The Immortal American

Flying the rest of the way to her, I cooed, “Hannah, oh, oh, Hannah.”

  I knelt beside her bare body. Dried black blood covered her nose, mouth, neck and chest, and a little more of the blackness was smudged between her legs and stomach. As gently as I could, I reached around her arms and waist to pick her up enough to lay her head on my shoulder. Stilling my own breath, I waited for movement from her chest against mine.

  Finally, I felt my sister inhale. I clutched at her corn silk hair and cried, so hopeful.

  “I’m here. I’m here now, Hannah. I’ve got you. I’m getting you home. You’re safe,” I whispered.

  Her clothes were close by, scattered and torn. She had indeed worn her beautiful white dress. She was going to get married in her most exquisite dress, but instead—I couldn’t focus on what happened to her. Just to get her home.

  She never opened her eyes, but painfully moaned while I tried to dress her. The dress was in shreds, but with the use of my coat, she was properly covered enough to gain some heat, I hoped.

  I picked up my sister in my arms and began to walk as quickly as I could out of the forest. Cursing my arms within a few moments time as they were shaking, I knew I wouldn’t be able to carry my sister the whole way back in my trembling limbs.

  “Forgive me,” I asked my sister’s brutalized face, then rearranged her to splay across my shoulders, taking her weight in my capable back and legs, while I held onto one of her ankles and another of her arms. She let out a slight groan, and I begged her to forgive me again.

  As we made our way out, I watched for branches that would reach out and further tear at my sister, but they never tried to slash into her skin. They seemed to slink away. The sun shone on the field when I emerged from the woods, and I saw in the far distance Mathew and his fast sorrel, Cherry. Both Jonah and Mathew must have beat records for running their horses so quickly, but I was grateful.

  Mathew finally saw me and rode hard up the drive. He tried to keep the pace as he raced Cherry over the deep soil of the field, but it was wet and thick. Cherry’s gait slowed to a struggling walk when Mathew leapt off his horse mid-stride and kept running toward me.

  Upon reaching me, I could only utter, “She’s hurt. Very badly.”

  Mathew didn’t say a word, but pulled Hannah from my shoulders and cradled her in his arms. He turned and raced with her into the house. I don’t know when, but I had somehow fallen after Hannah was lifted from my back. I tasted the earth and my own blood as I must have bit my tongue while I’d tumbled.

  I tried to get up, wondering if any of this was real. I must still be asleep with Hannah lying next to me in our shared bedchamber.

  But the next thing I saw was Jonah’s face hovering over mine. He asked me something in a language I no longer understood, then picked me up and walked a few yards before I jumped from his arms, so I could fly to Hannah. I entered our bedchamber. She lay on the bed, our bed. My mother soothed Hannah with her voice. Mrs. Jones cried, and Mathew tried to remove himself from the room.

  I entered as he left.

  I couldn’t understand the language anyone spoke anymore. Mother asked Mrs. Jones to do something then removed Hannah’s white dress. My mother gasped at the blood. Her eyes reddened when she looked down at Hannah’s body, and her lips trembled and crumbled into a wail. Mother’s hands stretched to my sister but stilled before she actually laid a finger on Hannah, as if she couldn’t move anymore, as if she thought that if she moved one more inch, made contact with the white skin of my sister’s, then it would be real, this nightmare would become reality. Mrs. Jones shook her head, cried, but found a basin of water and a cloth to clean my sister.

  “No, she’s cold,” I whispered.

  Mrs. Jones said some kind of ancient words I didn’t know, then shook her head again and produced a woolen white blanket. I helped her wrap my sister’s body in the blanket, but then Mrs. Jones set to Hannah’s visage to wipe it free from the blood. I heard Mrs. Jones humming a tune that Hannah had been singing for the last two weeks. Then I tucked myself close to my sister and nestled her under the bedding.

  I pulled her into my arms, looking at her skin, so pale it reflected lavender and blue around her eyes and lips.

  “Don’t leave me,” I begged of Hannah. “Please. Please. You can’t leave me. You’re all I have in this world. Please.”

  My tears fell on her beautiful blonde hair as I picked leaves from her tresses, and Mrs. Jones handed me our shared boar’s bristle brush. I gingerly swept her hair free from the wood’s debris.

  My sister’s lips were swollen to the size of a goose’s egg, and there was a deep cut on her lower lip that looked like a black crevasse set in a perfect white setting. I kissed it.

  “I’ll ask the midwife for a healing salve. She has one that she says helps with cuts and wounds. We won’t even know it’s there in a little time. It won’t exist.” My tears fell on her forehead, where I wiped them away.

  I reached through the blanket for her hands, and placed them in mine, warming them. Then I removed my boots and stockings and placed my feet on hers, trying to warm them too.

  I settled my body next to hers and closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I saw that Dr. Prescott was there. He gently inspected her body while I guarded her. He would look at me for approval before he examined any area. I clenched my teeth but would nod my head as he made his thorough investigation.

  He and my mother cleaned the other spots of blood from Hannah. Her body had started to warm, and she smelled like lavender through the process. The doctor looked relieved, and said something to me, which, again, I had no understanding of.

  The doctor covered her with the blankets. I wrapped my arm around her thin shoulders and let my feet be close to hers to absorb all my body’s heat. I closed my eyes as I whispered, “I love you, Hannah, and I’ll make this all better. I promise. I love you. I love you.”