The People of Dewbrook

Chapter Eleven

The following day, Rosemary did not feel better at all. In fact, she felt even worse. The very thought of existence brought her pain, and there was nothing she could do about it except to cry and try to sleep as much as possible. She stared at the ceiling without hope in her heart all the time, and when she did feel hope, the feeling was small and fleeting. When Caroline walked into her room with a serving tray in her hands and a wide smile on her face, the smile vanished instantly upon witnessing it. Startled, she quickly turned around before facing the ill lady once more and forming a forced smile, not wishing the young and frail miss to be worried by her worry.

"Good morning, my dear. I have brought you breakfast," she said in a timid voice, watching the other woman feebly grab the tray and slowly eat everything with wide-eyed anticipation.

"I feel the same strange flavour in this pudding as in the tea I drank last night. It must be my senses," Rosemary said immediately upon finishing her meal, leaving the tray on the night table.

Caroline laughed awkwardly. "Yes, my dear, your senses have been behaving quite oddly lately. Your sickness does not seem to be getting any better, and who knows when it will end if it will ever end at all? I apologise for bringing up this disturbance, but it cannot be refuted that this is a potential outcome of your situation."

Rosemary stared at her, her eyes bereft of emotion.

Caroline's eyes widened from the sheer discomfort she was feeling. "Anyhow, I suppose that there are many more things we could talk about on this beautiful day which is blessed by nature. The sun shines through the curtains, the birds sing and the butterflies fly gently above the fresh green grass, and the flowers blossom in utter harmony and peace. Our situation may not be the best right now, but feeling sorrow on a day such as this should not be done. Would you be willing to start the conversation, my dear?"

Rosemary nodded solemnly. "Yes, the weather is indeed rather beautiful on this fine morning, my unexpected companion. I suppose that we should now carpe diem, as they say. There are many things one could talk about, and, much more importantly, do."

Caroline raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by 'do'? In the life of a wealthy person, there is never much to be done."

Rosemary shook her head. "There is never much that has to be done, but there is always much that could be done. Yes, I suppose that, indeed, not doing much is bliss, but at the same time, it is somehow quite the opposite. I mean, look at this very conversation! We are blabbering on and on without a point because we have gotten pretty used to wasting time, have we not, Madam Proust? Time is money, and you, my esteemed dame, are not known to be careless about the latter."

Caroline rolled her eyes. "Well, mademoiselle, if you find yourself fond of stressing over every wasted second, then so be it. I, however, do not concern myself with such frivolous and trivial matters. The only thing that truly matters to me is that I am mirthful and contented with the choices I make, and every second spent in rejoicing is a second well-spent, no matter how much idleness it involves. 

Once upon a time, I used to constantly make myself nauseous by imagining what people were going to think of me if I did not know how to play the piano and ride a horse and speak six languages and write wonderful works of fiction and sing and act and so on, but, as it turns out, people like talentless sloths like me. People like anyone as long as the person in question has a beautiful appearance and a lovely smile and a certain charm to their persona, so do not fret, young lady. Focus on getting well instead."

Rosemary let out a deep sigh.

Caroline groaned. "What is it?"

Rosemary lowered her head. "Being in this state reminds me of death, but in a rather detached sort of way. I am helplessly chained to my bed as my body betrays me and brings me pain that gnaws at every part of my brain, feeling exhausted and numb with every second I spend staring at the ceiling, sleep being the only true relief from this wretched life. But someday, sleep might be the only thing left.