The Sacred River Read Online Free PDF

regret.
    “We’re going so far away, Father.”
    “You’ll be fit and well by the time you come home,” he said. “Don’t come back until you are, eh? Look after your mother. And your aunt, of course.”
    He’d shaken hands with Yael, then gripped Louisa’s arms through the sleeves of her new traveling coat.
    “Write, Louisa,” he said, looking down at her. “Write as soon as you are able. We shall miss you at home.”
    Louisa’s face caught a gleam of wintry sun and Harriet thought she saw tears on her cheek.
    “I will, Blundell,” Louisa whispered. “I will.”
    Louisa embraced Tom and so did Harriet and Yael and then the farewell was over. Her father and brother turned to join the crowd passing back over the gangway as Harriet picked up the dog and she, Yael, and Louisa made their way down to their cabin.
    Harriet had just enough strength left to climb up onto the raised bunk on one side of the tiny room.
    “This surely can’t be meant to accommodate all three of us?” Yael said, edging through the doorway.
    She opened up a large leather bag and retrieved a tin of flea powder that she began to shake over the dark blankets.
    “You must rest now, Harriet,” Louisa said, dabbing at her eyes with a corner of her handkerchief. Sitting on the edge of the bunk below Harriet’s, Louisa removed her hat, leaning her head and shoulders forward, checking the chignon at the back of her head with little pats of her hand.
    “I’ve lost a hairpin. I can’t think where it’s gone.”
    “Don’t fret, dear,” Yael said, hanging her ulster on the back of the door, stowing the bag in the overhead locker and maneuvering herself onto the single bunk on the other side of the cabin. “I daresay you’ll be able to buy a card of pins when we arrive. The women in Egypt have hair, after all. They must do something with it.”
    Yael rolled over, with difficulty. From above, her aunt reminded Harriet of the whale they’d seen beached on the mud one year at Boscombe. Harriet had stood in the crowd on the promenade, looking down on the mighty creature in its helplessness. Her brothers joined the people on the shore who were splashing buckets of water over it, trying to keep it alive until the tide came in. Next morning, the same individuals were back with knives and whetstones, cutting steaks and rectangles of white blubber from the open-jawed corpse, sharpening their blades with as much enthusiasm as they’d previously filled buckets.
    “I can’t imagine why I didn’t bring spares,” Louisa said. “When I think of all the useless things I’ve got in the trunk. A few pins wouldn’t have occupied any space at all. Will you take a drop of tincture, Harriet?”
    “No, Mother.”
    Pulling a pair of blue velvet curtains along the side of the bunk, closing herself away, Harriet breathed through her nose, toward the pit of her stomach. One, two . . . She breathed out again, slowly, counting, as Dr. Grammaticas had taught her to do to measure her breath and steady it. Two, three, four .
    Her chest ached and her breath was short, made worse by the cold air and the fumes from the engines, but she didn’t want to start the voyage feeling queasy with the nausea that the tincture provoked. The medicines—foul-tasting, headache-inducing—could be almost as bad as the asthma. She had tried scores but not one fulfilled the promises made for it, of bringing about a lasting change in her health.
    Harriet got the red journal out of the pocket and held it to her chest. Despite the roar of the engines, the cry of seagulls outside, the stink of fish and coal, she felt as if she might be dreaming. Putting her face to the porthole again, she watched as the coast grew indistinct and was lost to view. She pinched the back of her hand and told herself she was leaving England. She was on her way to Thebes.
    •  •  •
    Yael’s bunk was empty. Gone to Divine Service , read a note on the pillow. Louisa moaned in her sleep and rolled