The Scientist's Experiment: Chapter Twenty-One

(FLASHBACK)
Zeke sat leaning over his desk, poring over the notes that lay strewn about the table. If there was a remote possibility the man could bury himself in his own work, that’s what he was trying to accomplish. But it wasn’t working. He was simply too distracted. Zeke’s thoughts were clouded over, and he just couldn’t seem to break through the barrier of grief. It was impenetrable. His active classroom setting usually distracted him long enough to concentrate, but even then he’d have moments of fogginess, where he might go silent for a while, and have to be roused by one of his students.
But at home, there was no relief. Nothing to push away the clouds hanging overhead. Emily was beside herself with depression, and Zeke refrained from even mentioning the disaster that had been haunting them for, now, two weeks.
Two weeks. Where had the time gone?
They’d already been living in the house for several months, but Zeke’s laboratory, which was once a dining room, still wasn’t fully unpacked. And due to the bout of depression he was going through, he doubted he would finish this task any time soon. Everything was a royal mess at this point.
‘And things were going so well…’ He thought.
Zeke looked up from his desk to see Matilda, the young servant girl the couple had recently hired, dusting something in the hallway. They had originally hired her as a nursemaid, but despite recent events, they decided to keep her as help regardless. Realizing he hadn’t heard from Emily in quite some time, he beckoned Matilda into his lab.
“Sir?” She said.
“Could you please attend to my wife? See if she needs anything.” He muttered, his voice empty and emotionless.
“Of course.” She said, curtsied, and left.
Zeke took a long sip of his coffee, straining to hear noises from the upper floor. He heard Matilda’s light footsteps ascending the stairs, then a knock on a door, some muffled conversation, and then the same pair of feet returning to the first floor.
“Sir,” Matilda said, entering the lab, “she’s in the tub, but she’s been in there for almost an hour. I fear the water might be gettin’ a bit cold, but she doesn’t want to come out. I offered to run her a new bath; she said no.”
“You spoke to her?”
“Yes sir.”
“Thank you. I’ll, um…see to it.” He said. He alighted from his chair and rushed to the base of the staircase.
“Anything else, sir?” She asked.
“Not at the moment.” He said, and took off up the stairs.
Trying not to fear the worst and begin panicking, he quickly made his way to the upstairs washroom. The door was shut tight. He knocked softly against the wood of the door.
“Emily? Emmy? Are you alright?” Zeke said.
He got no response, and he felt his heart clench.
“I’m coming in, darling. I just thought I’d prepare you.” He said.
He gave the knob a twist, praying it wasn’t locked. It wasn’t. What he entered upon made him gasp aloud. There lay Emily, sitting in there bathtub, stewing in a pool of her own blood.
“Jesus!” He cried, and ran to her side.
He grabbed her clammy wrists, inspecting them with a shaking grip, his heart throbbing in his chest.
“What are you doing?!” Emily asked.
“Where did you do it?!” He cried, on the verge of a meltdown.
“Do what?”
“Cut yourself!” He screeched. He plunged his hand into the cold water to feel her ankles.
“Don’t be daft! I didn’t cut myself! I told you it was my time this morning! That’s why I took a bath in the first place! Why would you think I would…” She said.
Zeke went completely numb for a moment, pulse beginning to slow. He grappled for words that weren’t there, and slowly sat on the nearby vanity stool. He didn’t even breathe, and when he did, it came out as a ragged sob. Suddenly the grief had become too much; his cup had runeth over. He doubled over and began crying aloud not unlike a wounded animal. Zeke allowed himself to release all the emotion and grief that had built up over the last fourteen days. He could feel Emily’s eyes on him, but she didn’t interrupt. After a moment or two, his sobbing was reduced to some shuddered breathing and red eyes.
“I wanted him so badly. Everything was perfect. We were so close to…to being…” Zeke sniffed.
Emily said nothing. She continued to sit in the freezing tub, hugging her knees, eyeing her husband mutely.
“I can’t even look at the nursery anymore. I mean…why a stillborn? Why us?”
“Maybe we’re just cursed.” Emily chuckled, but it was a dry, bitter laugh.
Zeke had since destroyed the telegram, but the memory of receiving it was forever burned in his head. What the happy couple assumed was a birth announcement was actually a death knell. The birth mother they were adopting from had endured a very difficult delivery, one in which she survived, but her offspring had not. The baby boy that was supposed to be Ezekiel’s and Emily’s son was born dead. They hadn’t been invited to the funeral by the biological family. They hadn’t even received a post-mortem photograph of the infant.
“You liked the name ‘Herbert,’ right?” Emily muttered.
Zeke nodded, shuffling over to the side of the bathtub. He knelt down and pulled out the bath plug. He wordlessly began running new water into the tub, hoping to clean out the bloody mess Emily had been sitting in. He used the bar of soap to lather a washrag, and gently scrubbed her legs. She reached out a hand and brushed his hair with her fingers. Zeke reached up a soapy hand and brought her fingers to his lips, kissing them tenderly. She gave him a weak, tired smile.
