through the streets. Disjointed yelling was floating over their heads. Whatever was happening, the people of Middlesport were furious.
“What do you think-” but Zeke became wordless as his eyes found the end of the crowd.
Frieda and Carla had also gone silent, as they too saw what was at the end of the crowd. The town gallows, rarely used, had been gifted a new rope. Zeke’s throat tightened. He knew exactly who’d be on the end of that rope.
“I thought public executions were illegal,” Frieda murmured.
“I’m not sure Middlesport ever got the memorandum,” Carla sighed.
A couple of strong-looking men dragged Otto Montgomery by his arms up the wooden steps of the gallows. His hands were bound together with thick rope, and the man himself looked positively bedraggled. His clothes were torn in several places, he was plagued with bruises and blood stains, and generally it seemed like someone dragged him through hell by his feet.
“But, this is madness! There hasn’t been time for a trial,” Zeke said, though neither woman responded.
The executioner placed the rope around Montgomery’s neck, though the man refused the hood. Another man announced his crime, which was murder, and asked him if he had any last words. Otto stared out onto the crowd, but seemed to be staring directly at Zeke. A disturbing smile curled up his face, and Zeke immediately broke out in a cold sweat. Montgomery couldn’t possibly see him from such a distance, could he? Zeke watched Otto’s mouth forming the word “no,” and he retained eye contact as he was positioned over the trap door.
“Zeke…Zeke, you shouldn’t watch,” Carla said, “the baby might-”
It happened too quickly. Zeke was frozen in place as Otto was dropped through the platform. He thought he could hear the snap. Montgomery dangled about a foot off the ground. Otto Montgomery hanged with his eyes wide open. Zeke somehow snapped out of his shock, backing up against the side of the house. He held his stomach, shaking like he’d been attacked a second time. Frieda and Carla were still distracted by the crowd. Zeke stumbled off the porch, heading towards the edge of the town. He tromped though the thick snow of the wooded area, towards the edge of the frozen pond. He braced himself against a damp tree, hoping his wave of nausea would pass calmly.
The shaken doctor attempted to wrap his head around what had happened. He knew he should have felt like all his problems were gone, but he mostly felt ill. As much as he despised the man who had just died, and he truly did, he couldn’t help but remember that Montgomery had indeed been his student once. The conflicting emotions of hate and pity swirled inside him, mixing as well as oil and water might. He leaned over, a hand still gripping the tree, and vomited onto the ground. As much as his throat burned, he couldn’t deny it made him feel a little better. He leaned against the tree, panting in an attempt to calm himself.
Zeke heard footsteps stomping through the woods, heading directly towards him. He tried to straighten up the best he could, lest the figures be more violent townspeople. His tense form relaxed ever slightly as Carla and Frieda came into view.
“How could you run off like that?” Carla demanded.
“It was terrifying. With all the commotion, we feared you’d get hurt, again,” Frieda added.
“I…I…” Zeke was so stunned, he wasn’t quite sure how to answer. “He…I…never thought…”
“I told you not to look! That sort of trauma isn’t good for unborn babies, let alone the mother…father, in this case,” Wilkins groaned.
Zeke, attempting to form words, seemed to have lost control of his mouth. His body quaked with stress.
Carla sighed, seeing how shaken he was. She pressed a hand to his trembling shoulder. “Calm down. It’s over.”
“Is…is his body...”
“The police took it down and sent everyone home. It all happened so suddenly, I’m not sure they even know who to prosecute for causing the mob,” Carla said.
Zeke leaned unsteadily against a tree, his arms covering his protruding stomach. He reached up with one hand and massaged his temples. He puffed his breaths, trying to slow his pounding heartrate. It took a minute, but he eventually regained control, and his body relaxed.
“What do you want to do now?” Frieda asked.
“Perhaps it’s best that you come back to the clinic. Stay a few more nights under our roof; we’ll make sure the baby’s still recovering from the trauma. You, as well,” Carla added.
Zeke didn’t answer, but stared at the snow that was beginning to fall on the icy surface of the lake. He flexed his numbing fingers, and watched the heat pool out of his mouth in clouds. Flecks of snow clung to his eyelashes.
“Zeke,” Frieda said, “what is it you want to do?”
He mulled it over, then sighed. “I want to go home.”
