Godspeed Page 19

  I wondered, as I opened my eyes and continued wordlessly onward, why it mattered to me at all now. I knew so much more about Godspeed than I ever imagined I would; still, there was so much more to know. I supposed that it was my vain attempt to keep hint of mystery as a person whose body he was already wholly familiar with, even if only in the most professional, medical way. As if my holding something back would nourish a curiosity in him to get to know my heart as well as he believed he already knew my mind. If that novelty, that curiosity, could be maintained long enough, perhaps he would realize that I could be so much more help to him if he'd only let me.

  “Go ahead,” Madame Weatherall encouraged, nudging me gently forward. “Look as closely as you like.”

  I analyzed the ornaments with fascination and a developing artist's eye; I noticed things in them that I would not have in times past: color, composition, all the things that made each item unique and uniquely a work of art. Specifically I noticed the tiny locomotive engines and airships, blown or spun from brightly colored glass of every color of the rainbow that were scattered in and among the tinsel, the bulbs and glittering beads.

  Each was one of a kind, as intricate and elegant as the woman whose home they adorned.

  The sight of the tree, illuminated by the chandelier above and by scores of candles arranged on pillars all around, left me tearful for its inexplicable beauty.

  “Do you think Jib will like it?” she asked.

  I wondered that Jib had not already seen it; this news worried me greatly. He had not been back to Schuyler's house, and now to hear he had not even been in the entryway of his own home told me that he was deteriorating at a rate that no one had anticipated. Then I realized that was not correct; one person had anticipated it and tried to prepare us all.

  Comprehending it now, I had to fight with myself to force words beyond my aching throat. Some small part of me refused still to believe the situation could be that grave, and would wait for further evidence before fully accepting it as inescapable truth.

  “It is magnificent, Madame Weatherall. He will be in awe of it, as I am.”

  I was so enamored of the holiday wonderland she had created that I did not immediately question the fact that it existed here at all. The holidays were still so far away.

  “Merry Christmas, my dear,” she whispered. “Would you like to help me see about wrapping up some presents?”

  “Yes, please,” I replied, as politely as I could through my sudden confusion. I understood that many people liked to prepare for the holidays early, but it was far too early to be something she was doing only for the sake of planning ahead…

  Then the two trains of thought, so disconnected courtesy of my chronic exhaustion, collided head on. I had to physically bite my lip to stem the flow of tears.

  It was for the same reason Jib had not seen the tree yet that it was so imperative that Christmas came early this year.

  Taking note of my expression, the thin remnant of her smile faded away. She gestured for me to follow her into the next room, which appeared to be a large study or private office, with walls and walls of books all around. Scattered between were huge paintings of various styles of airships; the finest of the company's fleet.

  She closed the door behind us and then only when we were truly alone did she speak again. “I am certain I do not have to explain to you that.” She paused, clearing her throat, attempting to stem the rising emotions that I could sense in her already. She was in pain, and seeing it, feeling it, made my own weary, damaged heart ache.

  I knew loss, and this was a woman facing a loss that I could not ever begin to understand.

  Without thinking, I reached out to her, gently placing a hand upon her shoulder. “I have heard that Jib is not well,” I said softly. “What is the point of holding back the giving of joy to him for the sake of the date on the calendar?”

  She nodded. “Godspeed said you were wise beyond your years. I see that he once again proves he is incapable of embellishment.”

  “There is so much I still do not know about Doctor Godspeed.” I sighed the words more than said them, and that brought a wry smile to her face, even now.

  “Curious, are we?”

  Color rose to my cheeks. It was clear there would be no hiding my fondness for Quinn from her, so I put on no pretense. Still, I did what I could to minimize the depth of my interest, and my affection. “I am, Ma'am. After all, he is the man who saved my life.”

  “Yes, he's saved many lives. He's trying so hard to save Jib's.” Tears gathered in her eyes again and she blinked them back. “We are a family of ridiculous means, young Elsewhere.” My head tilted with curiosity as she addressed me by the nickname that her son himself had bestowed. “Yet there was nothing we could do for our son. We sought the help of countless doctors. None of them were willing to take the risks, the path needed to not only extend Jib's life, but also improve the quality of it. Only Doctor Godspeed was willing to make the sacrifices necessary to try. Only he was willing to risk the danger. For that, we will be eternally in his debt.” Her voice grew small and much sadder as she concluded, “No matter how Jib's journey ends.”

  “I wish I better understood the doctor's mind,” I whispered, reaching out and straightening a strand of glimmering ribbon that sat on the table of gift-wrapping supplies before me. “He seems in so much pain. I wish I could help him somehow.”

  “Do not we all,” Madame Weatherall sighed now. “Do you know, that for all the time, the lost sleep, the late nights and urgent calls he's made on Jib, for all the hours, days, weeks and months he's spent caring for him, that never once has he accepted a penny as salary?”

  My eyes widened. It was not that I doubted her statement; it was just that it gave a whole new dimension to the man's character, and one that did not surprise me in the least.

  “Do you know all that he has ever asked us for, in return?”

  I shook my head.

