The Nightingale of Atlantic City (Steampunk Short Story)

5

Cathy's illness puzzled doctors from the beginning, I explained to him. They kept her in bed, out of sight. She stopped appearing at the restaurant and I assumed she and her father had moved to France with Corin. Five months passed without any news, and finally I asked the staff as to whether Cathy's wedding had happened. Nobody had any information, until I asked our event planner. He told me Leonardo had taken a leave of absence because Cathy had taken ill.

I rushed to the nearest wagon, begging the driver to get me to the Vicaris house. He refused me for the amount of money I had, but he said his friend at the stables might take pity and lend me a horse for that amount. I was no skilled rider, but when I mounted that beast, I kicked hard until he lunged into an infernal gallop.

My heart raced faster than the clomping footfalls of my steed. When I reached the house, I practically broke the gate. Cathy's father tried to send me away.

"She wouldn't want to be seen like this," Leonardo coughed. In his eyes, I saw a man who was lost. He was struggling to maintain his composure.

"I need to talk to her. Please."

"She refuses to eat. For months and months, she will not eat. Her teeth are rotting. She sleeps all hours of the day." His words trailed off and he turned his back to me, walking inside.

Death's presence was evident. The drapes were drawn and a single oil lamp lit the main hall. Cobwebs laced the surfaces and sconces. The home was a shadow of its former brilliance, cold and unkempt; the house was already in mourning.

The stairs creaked beneath my boots as I headed up to her bedroom. When I found her door, I turned the knob and let myself in. Her drapes were closed, but the wraithlike fabric allowed enough sunlight--perhaps too much sunlight--to see her. There is a reason we hide our dead in the darkness of tombs.

Nothing could have prepared me for the sight of her. It was like opening the crypt of a fresh corpse. She was staring off into space, her jaw hanging open. Her body had shrunk tight around her bones, so tight I could see the heartbeat in her throat. When she saw me, she gasped and pulled her covers up over her shoulders. I saw the bottle of laudanum on the nightstand beside her. Her lips were stained black from the draught.

"I know you don't want visitors, but I had to see you."

"Boy?" Her eyes widened. I sat down on the side of her bed.

"I didn't know you were sick."

"I know."

"I have to tell you something. If I don't, I'll regret it forever. It's just. It is really hard to say."

"You're in love with me." She extended a boney hand. I held it carefully, staring at her long translucent nails so that I wouldn't be staring at her.

"You knew?"

"Of course, boy." Her smile was strained, but it was there all the same. I didn't know what to say. I wanted to squeeze her hand. I wanted to hug her tight and cry into the lace at her collar, but I was terrified that I might break her. She spoke a long time to me, her volume low and her words slurred. I made out what I could. "Corin is gone. I am just a useless thing now. I can't sing. I can't walk. I fear that when I pass, my father will die of grief. I have been his little songbird for so long."

"You can't go," I stammered. I caught my breath between sobs. "My life was hard and cold until I met you. I never saw anything more beautiful in my life than when you were by your father's piano. Unreal, that was."

"You're a silly boy," she sighed, dropping her chin.

"Do you need to sleep?"

"Soon. Don't go yet."

"Do you remember that night at the pier?" I asked. Cathy gave my hand a squeeze. "After you finished your last set, I followed you there. You didn't see me, but I was watching you lean against the railing as the tide came in. The little beads on your dress rustled in the breeze. They sounded like rain. I went to the railing a little ways away from you and pretended to be a stargazer. You told me that you were a magician, and then you removed your necklace. You spun the thaumatrope for me in the moonlight, and as it spun, as the images converged, it reflected beams of silver across the waves."

"I remember."

"I said magic could always be explained by science. Your magic was only an optical illusion."

"Silly, silly boy," she said, as she had said back then. "Science is just a language for understanding magic."

"Yes." I helped her remember her words to me that night. "A scientist could be the greatest magician in the world if he didn't give away all his secrets. I disagreed with you. We debated, until you got so angry you told me to jump off the pier. And so I removed my coat and my shoes and I jumped right into the water." I chuckled, but my heart clenched.

"I was terrified," she whispered.

"When I hit the water, the waves swept me into the pylons. The barnacles tore my arms and legs apart and all the while I was freezing in those icy waters. I used all my strength to swim to the shore, where you were waiting. I remember crawling in the sand, on my hands and knees, shaking so violently I could hardly breathe. I vomited in the sand and you came running. You helped me into my coat."

"You stupid boy!" Cathy laughed feebly.

"Yes. You shouted that over and over. I thought that was the night I would tell you how I felt. It should have been. My father gave me a good lashing for ruining my clothes, and I certainly regretted jumping off that pier just to prove a point."

"What was the point?"

"That I would do anything for you."

She closed her eyes and took deep breaths. I set her hand on her chest, leaned forward and kissed her face. Her skin felt like a peach.

"I love you, William."

I visited her every day. I read her Alice in Wonderland, an old favorite, and other charming children's stories. These whimsical tales chased away her anxiety, if only for most of the time she was awake. The hardest part was knowing that she would never leave her bedroom again, but through the stories, her mind could explore every corner of imagination. She inquired about details that weren't in the text, wanting to know the flavor of tobacco in the caterpillar's hookah, or the material of Alice's shoes. She died within three weeks of my first visit.