The Stockwell Letters by Jacqueline Friedland EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Jacqueline Friedland
- Language: English
- Genre: Historical Literary Fiction
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- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
ANN
Boston, 1836
Six months after I met Wendell, I began to feel ill. At rst there were
only small signs. My appetite was less robust, and my limbs
sometimes ached. I hardly paid mind to the symptoms, as I suffered no
cough, no fever, no signs suggestive of a virus. But as the weeks wore
on, the ailments progressed, refusing to be ignored.
There were days that spring when I couldn’t leave my bed, the
headaches throbbing so ferociously that even a sliver of sunshine
caused pain behind my eyes. I felt myself a fool, knowing I exhibited
no outward signs of illness. Yet, I was so overwhelmingly fatigued that
I was forced to cancel many dates with Wendell, as well as several
engagements with the Boston Female Anti-Slavery Society.
One Tuesday morning, Aunt Maria came to my chamber. As I
opened my eyes and beheld the tray full of breakfast items in her
hand, my vision began to blur. Maria’s blonde hair seemed suddenly
foggy, impossible to separate from the fair skin of her face. I was hit
with a wave of nausea so acute that my eyes began to tear.
“I cannot,” I managed to utter, as a force inside my forehead
continued pushing outward, causing indescribable pain.
My aunt placed the tray on the bedside table, and then her soft
hand was upon my forehead to take my measure. “Still cool to the
touch. Perhaps a compress anyway,” she said and then scurried from
the room.
I must have fallen asleep then because when I awoke next, I found
our family physician, the balding Doctor Henwick, speaking to Aunt
Maria at my bedside.
“If she’s not improved in two days’ time,” he was saying, “we will
try leeching.”
The mention of leeches caused my stomach to turn again, but I
could hardly nd the energy to say so.
“Try and get her to take some broth,” he directed, and I managed
to emit a moan in protest.
“Oh, darling,” Maria said, rushing to my side. She took my hand
in her own, but the contact was not a comfort. Her skin, which I
knew to be smooth, felt like sand rubbing a wound. I prayed the
doctor might nd a way to help me, but I couldn’t summon the words
to tell him as much.
Shortly after Dr. Henwick left, I drifted off again and next awoke
to the sound of Uncle Henry’s voice oating up from the entryway.
“She’s not been out from her bed in days, so a visitor would surely
be unwise. The doctor has advised that she must rest as much as
possible.”
The voice that answered sent a small jolt through me.
“You’ll let her know I called?”
It was Wendell, back from his travels. I longed to call out to him,
but I could not so much as lift my head.
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