  “Equipment. Materials that we have easy and unprecedented access to, either through my family's airship conglomerate, or through the Magistrate's family and their ties to the railroads.” She shook her own head now. “We would have gladly paid him any sum he asked of us, for the help he's given Jib. All he has ever asked for was a way to continue helping others. Of course, providing the means for him to do so has been the very least we could do.”

  “Others like me.” I reached up and felt the one of a kind necklace at my throat.

  “Yes, and like Penn. Like Lilibet, and Marielle. Never once has he asked a thing for himself. Never once has he asked the Magistrate for any other favors, the kind which lesser men would demand without thinking twice.” She placed her hands squarely upon my shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. “If curiosity torments you to wonder about the doctor, dear girl, then know nothing if not this. He is a good man, with a heart as big as the whole of the world. I know that he cannot help everyone and that causes him a great deal of pain. I wish that our world was more accepting of the ideas of men of his kind, so that he could have the chance to help others openly, and without risk to his own life and future. For now, though, I only know that when I say my prayers to God at night, I thank Him for the existence of such a man as Quinn Godspeed.”

  I blinked quickly, trying to dispel the tears in my eyes, and nodded my thanks.

  There was a knock upon the door, and Madame Weatherall bid our visitor to enter.

  “Ladies, I must apologize for the intrusion,” Quinn said, hurrying up to us. “It appears that I will be staying later than I had anticipated. I wonder, Madame Weatherall, if I might impose upon you to have one of your carriages take our young friend back to the house?”

  Her eyes shone with tears of stark terror. The look in his eyes conveyed all; no further words were needed.

  “Of course, Doctor Godspeed.”

  “Please, doctor, let me stay with you,” I said.

  “Not this time,” he said softly, distantly. “Do something for me?”

  “Anyth
ing you ask,” I replied, and I meant it.

  “Be sure that you stay warm. Wear…” He seemed to trip over the word as he stared at me now. “Wear my coat.”

  He quit the room and disappeared down the hall once more.

  I closed my eyes, trying to forget the way his footfalls sounded on the grand marble floors, but knowing that I never would.

  CHAPTER 26

  THE CANDLES FLICKERED, low and lonely, atop the ornate mantle.

  Though there were several lamps in the room none of us had the heart to light them. We sat in silence and relative dark as the last of the day was swept away by twilight, into the arms of a night we feared, for one of our own, would never again know morning.

  Schuyler paced a path back and forth before me. As I watched the candlelight reflect off of the buckles on his perfectly polished boots, I found it impossible to concentrate on my own thoughts. When I closed my eyes, all I could see was Jib.

  Penn was in his usual chair in the corner, but the book in his hands remained closed. Across the room Marielle was quietly weeping; her emotions too much to contain as she vividly saw in her mind the horrors her blind eyes could not perceive.

  Lilibet sat with her “typetalk”, as she referred to it in consonants only, in her lap. Fingers unmoving on the keys, clutching it against her as she rocked, to and fro in her spot by the piano.

  What would have served as dinner this night, a terrine of soup and loaf of fresh bread, sat untouched on the sideboard. He'd felt that he should at least make an effort to get us to eat, Schuyler had said, hours before, though none of us could even think of touching it.

  Those were the last words spoken between us, the only sound that could breach the deafening silence in the room the occasional gasp of Marielle's shattered sobs.

  The endless moments dragged on into hours and finally, just as the clocks had all begun to strike eleven, the sound of keys in the door startled us from our trances.

  Of course it was Quinn, and of course his eyes said everything that he could not bring his voice to speak.

  My eyes were fixed upon him, unable to feel, to know, to live anything in this moment but the agony in his heart. I wanted to assuage it somehow; to carry the burden that he believed, I knew, that he alone could.

  Those bluest of eyes that I loved so well were so dark beneath and rimmed with red, and though I thought I would likely never see them spill actual tears, I could feel, within him, his soul crying out.

  It was over.

  It was all over, and he was blaming himself for all the things he could not do to bring about a different ending to Jib's story.

  “Quinn…” Schuyler finally broke the silence.

  Marielle jumped from her chair and rushed forward, bumping into furniture and Schuyler himself as she rushed to get to the doctor.

  Quinn still said nothing; he merely shook his head once in that way he did when there was no point in speaking.

  Schuyler closed his eyes and dropped his head into his hands, whispering one word.

  “No.”

  “No!” Marielle screamed, falling forward toward the doctor, seeking something solid to hold on to. Quinn actually teetered and looked like he may collapse. Schuyler and Penn both moved quickly, Schuyler taking his arm and putting it around Quinn to steady him, Penn surprising us all by gathering Marielle into his arms and locking her into an embrace. The two held each other fiercely as they cried and I, struck completely dumb and frozen where I stood, watched as Quinn found the strength to raise both hands and fiercely push Schuyler away. He rushed from the room, down the hall, and we all heard his steps retreating toward the laboratory. The door slammed a moment later, and in that instant my heart demanded my body respond, at last, with motion.

  “Don't,” Schuyler warned, catching me by the edge of the sleeve as I made for the door.

