5. The Switch
Jane Hoffman-Abernathy laid in a small bed, passed down to her from Eduard Hoffman, her father.
The wood for the frame, he had once told her, came from a tree specifically picked out by her mother before she was born.
He built it with his own hands to be used first as a baby bed and then fashioned bigger as she grew.
A quilt, sewn by Mary Hoffman, her mother, was nestled atop her frail body. She traced the threaded fabric absentmindedly as she looked out the nearby window. It was the only thing she had of her mother, a final gift before Mary had lost her life giving birth to her.
The window was cracked open a small amount and a soft breeze blew against the lace curtains. She looked out at the large oak tree, casting shade on the people passing by, living their lives unaware of the fact that death would come for them too one day.
Children ran around under the large oak tree as the shadow from the midday sun allowed them a cool place to play. Playtime was a luxury that the wealthier families — who could afford to hire help — allowed for their children.
Lizzie, her only daughter, sat nearby in a chair holding her hand. She was the spitting image of her father with raven black hair and clear blue eyes. Tears fell softly as she waited for her mother's passing.
“I wish you could hold on a little longer, Mother. I know you are tired, but just stay with me just a little while, please.” Lizzie’s hair was wet and matted to her forehead, desperation drenching her as she grieved.
Jane turned her face to Lizzie. “I know. I wish I had more time with you as well. You are an amazing daughter, wife, and mother. I’m so proud of you, my dear.” The declaration brought forth fresh tears to Lizzie’s eyes.
“It is because of you, Mother. You taught me well.” Lizzie sniffed. “It’s too bad your mother wasn’t able to raise you.” A new sadness settled between them.
Jane gave a soft chuckle. “My father did well enough. I don’t know if you remember him, but he loved you.” Jane thought back fondly on the memories with her father.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Lizzie rose from her seat. A sudden knock on the front door to their shared home pulled the attention of her daughter away.
Jane looked back out the window and continued to watch the children play.
She recognized two of the small girls. One was her granddaughter, Sarah, and the other was Abigail, whose brown hair was frizzy in every direction from sweat and running in circles.
Her red polka dot dress zigzagged back and forth as the three children smiled and laughed.
Abigail was from a merchant family that lived nearby and, despite Sarah’s feisty personality, she continued to play along with whatever crazy game was suggested. The boy playing with them looked a couple years older, but she couldn’t place his name.
Voices drifted in from the next room, and Jane made the effort to listen as best she could until the voices grew louder and the door to her room opened. Her doctor and Lizzie entered.
“Hello, Jane. How are you feeling today?” Dr. Branson placed his medical bag on the dresser and opened it, pulling out a stethoscope.
“The fever came suddenly, doc. She was fine when she went to bed last night, but this morning, she was covered in sweat.” Lizzie came over and gave Jane’s hand a reassuring squeeze.
Jane tried to offer a supportive smile. “I have honestly felt worse. Just tired and weak.”
“Well, based on the symptoms, it is unclear exactly what is ailing you.” Dr. Branson seemed bored and detached. Newer to their town, he was still working to build relationships. “She just needs to stay in bed and rest. Bring her lots of fluids. I recommend a broth diet.”
Dr. Branson finished his examination of Jane and returned all his equipment back to his bag as he prepared to leave. Lizzie followed him out of the room. The door didn’t fully close so Jane was able to hear the full conversation.
“When can we expect her to recover?” Lizzie’s voice was low and tense.
The doctor sighed. “At her age, don’t hold out too much hope. Just make her comfortable, and start making arrangements now.” The front door opened, but after a pause he continued. “And say your goodbyes.” The door shut quietly behind him. Hearing Lizzie cry made Jane’s heart ache.
Goodbyes? I’m not ready for goodbyes, Jane thought. Her chest tightened, knowing the end was close. She was nowhere near ready to face it. Soon, she would join her father and mother in the great beyond.
“Well,” Lizzie reappeared, her eyes rimmed with red from the tears. “You heard Dr. Branson. You just need lots of fluids and rest, and you will be back to normal in no time.” Lizzie sat at the end of the bed and gave her calf a reassuring squeeze.
