A Great and Terrible Beauty

"What are you doing?" I scream. "She can't breathe!" I wrestle with the spoon, trying to pull it out, but Miss Moore stays my hand,



"The spoon will keep her from biting off her tongue." I want to believe her, but the way Pippa is thrashing on the floor, it's hard to imagine we can do anything to help. And then the violent tremors subside. She closes her eyes and goes still as death.



"Is she ?" But I can't finish what I'm whispering. I don't want to know the answer.



Mrs. Nightwing struggles to her feet. "Miss Moore, would you check on the progress with Dr. Thomas, please?"



Miss Moore nods and marches toward the open door, admonishing the girls peering inside at us to get away. Mrs. Nightwing places her shawl over Pippa. There on the floor, she looks exactly like a sleeping princess from a fairy tale.



I don't even realize I'm murmuring to her softly. "I'm sorry, Pippa, I'm sorry."



Mrs. Nightwing regards me curiously. "I don't know what you're thinking, Miss Doyle, but this is not your doing. Pippa suffers from epilepsy. She has suffered a fit."



"Epilepsy?" Cecily repeats, making the word sound like leprosy or syphilis .



"Yes, Miss Temple. And now I must ask that you never repeat a word of this. It must be forgotten. If I should hear gossip about this, I shall give the girls responsible thirty conduct marks each and take away all privileges. Do I make myself clear?"



We nod silently.



"Is there anything we can do to help?" Ann asks.



Mrs. Nightwing dabs at her brow with a handkerchief. "You could say a prayer."



Dusk falls softly. Early shadows leak through the tall windows, robbing the rooms slowly of their color. I have no appetite for dinner, nor do I join the others in Felicity's scarf-draped sanctuary. Instead, I find myself wandering till I'm just outside Pippa's room. I knock quietly. Miss Moore answers. Behind her, Pippa is lying on the bed, beautiful and still.



"How is she?"



"Sleeping," Miss Moore answers. "Come. No use standing in the hall." The door is opened wide. She lets me take the chair by the bed and pulls another over for herself. It's a small, kind gesture, and for some reason, it adds to my sadness. If she knew what I'd done to Pippa, what a liar I am, she wouldn't want to be so nice to me.



Pippa is breathing deeply, seemingly untroubled. I'm afraid to sleep myself. Afraid I'll see Pippa's terrified face as she toppled into my bloody stupid vision. The fear and guilt have me exhausted. Too tired to keep the tears back, I bury my face in my hands and weep, for Pippa, my mother, my father, everything.



Miss Moore's arm slips around my shoulders. "Shhh, don't worry. Pippa will be fine in a day or two." I nod and cry harder.



"Somehow I think these tears aren't all for Pippa."



"I'm a horrid girl, Miss Moore. You don't know what I'm capable of."



"There now, what's this nonsense?" she murmurs.



"It's true. I'm not at all a good person. If it weren't for me, my mother would still be alive."



"Your mother died of cholera. That wasn't your doing."



The truth has been bottled up inside me for so long that it comes pouring out, spilling everywhere. "No, she didn't. She was murdered. I ran away from her and she came after me and was murdered. I killed her with my unkindness. It's all my fault, all of it." My sobs are great gasping hiccups. Miss Moore still holds me in her sure arms, which remind me so much of my mother's right now, I can barely stand it. Eventually, I'm completely cried out, my face a swollen balloon. Miss Moore hands me her handkerchief, bids me blow my nose. I'm five again. No matter how much I think I've matured, I always end up back at five when I cry.



"Thank you," I say, trying to give back the white lace handkerchief.



"You hold on to it," she says diplomatically, eyeing the limp, disgusting thing in my hand. "Miss DoyleGemmaI want you to listen to me. You did not kill your mother. We are all unkind from time to time. We all do things we desperately wish we could undo. Those regrets just become part of who we are, along with everything else. To spend time trying to change that, well, it's like chasing clouds."



New tears trickle down my cheeks. Miss Moore brings the hand with the handkerchief in it to my face.



"Will she really be all right?" I say, looking at Pippa.



"Yes. Though I think it takes a toll on her to have to keep such a secret."



"Why does it have to be a secret?"



Miss Moore takes a moment to tuck Pippa's blanket under her chin, "If it were known, she would be unmarriageable. It is considered a flaw in the blood, like madness. No man would want a woman with such an affliction."