  “But he—”

  “We can't.” Schuyler's voice was overwrought, and I looked up to see his eyes reflecting tears in the dim, glowing light. “You want to, I know. But we can't.”

  “I can't just leave him alone now—”

  “That is exactly what you must do,” Schuyler whispered, reaching out to brush the tears from my cheek with the back of his outstretched hand. “It's what we must all do.”

  “No, it's—”

  Our argument was suddenly interrupted by another sound in the room — a sound that no one could possibly have expected, and that was impossible to believe.

  It was the sound of the key case on the piano squeaking, as it ever did, as someone lifted it.

  The first plaintive notes were struck before any of us could fathom what was going on; within moments of the end of the first measure of the haunted melody, I heard steps rapidly approaching from outside the room.

  I looked at Quinn, and he at me—tears filled his eyes but never spilled over, as mine did—as we watched, transfixed. Lilibet was seated at the piano, playing a song for the first time for an audience: playing it in honor of the one who would never sit at the instrument again.

  No one dared to speak or move, not even Marielle as Penn whispered her sister's name tenderly into her ear to explain the sight she could not see.

  When the last note rang out, clear, and held for an eternity beneath the force of her foot upon the sustain pedal, Lilibet rose from the piano, closed the keys, and sank back down to the floor in the corner, where she took up rocking to and fro once more as if nothing at all had changed.

  * * *

  The morning of Jib's funeral was much too bright it, seemed; much too sunny and cheerful for such an unacceptable occasion.

  It should be pouring buckets of rain from weeping heavens, I thought. Angels standing sentry and only just barely able to contain the whipping of grieving winds. It should be dark. It should be solemn. It should, by rights, be cold enough to snow.

  I had pleaded my case long and hard to both Schuyler and Quinn to no avail; I would not be permitted to attend.

  No matter how I tried to argue, each of them had separate, distinct, and equally unalterable lists of reasons why I could not go.

  In the end, I was forced simply to watch as best I could from the partially obscured lookout of my attic bedroom window.

  I saw enough.

  I saw the endless line of horse drawn carriages, still favored by the Weatheralls despite the new trends in transportation; the first in the line bore a casket dark as pitch, intricately carved, and drew it down the stone path toward the mausoleum at the center of the cemetery.

  It broke my heart, the sight of it; impossible still to believe that a life force as strong as Jib's could merely be extinguished, by any manner of illness.

  I watched as they removed the casket from the back of the carriage. Schuyler and Penn served among the pallbearers; Quinn could not, I knew, without too many questions being asked. In fact, I noted that I could not even see him among the mourners, and began to wonder how far a distance he was keeping from the event for the sake of the rest of his brood: for the safety of the rest of us, including me.

  As the casket disappeared from view, I finally moved away from the window. I sank into the chair, rocking slowly back and forth, as I imagined Marielle and Lilibet standing graveside, wondering if one would understand exactly what was happening and knowing the other could not bear to watch, even if she had the ability to see.

  I cast my eyes up to the skies now, suddenly turned gray, as if the act of putting Jib into the ground had actually extinguished the sun; and in that moment, I realized it had begun to snow.

  CHAPTER 27

  QUINN WAS FIRST BACK to the house after Jib's service. The others stayed behind to have a meal with the family, to fulfill one of Jib's last requests.

  The hour was late, and I imagined he'd just been out walking, as he was prone to do when he needed more room to think than pacing his laboratory allowed.

  I was in my bedroom, still staring out the window into the dark when I heard the knock. This time, he actually waited for me to answer.


  When I saw the look upon his face, it took all my strength not to immediately take him into my arms. He needed to be held — I was certain of it — as much as I needed to hold him.

  Seeing him this way, none of my questions about his past mattered anymore; nothing but loving him mattered at all.

  “I have a gift for you.” His voice broke as he spoke the words and finally entered the room. “From Jon.”

  “Jon?” I asked, momentarily forgetting.

  Quinn shrugged. “I never did call him Jib.”

  My eyes filled again as I took the box and stared, unsure what to do.

  “Open it,” he said. “Jon specified that no one was to wait to open them.”

  I began to unwrap it and found inside a beautiful wooden music box.

  “Try it,” Quinn instructed.

  “No, I…”

  “He would want you to.”

  I shivered and turned the crank. A lovely song played, a waltz. The same waltz Jib had played on the piano the night I first met his beloved “Freak's Chorus”.

  Before I knew it, Quinn had removed his coat and approached me. Then, all at once, his arms were around me, and we were dancing.

  Eventually the music box wound down, and so did the motion of our bodies as we swayed gently, side to side. It was as though, for a moment, he forgot about everything and everyone else in the world but me. It was the moment I had lived for, and I thanked Jib in my heart for this, the real gift.

  Finally, he stopped still and stared so intensely, it was more through me than at me. There was a look of passion in his eyes, for an instant, so strong and true I could barely stand the sight of it. It burned in me and through me with a power I knew that I could not control.

  I felt his breath against my cheek as I closed my eyes. He was so close now I reveled in the warmth of his body, and I wanted nothing more than to learn, at last, of all the things that I had until this point in my life only imagined in my darkest, secret dreams.