“Please don’t ever…do that. Don’t even consider it.” Zeke said.
“You were the one thinking about it.” Emily said.
“Well, when one comes upon his wife sitting in a pool of blood, what is he to think.” He choked.
The lowering water level revealed a red ring that circled the tub. Zeke couldn’t say anything else, and Emily didn’t know how to react. Zeke continued to rub the warm water over his wife’s legs.
“I won’t do it if you won’t.” She finally said.
“Promise?”
Emily nodded. She hugged her husband close to her chest. His shirt was instantly soaked, but he didn’t care. He brought the warm washrag to her back, slowly scrubbing circles over her shoulders.
“You took a bath to get clean, and yet you’re dirtier than you were when you started.” Zeke muttered.
He heard Emily chuckle softly at the comment, but she said nothing.
“Shall I get you a towel?” Zeke offered.
“Sure.” She said.
Zeke paused halfway to the bureau, turned back to his wife. He leaned down next to her, tightly grasping her hand. He looked deeply into her eyes.
“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?” He asked.
“Eventually. I’ll need time.” She answered.
Zeke nodded understandingly. He fetched her a towel and, at Emily’s request, left it near the tub.
“Would you like some privacy?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.” Emily said.
Ezekiel nodded, starting to leave the washroom.
“I don’t wish to give up the nursery yet. May we keep it for a bit?”
Zeke didn’t respond to Emily’s request. A knot had formed in his stomach, and he quickly left the room. Hastily shutting the door behind him, he wearily leaned against the wood. Zeke was quite sure he’d start sobbing all over again. He felt so feeble and helpless. Death seemed to plague him, at least as of late. And, as an unfortunate result, it also plagued his wife.
Zeke glanced across the hall at the mentioned nursery, knowing he wanted to make Emily happy by keeping it, but also knowing he couldn’t bear to look at it any longer. He withdrew the house’s skeleton key from his pocket and rushed over to the door. Slamming it shut, Zeke locked the room up tight. He tested the handle to be sure it was secure. He’d give the key to Emily later, and as of that moment, he didn’t want anything more to do with that room.  
(PRESENT)
“Tea?” Zeke said.
“Thank you.” Carla said, taking the cup from his hand.
He placed the entire tea tray in front of her, and returned to his chair by the fireplace. The library-lounge was incredibly warm, the firelight casting itself, almost ominously, upon the towering bookshelves. Zeke sat back in his large armchair, taking an opportunity to add to his knitting project.
“You didn’t want any?” Carla asked.
Zeke shook his head, not looking up from his needles, adding, “Keeps me up at night.”
“Oh, thank you for dinner, if I haven’t said so before. It was quite good.” Carla said.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Thank you for bringing the delicious pumpkin pie.”
“It’s just nice to see you eating normally again.” She said.
“Not skin and bones, anymore. Thankfully.” He said.
Zeke examined one of his hands. He was grateful not to see his bones anymore, but was frustrated that he still couldn’t wear his wedding band. Before, it had been too loose, now it was too tight, but he much preferred the latter. He placed the knitting in his lap and reached up to the chain around his neck. He fumbled with the ring that hung on it, and its partner that hung with it.
“What are you making?” Carla asked.
“Oh, this? I’m not exactly sure.”
The knitted material stretched almost to the floor. It was a nice even square, turning rectangle, that was about forty loops in width. Not tiny, but not exactly large either. It was a nice lavender color, and was very soft to the touch. Zeke picked up the needles again, adjusted his position in the chair, and continued. Carla went back to sipping her tea, her eyes roving around the massive library. Her eyes settled on the portrait that was positioned above the fireplace. A smiling woman with wavy brown hair posed demurely for the invisible artist. She sat in a high-backed chair and wore a very shapely dress. Everything about the woman was shapely and ample, from her large arms to her thick legs. Carla didn’t know what to think, but she certainly had some kind of attraction to the woman.
“Has that always been there?” Carla asked.
“The painting? A family portrait used to be there, but I never liked it. Too…astute. Emily hated that self-portrait, so I couldn’t hang it up until after…she passed.”
“That’s Emily?”
“In the…paint.” He snorted.  
“She’s beautiful.”
“You sound shocked.” Zeke smirked.
“Well…it’s not that you aren’t…it’s just…you’re a little…peculiar.” Carla fumbled for words.
“It was an arranged marriage, mind you. I know I’m not exactly the American definition of handsome.”
“But, why wasn’t she married already? Assuming she did come from a traditional family. At least one that agrees with arranged marriages.”
Zeke looked up at the painting in a knowing and heartfelt way, a smile on his lips. Carla recognized the expression as the same way she stared at Frieda when she wasn’t looking. Pure, doe-eyed admiration.  
“She was the most stubborn woman I have ever met, and I mean that as a compliment. Educated, brazen, strong-willed, held a solid job. No other suitor could stand her for more than an hour at a time before heading for the hills.”
“You liked that, did you?”
“I loved it, as I loved her.”  
