Pale by Edward A. Farmer

Author:Edward A. Farmer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blackstone Publishing
Published: 2020-04-01T19:53:32+00:00

CHAPTER 20

The pain grew in that certain part of Mr. Kern, deepening that summer, though the prideful man mentioned nothing of it until Silva discovered him half alive in his parlor one afternoon.

“Sir, we gots to get you to a hospital,” Silva insisted.

She tugged at his near-lifeless form, feeling his hand slip from her fingers as her insistence was met only by a wave of his arm and she, no longer caring of any outcome inside that house good or bad, merely continued with her duties and paid no further attention to the man in the room.

My response, I must sadly admit, was of the same resignation, as I did not fetch the Missus or even call the doctor when I’d seen the old man in such dire straits. In fact, I did not concern myself with the Mister’s death until the plight posed by the Missus’s unmitigated power bestowed by that untimely occurrence finally hit me, and I knew his death would confer upon her the one thing she had always wanted: her freedom. And it was then that I acted.

The Missus displayed no visible sign of concern over the Mister’s absence during dinner, not that it was expected she would. In fact, upon hearing of his illness at the onset of her meal, she carefully finished her portion then sipped her coffee slowly between bites of sweet roll, before stealing off to his parlor room where she reproached Silva for not informing her sooner.

She found the old man on the floor when she entered, lifting him to her breasts like a newborn.

“Somebody get Floyd!” she yelled.

Floyd was the only one strong enough to carry Mr. Kern to his bedroom, where he ensured the old man was still of this world before he left for his own quarters, saying to him, “Ya gotta kick that demon,” and hearing Mr. Kern grunt back, “If it don’t kick me first.”

Mr. Kern appeared as feeble as a wayward ghost having returned to earth for a spot of unfinished business, his hair ivory and his skin gray-green, like the tint of an overcooked yolk, his eyes deep pockets that were dim as the shadows that hung around him.

“Promise me, sir, if ya don’t kick it first, ya better run like hell if ya see that white light comin’ for ya,” Floyd said.

Mr. Kern grinned, although even that small gesture seemed too exhaustive in his state as he soon lay back with his head on his pillow and closed his eyes. The doctor arrived by nightfall and brought with him an assistant who seemed more interested in the Missus’s delicate smile than actually caring for Mr. Kern. Lucky for us all, there would be no need for some lengthy hospital stay, the doctor assured, as the Mister’s condition had been brought on by a pesky bug and prolonged periods of dehydration. Still, he would need ample rest and would miss the remaining weeks of the harvest, a fact that ailed him more than the fever he bore.

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