Fortune Is a Woman - Elizabeth Adler [47]
Francie knew it was impossible to open her eyes. She seemed to be hovering in a haze of white light, filled with soft rustlings and the soothing murmur of quiet voices, like the wind in the poplar trees on the ranch. She thought maybe that’s where she was, back at the ranch with her mother and the pretty chestnut mare and Princess. It was so peaceful, except when she moved and then she exploded into fragments of pain, each one sharp as a knife blade. Then she would hear someone screaming and she knew it was herself. As the pain eased she remained suspended in time, her eyes tightly closed, safe in her own peaceful, private white world.
She heard gentle voices calling her name. “Francie, dear,” they said, “open your eyes. It’s such a lovely day, Francie. Look at the sunshine.” And often she would hear voices praying for her, asking the good Lord to give her strength and courage to face life again. But she did not want to face her old life; she liked this one. There were no harsh voices in her private world, no cruelty or hatred or pain. It was a peaceful dream and she wanted to stay there forever. Then one day, instead of the soft feminine whispering voices, she recognized a man’s voice.
“Francie,” it said, “it’s Josh. I’m the waiter who helped you. I’ve come to see you. Just open your eyes, Francie, and look at me.”
Josh, Josh, Josh … the name echoed through her mind. Then she stopped herself from thinking any further, she didn’t want to remember what had happened.
Her eyelids felt so heavy, as though they had already been weighted with pennies—the way they did when people died. Maybe she was dead and she would never open them again … but then she would never see Josh.
The weight suddenly removed itself from her eyelids and she lifted them slowly. It was like raising the curtain in a theater. Daylight struck her like a blow; there were only vague shapes, unconnected voices. Then gradually her vision cleared and a face swam into view. The beautiful face of the good angel. “Josh?” she whispered.
“There you are, lass,” he said, smiling at her, relieved. “I thought I’d lost you.” And he took her hand in his and kissed it.
CHAPTER 10
Francie began to get better; the color returned to her cheeks and the flesh to her bones and each day she grew stronger. The nuns smiled when they saw her eager eyes as she waited for the young man and the way she reached out for his hand—the hand that had been her lifeline, bringing her back from the brink when no one else, not even the doctors, could. “The young man was right,” they whispered. “It was the love the Lord gave us that worked the miracle.”
Josh came every day. When he had been paid he would bring her a present, a bunch of violets, a single perfect hothouse peach, fresh-made chocolates. “You must not spend your money on me,” she reproved him, “you need it for yourself.” But he just smiled that sweet smile of his and took her hand and kissed it gently.
The innocent kiss sent tremors through Francie’s body; in all the years since her mother died no one had ever kissed her and she had forgotten the warm feelings of loving and being loved. She wanted to throw her arms around Josh and hug him like she used to hug Princess, to stroke his face the way she stroked her chestnut mare, Blaize, because they were the only experiences of affection in her love-starved life and she knew no others.
But when he had gone a worried frown appeared between her brows; the nuns had said that in a week’s time she would be well enough to leave. But where would she go? What would she do? She had no home and no money. Her only friend in the whole world was Josh and she knew how hard he was struggling just to make ends meet.
The next day as they walked slowly through the cloisters she said determinedly, “I’ll be leaving here soon. I must get a job.”
He shook his head, “Women like you don’t work, Francie.