Tess Gerritsen - The Bone Garden - A Novel

The world is unjust. I cannot change it .

Though he could scarcely spare the money, he left a few coins beside her; it would feed her for a few days. She was still sleeping when he left the room.

Though he had never attended a service by the Reverend William Channing, he had heard of the man's reputation. Indeed, it was impossible not to know about Channing, whose reportedly spellbinding sermons attracted an ever-growing circle of devoted followers to the Unitarian church on Federal Street. Last night, at Dr. Grenville's reception, the Welliver sisters had loudly sung Channing's praises. — That's where you'll find anyone of consequence on a Sunday morning, — Kitty Welliver had gushed. — We'll all be there tomorrow— Mr. Kingston and Mr. Lackaway and even Mr. Holmes, though he was raised a Calvinist. You shouldn't miss it, Mr. Marshall! His sermons are so impressive, so profound. Truly, he makes one think ! —

While Norris doubted that a single profound thought ever crossed Kitty Welliver's mind, he could not ignore her suggestion that he attend. Last night, he had glimpsed the circle in which he one day hoped to circulate, and that same circle would be seated that morning in the pews of the Federal Street church.

As soon as he stepped inside, he spotted familiar faces. Wendell and Edward sat near the front, and he started to make his way toward them, but a hand tapped his shoulder, and he suddenly found himself flanked on either side by the sisters Welliver.

— Oh, we hoped you'd come! — said Kitty. — Wouldn't you like to sit with us? —

— Yes, do! — said Gwendolyn. — We always sit upstairs. —

So upstairs he went, forcibly marched by sheer feminine will, and found himself seated in the balcony, wedged between Kitty's skirts on the left and Gwendolyn's on the right. He soon discovered why the sisters preferred their isolated perch in the balcony: Here they were free to gossip straight through the Reverend Channing's sermon, which they clearly had little intention of listening to.

— Look, there's Elizabeth Peabody! She's looking quite severe today, — said Kitty. — And what a horrid dress. So unflattering. —

— You'd think the Reverend Channing would be tired of her company by now, — Gwendolyn whispered back.

Kitty nudged Norris on the arm. — You have heard the rumors, haven't you? About Miss Peabody and the reverend? They're close. — Kitty added, with sly emphasis, — Very close. —

Norris peered over the balcony at the femme fatale at the center of the scandal, and saw a modestly dressed woman wearing unattractive spectacles and an expression of fierce concentration.

— There's Rachel. I didn't know she was back from Savannah, — said Kitty.

— Where? —

— Sitting next to Charles Lackaway. You don't suppose the two of them… —

— I can't imagine. Don't you think Charles looks odd today? Such a sickly expression. —

Kitty leaned forward. — He did claim he had a fever last night. Maybe he was telling the truth after all. —

Gwendolyn giggled. — Or maybe Rachel is just too much to bear. —

Norris tried to focus on the Reverend Channing's sermon, but it was impossible with these silly girls chattering away. Last night their high spirits had seemed charming, but today it merely irritated him that they talked only about who was sitting next to whom, which girl was dull, which girl was bookish. He thought, suddenly, of Rose Connolly, dressed in rags and curled up exhausted on his floor, and imagined the cruel things these girls might say about her. Would Rose waste any breath gossiping about another's girl's dress or a minister's flirtations? No, her concerns were elemental: how to fill her belly, where to shelter from the storm— the concerns of any base animal. Yet the Welliver sisters surely thought themselves far more civilized, because they had pretty dresses and the leisure to while away a Sunday morning in a church balcony.

He leaned against the railing, hoping that his look of concentration would be signal enough for Kitty and Gwendolyn to silence their chatter, but they just went on talking across his head. Where did Lydia find that hideous hat? Do you see how Dickie Lawrence keeps staring at her? Oh, she told me something quite delicious this morning! The real reason Dickie's brother had to rush home from New York. It's all because of a young lady… Good Lord, thought Norris, was there any scandal these girls did not know about? Any furtive glance they did not catch?

What would they say about Rose Connolly sleeping in his room?

By the time the Reverend Channing finally ended his sermon, Norris was desperate to escape the sisters, but they remained stubbornly seated, trapping him between them as the congregation began to file out.

— Oh, we can't leave yet, — said Kitty, tugging him back down into his seat when he tried to rise. — You can see everything so much better from up here. —

— See what? — he asked in exasperation.

— Rachel has practically draped herself over Charles. —

— She's been pursuing him since June. Remember the picnic in Weston? At his uncle's country house? Charlie practically had to flee into the garden to escape her. —

— Why are they still sitting? You'd think Charlie would have tried to get away by now. —

— Maybe he doesn't want to escape, Gwen. Maybe she's truly snagged him. Do you think that's the real reason he didn't come visit us in March? She already had him in her clutches! —

— Oh. They're getting up now. See how she has her arm wrapped around his… — Kitty paused. — What on earth is wrong with him? —

Charles staggered from his seat into the aisle, and caught himself on the back of a bench. For a moment he swayed on his feet. Then his legs seemed to dissolve away beneath him, and slowly he sank to the floor.

The Welliver sisters gave a simultaneous gasp and jumped up. There was chaos below as parishioners crowded around the fallen Charles.

— Let me through! — called Wendell.

Kitty gave an exaggerated sob and pressed her hand to her mouth. — I do hope it's nothing serious. —

By the time Norris had hurried downstairs and made his way through the crowd, Wendell and Edward were already kneeling beside their friend.

— I'm fine, — Charles murmured. — Really I am. —

— You don't look fine, Charlie, — said Wendell. — We've sent for your uncle. —

— There's no need to tell him about this. —

— You're white as a sheet. Lie still. —

Charles moaned. — Oh, God, I'll never live this down. —

Norris suddenly focused on the bandage encasing Charles's left hand. The fingertips that protruded from the wrapping were red and swollen. He knelt and tugged at the bandage.

Charles gave a cry and tried to pull away. — Don't touch it! — he begged.

— Charlie, — said Norris quietly. — I have to take a look. You know I do. — Slowly, he removed the wrappings. When at last the blackened flesh beneath was revealed, he rocked back on his heels, horrified. He looked at Wendell, who said nothing, only shook his head.

— We need to get you home, Charlie, — said Norris. — Your uncle will know what to do. —

— It's been a few days since he nicked himself at the anatomy demonstration, — said Wendell. — He knew his hand was getting worse. Why the blazes didn't he tell anyone? His uncle at least. —

— And admit how clumsy and incompetent he is? — said Edward.

— He never even wanted to study medicine. Poor Charlie'd be perfectly happy spending his life right here, writing his little poems. — Wendell stood at Dr. Grenville's parlor window, gazing out as a carriage and four rolled past. Only last night, this house had rung with laughter and music; now it was eerily silent except for the creak of footsteps upstairs, and the crackle of the fire in the parlor hearth. — He has no aptitude for medicine and we all know it. You'd think his uncle would accept it. —