“That isn’t what he said, dear. I may be sick, but I am not deaf.” Jane smiled, which only made Lizzie cry again.
“Oh, don’t cry for me. I lived my life. I wish I accomplished more or left you more of an inheritance, of course. That is my one regret.” Jane’s voice was hoarse and crackled as she spoke.
Though the words escaped her lips, they lacked conviction. The truth was complicated. She wanted more time with her daughter, and grandchildren. A chance to accomplish just one more goal.
“Will you tell me again about your childhood? About your favorite games? About your mother?” Lizzie whispered and wiped the tears from her face. Jane recognized her need for a distraction.
“Of course. As you know, I grew up lucky enough to focus on school and play. My mother died giving birth to me, but my father made sure to provide whatever I needed. Apparently, my mother's family sent over money, hoping my father would take it and allow me to go back to London to be raised by my grandmother. But he kept the money and me.” Jane’s chest heaved as she struggled to take a deep breath.
“Did I ever tell you about my mother, Mary?”
“You haven’t said much about her.”
“Well, like I said, she died giving birth to me. I don't have any memories of her, but my father told me all about her. She was a great beauty and quite the loner. My father called her beautifully broken.”
“Why was she broken?”
“No matter what my mother had, she always craved more. She talked about wanting a bigger house and people on staff to take care of the chores. The move to America was particularly hard for her.” Jane paused as a cough rattled in her chest.
Lizzie leaned forward and sat her up. “Thank you, dear,” she continued. “She grew up in London, and her family was wealthy. Every meal was cooked and the house was cleaned by a full staff.”
“That makes sense. I can see how that would be a drastic change. New country, new husband. And to do it all without the help of a paid staff.” Lizzie wrinkled her brows together.
“Yes, he said that she was desperate to get back to London, and then one night they had a breakthrough. She still struggled with life here, but she stopped complaining. I think she was happy, or at least, I hope she was.”
“Sarah! Mind the carts and horses!” Lizzie rushed to the window to get Sarah’s attention. Jane smiled, admiring her daughter as a parent, always worried about her children’s safety.
“You rest for now, and I will go prepare supper for us.” Lizzie attempted another reassuring smile before retreating to the kitchen.
Once she was alone again, Jane thought back over her life: her tortured mother, her adoring father, her fond memories with her neighbors, and her husband Samuel.
He had been previously married, but his wife had died in childbirth along with his child.
He focused on his medical profession, and it wasn’t until he saw young Jane that he considered remarrying.
Their marriage had been nothing more than a way for her to survive.
She wasn’t quite sure what love was. Jane knew she loved Lizzie, but when it had come to her adoring husband, she had felt something closer to fondness than love.
She did miss him now, but she mostly missed the extra warmth of his body at night.
The sound of her daughter bustling around the kitchen brought her out of her reminiscing. Her long life should be celebrated, but she wanted to experience more.
“I need to stop focusing on what was, and focus on what I have today.” Her tired voice choked on muted sobs.
Jane knew her time was near. Her breathing was shallow and difficult, and she was getting sleepy.
She wanted to wait for the shadows of the oak tree to reach her favorite spot, a small bench that overlooked the meadow and river.
The group of children came running back by and paused to jump over the shadow’s lines. Jane smiled and closed her eyes, thinking about the small brunette girl playing outside, Abigail. She reminded Jane of herself at that age. Oh, to be young again!
Her chest grew warm and tight, and she felt a sense of peace as the darkness seemed to close in around her.
Part of her felt ready. But she still had so much she wanted to do.
Time is a cruel master, she thought. If only there was a way to escape it.
A final tear fell down her cheek as she sank into the darkness around her.
In an instant, Jane opened her eyes, and she looked up to find herself standing beneath the large oak tree.
She whipped her head to the window in time to hear a blood-curdling scream coming from the small window.
Jane stood paralyzed as she watched Lizzie rush into the room to console the old woman.
She looked away long enough to glance down at her small, childlike frame. The wrinkles she had grown to despise had been replaced with soft, supple skin. A red polka dot dress replaced the nightgown. The same one she watched running around in front of the oak tree. Abigail!