#rivka jacobs

“It would help if you told me the truth,” the doctor said as he dried his hands. He faced the sink and a bank of enormous windows with pale-yellow painted frames. He ground his teeth together, trying to retain his professional composure. He turned around again and confronted the young woman who was perched in her silky slip on the edge of the draped table.

Mistress Mary Goslick lifted the embroidered hem of her cambric smock as she hurried along the damp and dewy path that wound through the magnificent gardens of Hampden Hall. She wore only a sleeveless, golden surcoat over the light, white material of the undergarment. Her long chestnut-colored hair was loose, hanging in bumpy tendrils. All was in an uproar. Her world was upended. She tried to apply the disciplines her tutors had taught her, to gather her emotions, focus her thoughts, and reinforce her resolve to survive.

Her husband looked self-absorbed and tense. When she reached her fingers to brush his dangling hand, trying to stoke him into taking hers, he quickly withdrew this arm and caught hold of his blowing open Hawaiian shirt. She smiled. “I’m so glad you agreed to come back with me to Key Biscayne,” she said. She squinted into the late morning sun as it sparkled off the blue-green ocean. She relished the feel of the sea-breeze blowing into her face and the smell of brine. He grimaced, his eyes unreadable behind his retro-style aviator shades.