Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Florentia wasn’t getting any better.
Hudson tried to stay positive throughout the days that followed her finally waking up.
The first day especially, after he admitted his feelings for her and she welcomed his apology and confirmed that she still felt the same for him.
He did not leave her bedside once, even sleeping in the chair that he’d had brought to her room, terrified of what might occur if he was to leave her for even a moment.
But she was awake, and for that first day, that was all that mattered.
“May I ask you a question?” Florentia asked several hours after she had woken. She was still on her back, still pale and sickly, but the light in her eyes was what Hudson chose to focus on, believing that this was a sign that she would make a prompt recovery.
“You may ask me anything.”
She curled her nose as she looked at him. “Have you bathed once since returning?”
He grimaced, suddenly realizing how much he likely smelled. “I choose not to answer that.”
“So, that’s a no.”
“I have not had time!”
“Time is all you’ve had.”
“If this is your way of telling me that you are already sick of me, I can take a hint.”
She laughed and through great effort brought his hand to her lips, kissing the back of it. “You can leave me for a few minutes, Hudson. I will be perfectly fine, I am sure.”
“There is no power in this world that will drag me away.”
He was not ordinarily so free with his emotions. He certainly had never been so honest. Growing up, and through his entire adult life, he had found it weak to express any emotion that might suggest a reliance on another person. And to show fear or worry...he would have rather had died.
With Florentia, it was different. She seemed to like seeing this side of him, and he liked that she did.
He did not feel weak expressing his feelings like he had thought he would.
Rather, there was a strength in it. To open himself fully, to expose himself in such a way that he could be struck down without care or remorse, was perhaps the bravest thing he had ever done.
“At least change your clothes,” she laughed. “For me and my nose.”
He had laughed too. “Alright, but I am not leaving the room.”
True to his word, Hudson had the clothes brought to him, and he changed behind a divider, gone from her sight for less than a minute.
She was still weak that first day, meaning that she fell asleep well before night came.
Hudson sat with her, holding her hand, watching her sleep, telling himself he would not shut his eyes until he knew that she would wake again, only to fall asleep early in the morning because by that point he had not slept in days.
The second day was much the same as the first. As was the third day.
Even awake, Florentia remained in a pitiful state of weakness, and with the pain she felt in her stomach, she struggled to eat or even drink water.
More than once she threw up what she had forced down, and slowly Hudson was forced to watch as she withered.
The doctors were at a loss as to what could be done.
He had a dozen visit over those first three days, and not one could even guess what was wrong with her.
The common consensus was that she must have eaten something, and a few theorized that if they knew what it was, they might be able to find a cure.
But Florentia was certain she had not ingested anything out of the ordinary, which meant there was nothing they could do.
Those first three days were a true test for Hudson, playing havoc with his emotions in ways beyond his understanding. On the one hand, he was thrilled that he was now able to admit freely how he felt for Florentia, while on the other, the thought that he might lose her broke him.
Why is this happening? If only I had told her sooner, it might have been avoided. If only I had not been so cowardly, who knows where we might be right now.
It was not his fault. Logically, he knew that Florentia had not fallen ill because of him or anything that he had done.
But that didn’t make it any easier to bear.
If anything, it made it harder, because there was nothing that he could do but watch and pray for her recovery,.
He was all too aware that as the days dragged on, she only grew worse.
“At least I know now that you are not faking,” Miss Bond joked when she came to visit. It was on the fourth day, and Hudson had sent for her, thinking that a friendly face might do the trick.
“I am glad we are able to settle that,” Florentia said weakly, her laughter even weaker than that.
“I wish Elias was here,” Miss. Bond then bemoaned. “He would know what to do.”
“When does he return?” Florentia asked.
“Still a few days,” Hudson answered. He had conversed via letter with his brother since leaving him, happy enough to learn that the purchase had gone through even without his being there, while not really caring one way or the other. “But let’s not talk about that.”
“If only there was something I could do,” Miss. Bond had sighed. She sat on the bed, holding Florentia by the hand. “But you are the strongest person I know, Florentia. And it is not even close. If anyone can get through this, it is you.”
“She’s right,” Hudson agreed readily. He needed to hear it said. He needed to say it out loud. His wife was a fighter, he knew, and she would pull through. She has to.
It was getting harder and harder to convince himself of this.
He wanted to remain strong. He wanted to believe that everything would be fine.
