Under the Wide and Starry Sky by Nancy Horan Read Free Book Online Page A

Hervey was losing through bleeding, then hurried back to the flat so he could drink it while it was warm. For several days she searched the apothecaries of Paris, looking for the ground-up bark of some tropical tree that supposedly could cure tuberculosis. None of the treatments—not the doctors’, not her own—could turn the tide for her beautiful child.
    Some nights during her vigils, she had to fight to keep her eyes open, she was so exhausted. Alone and scared, she made promises.
Please,
she prayed.
Please
. Strange events began to occur in the dim light. Staring at the fireplace mantel, she saw vases and pitchers about to topple off the edge. Time and again, she jumped up to catch them only to find that nothing was there. During the day, she felt as if her feet were not touching the pavement. Instead, she floated just above it, weightless. She did not mention the weird sensations to Belle or Kate.
    One night while she was keeping watch over Hervey, the boy woke and asked for water. When he reached out to take the cup, she saw light streaming from his fingers. She wired Sam the next morning:
Come immediately, regardless of expense.
    Every few hours, Hervey began bleeding in a new place. “Blood. Get the things, please, but wait until I’m ready.” Fanny fetched the washbowl, bandages, and probe to clean each new opening in her boy’s delicate skin. He would squeeze his hands together, shut his eyes and say, “Now, Mama.”
    The pain of treatment was so shocking to his body that he became violently sick after. Others in the household could not bear to stay in the room. Sometimes he went into convulsions, his bones snapping in and out of joint, making the sound of a cracking whip. It seemed his skeleton and organs were disintegrating. The rush of blood tore one eardrum and perforated the other.
    Fanny lay with him in her arms, murmuring words of comfort through his hours of agony. She prayed that if there were indeed a merciful God, He would strike the boy unconscious so he would feel the pain no more. But the child never lost his mind. Through it all, he never complained or cried out, not even when his bones, near the end, cut through his skin and lay bare.
    When Sam arrived the second week of April, his knees buckled at the sight of his son. Fanny had tried to prepare him ahead of time, but at first Sam could not bear to look upon the child. It was Hervey who patted his father’s head to comfort him.
    Fanny watched in dumb wonder as her shy boy became precocious in dying. He said goodbye to Belle. He kissed the hand of Miss Kate, who had shown herself to be a storybook heroine in her devotion to him. He gave his toys to Sammy.
    At the end, Hervey said, “Lie down beside me, Mama.” And then he was gone.

CHAPTER 8
    Fanny’s breath came slowly. But for an intermittent shiver, she sat perfectly still. At the request of the other students, she had returned to Mr. Julian’s studio to pose for the morning head study. It was four weeks since Hervey’s death.
    â€œSo sad,” the Russian girl remarked as she studied Fanny’s face, running her forefinger along the contour of her cheek. The other students gathered around. “Can you bear to sit?” they asked.
    She could have said no. But these women had comforted her like sisters during her boy’s illness. Anyway, it hardly mattered where she was. Here, at least, they understood her stupefaction. If they wanted to draw despair, it did not trouble her to face them.
    For two days she bore witness to her son. Sitting for the artists, she did not see them. She saw only the gentle, heroic Hervey. How could any of them begin to understand what she had witnessed: a four-year-old boy with more courage in his tiny, wasted body than she had ever seen in an adult.
    It haunted her that his was not a proper burial place, but there wasn’t enough money to pay for a headstone, let alone a decent site. Fanny, Sam,