(FLASHBACK)
“I think this would look nice. Almost as nice as my wedding gown. What do you think?”
Emily held up the deep red dress for her husband to see, but he wasn’t paying attention. Zeke sat on the edge of the bed. His feet dangled, barely brushing the wood of the floor.
“It’s lovely,” he mumbled, rubbing his neck.
“You didn’t even look!” Emily scolded.
“I’m sure it’s a fine dress.”
Emily walked over to her husband and leaned down to meet his gaze. “This is important to me, Zeke. I want to look nice.”
“Don’t you find it morbid?” He said tersely.
“I find it practical. And if I must be perfectly honest, I’d rather take the moment to dress myself while there’s still time. You aren’t exactly an expert on fashion,” she joked.
Zeke sighed and pushed himself off the bed. He went to the wardrobe and pulled out a long green dress. It was made of velvet.
“Here,” he handed it to his wife, pressing the hanger into her frail hand. “I like this one. It isn’t too fancy, and you always looked lovely in it. Look,” he corrected himself furiously, “you look lovely in it.”
“Oh. Thank you. This is a nice choice. I know I don’t normally care how I look, but this photo is my gift to you. I want to dress up.”
“Please don’t talk like that,” Zeke choked.
“But I’m feeling well today. Isn’t it nice? I think I’ll go sit outside later. Enjoy the sun.”
He stared at his grinning wife. Emily was still in her evening wear, as she was for most of her days now. Despite this, Zeke helped her keep her hair impeccably brushed, and her body, despite how emaciated, soft and clean. The doctor was trying to do anything he could to aid her comfort level. No matter her happiness, there was still an exhaustion behind her eyes. One that couldn’t be assuaged no matter how much sleep she got. This level of exhaustion was only defeated when compared to that of the exhaustion her husband harbored. It was mixed with a state of unrest and confusion that wasn’t present in his dying wife; a feeling of defeat.
Emily reached back into the wardrobe and retrieved a plain, ivory colored dress.
“This one should be comfortable enough.” She stepped behind the partition, and let her nightdress slide off her shoulders, like shedding a heavy second skin. She gave a light dusting of powder to her whole body, then slipped into the light dress. Emily pulled her hair into a loose bun, and held it there with a comb.
She stepped out from behind the divider, and walked over to her somber husband. Zeke, not knowing of what else to do, wrapped his arms around Emily’s torso. He held her as tight as he physically could, burying his face in her upper chest, like a brooding child. He inhaled the faintly sweet smell of the powder on her body, and her natural perfumes that broke through. Zeke loved Emily’s mind, her wit, her personality, yet he couldn’t deny his love and desire he had for her body. There was an incredible physical attraction he had for her, and at any stage, sick or otherwise, he almost hated himself for still finding her attractive. He felt her hand flitting through his hair. She backed out of his hold, kissed his forehead, and walked out of the room.
Hearing her footsteps on the stairs, Zeke went to the wardrobe and pulled out the green dress. His thumb and forefinger rubbed a section of the velvet. He stared deeply at the dark green fabric, the roomy form, the density of its presence. It matched the importance and dignity of its owner. Yes, this was the right dress. He spread the gown across the length of the bed, smoothing out any wrinkling he noticed. His parents’ post-mortem photos arose in his mind. His father and mother had looked terrifyingly alive. He put the photographs away deep in a bottom drawer, where he’d never have to stumble upon them.
Zeke wasn’t sure he could do the same with Emily’s. Especially not when she would be dressed in such a wonderful gown. It sickened him to be preparing for Emily’s passing, as she was clearly still alive, if only barely. But she had insisted, and though he felt stunted in terms of his medical abilities, he pledged to help Emily in any other way he could. Even if it meant helping her plan the outfit she’d be buried in. Zeke reached into his pants pocket and withdrew Emily’s wedding band. He rolled it in his fingers, wondering whether or not she’d want it back when the time came.
Zeke pushed the thoughts from his mind, and shoved the ring deep into the pocket. His frazzled brain began to clear, and he realized he’d only become more distracted from his goal. He was running out of time to cure the disease. Why had he let himself become so distracted? So domestic with this illness?
‘Perhaps there’s still time,’ he thought. ‘Perhaps I truly can save her.’
Against all better judgment, and any common sense, Zeke returned to his lab for the first time in weeks, and promptly locked himself in.