That he would wake up tomorrow morning to find his wife sitting up finally, smiling at him, the color returned to her face and the life back in her eyes.
But so far, there was no suggestion at all that might happen.
And seeing her in constant pain...she would writhe and moan as she slept, sweating horribly, gritting her teeth through the suffering.
It killed him to see it. This was the other side of the coin that is loving someone more than you love yourself.
Their pain is your own—and right now she had more than enough for both of them.
It was on the fourth evening, an hour before sunset, that Hudson began to accept that things were at their worst. Florentia was half awake. Her hand was frail and cold in his grip. And she spoke as if she too had started to accept that her days were numbered.
“I want you to do me a favor,” she said weakly, coughing loudly. “I do not want to die knowing that—”
“Do not say that,” Hudson cut her off angrily. “What have I told you? Positivity only. You are not dying.”
She smiled as if at a joke. “Are you going to let me finish?”
“Not if you mention dying again.” His chest cracked open, and his heart spilled over the floor.
“I want you to do me a favor,” she started again. “No rush, for there isn’t one. I am fine.” She looked at him pointedly and he kissed the back of her hand. “But I have been thinking about you and your stepmother.”
Hudson very nearly pulled his hand free. “My stepmother? Please, Florentia, do not waste your last—” He caught his tongue. “Do not waste your strength thinking about her.”
“I want you to forgive her,” she continued, her voice soft, her eyelids closing, only to open back up. “Please. Do it for me.”
“You want me to...” He clenched his jaw, pushing down the anger he felt whenever his stepmother’s name was mentioned. “The woman does not deserve forgiveness, and I assure you she does not want it—she does not think there is anything to be forgiven for. I have told you why.”
She smiled. “You misunderstand here.”
“I do not.”
“You do,” she said firmly. “I know the two of you have a history. What you have failed to consider is that perhaps there are two sides to it.”
“Two sides? What are you—where is this coming from?”
“She cares for you, Hudson. She always has.” She coughed and then grimaced from the pain.
“I know the two of you have never really seen eye to eye, but she has had a hard life. A misunderstood one. I really think if you sat down and spoke to her, you might come to see that you are both not so different.”
“I doubt that.”
She laughed, which had her coughing harder. “Please, Hudson...for me.” She fixed him in a pleading look, which broke Hudson’s heart because he knew that he could never say no to it.
“How about this,” he started carefully, not wanting to sound as if he was being dismissive. “Once you are feeling better, we will go and see her together. And then, if I like what she has to say, I will consider it.”
“You are so stubborn.”
“It is one of my best qualities.”
“She would say the same about herself.” She was drifting now, only half awake. He hated when she slept because he never knew when she would wake, but he also knew that at least in sleep she didn’t feel as much pain. “She is a little odd...” Florentia continued. “But there is another side to her.”
“Are you sure about that.”
“I know it...” Her eyes closed, a smile on her face. “When I saw her last week, I was surprised by how honest she was. Like you, she just needs someone to speak with. Someone who she thinks will listen.”
“Last week...” Hudson frowned. “What do you mean last week—when did you see Florentia?”
“Hmm...”
“Florentia...” Hudson touched her on the cheek; it was cold and wet. “When did you see my stepmother?”
“I had completely forgotten until earlier today,” she said with a yawn. “My memory…” Another yawn. “But she was here on the day you left me. She paid me a visit…”
The room spun about Hudson and his stomach dropped with a sudden realization. It swept through him, striking at him like a bolt of lightning that had him rocking where he sat. “She was here?”
“We shared tea and spoke of...of...” Another yawn. “Of you.” And then, as was so common, Florentia faded into a sleep from which it would be impossible to wake her.
Hudson sat staring at his wife, his body shaking as he felt it lit with a broiling heat that burned so intense he might very well have caught fire. He put the pieces together quickly, so obvious now that he could not believe he hadn’t thought of it!
My stepmother came to see Florentia on the same day she felt sick. My stepmother who had always loathed me. My stepmother who has only ever acted in her own self-interests. My stepmother...
It was not a question, but a fact. Shaking, jaw clenched, fists curled, Hudson rose from his chair. He took a moment to look upon his wife once more as she slept, and then turned and left the room for the first time in nearly a week.
He did not know what his stepmother had done. He did not know why. All he knew was that she was responsible for the sickness that had taken his wife and before this evening was through, she would pay for it.