Zeke looked back at his knitting. Carla continued to stare at the portrait intensely.
“You know…they say things. About you and her.”
Zeke’s hands slowed down, until his whole body became still and rigid. He didn’t look up. Carla could tell he was grinding his teeth. His eyes looked cold and dark. Not warm like they were a minute ago.
“I know they do. I know they gossip and tell stories, but you can’t always believe everything you’re told, can you?” He said, his voice firm and quiet.
“I suppose not. I just thought you’d ought to know that they’ve been saying you-”
Zeke held up his hand to stop her. He didn’t want to hear it. Went through a whole year of enduring the gossip himself. They assumed, with admittedly some evidence to the truth, that Zeke had killed his wife. Starving her to death, or something close to that. The town physician, an older man that worked before Dr. Wilkins moved to Middlesport, despite being a blithering idiot, never revealed anything about Emily’s illness. But the coroner, hungry to stir conversation, revealed that Emily’s body had been delivered to him already embalmed, and most of her organs removed.
The townspeople vied for a police investigation, but the police, seeing as Zeke was a certified doctor, decided his wife was his responsibility. Though annoyed by their ignorance, he was mostly relieved they didn’t look into the situation. Emily had never specified on her will that Zeke could have her organs to do with what he wished, but had told him to his face, and he had made sure she meant it.
She had nothing to leave him except what few possessions she had when they married. Her library she’d collected over the years took up most of the shelves that surrounded him now. He kept her clothes and what little jewelry she had, but purely out of sentimentality. Not that he could bear to look at them anyhow. They remained locked up in the guestroom closet.  
“Why did you decide to become a doctor?” Zeke asked abruptly. He wanted to get out of his head; spiraling was imminent.
“Um…pardon?”
Carla was a bit startled by the question; the man had been so silent in minutes prior. Zeke merely nodded to her again, assuming she’d heard the question. Carla wasn’t quite sure anyone outside of her family had ever asked her this question. She stared into the crackling fire, and began.
“I…was raised in a very small town. Prairie folk, if you will. I have a lot of siblings, and as the eldest, I helped my mother deliver most of my brothers and sisters.”
“So that’s what inspired you?”
“Almost. When I was fourteen, my mother let me be an apprentice to the local midwife. I learned so much in the four years of working for that woman. And that led me to wanting to practice other types of medicine.”
“What did your family think of your career choice?” Zeke said, comfortable curled in the chair.
“I think they were more nervous about me moving so far away.”
“They don’t even know.” He smirked.
Carla gave him a shrug, and showed him her palms helplessly.
“They’re of the traditional variety, aren’t they?”
“As far as they are concerned, I’m happily married to a man I met at a Sunday sermon.”
“Oh that is rich!” Zeke said between chortles.
“I would never tell them otherwise.” Carla said, but she only smiled.
“It’s fairly obvious why you wouldn’t.” Zeke sniggered.
“Well, what would your family think of…that?!” Carla said, gesturing to Zeke’s swollen womb.
Zeke shrugged, and gave Carla a look that said “touché.” Carla began sipping her tea again, and Zeke returned to his knitting. Unbeknownst to him, Carla continued to observe him. Bizarre as the whole endeavor was, she couldn’t help seeing him as almost the nurturing type. It was something she wasn’t sure she’d ever see it a man like Zeke Howell.  
“Have you ever been witness to a live birth, doctor?” She asked. Carla wasn’t exactly sure where the question came from.
“Twice.” He said, without falter.
“Do tell. I’m sure your few stories may be far more entertaining than my many escapades.”
“Hardly. As a student, I had a very liberal anatomy professor, so he was keener than most to expose his students to the chaotic world of a hospital. Upon becoming a teacher myself, I took his lead in a lot of ways. My students were privy to many operations, corpse exhumations, and a live birth.”
“And what did you think? Personally, birth never ceases to amaze me. It’s a wonderful and emotional, albeit gory process.”
“I must say, it’s probably one of the better reasons to go to a hospital. And one less likely to garner infection. Sad I won’t be witness to my own.” Zeke’s smile faded.
“Unless you want to be in mind-destroying pain, possibly lethal, I highly suggest sedation be used during your caesarean.” Carla said.
“Advice noted.”
Carla paused, glancing down at her tea in contemplation. She stirred the pool of cream thoughtfully. Zeke noted her silence, and paused his knitting again.
“Are you alright?” Zeke said.
“You really want me to do the operation, don’t you? You’re banking on it.”
“It would be quite convenient. Especially now that I know your elongated background in midwifery.”
“But I’ve only performed two caesareans in my entire career! And those were in extreme and dire situations.”  
“Think of how much calmer it will be this time around. Everything will be planned for ahead of time.” He said.
“And you’d want it performed here? In your own lab?”
“Where else? It’s more sanitary than Bellevue. The table will be scrubbed down and given fresh sheets by yours truly. Instruments boiled. I avoided infection regarding the last operation.” He explained.
“Narrowly.” Carla scowled.  
“Dr. Wilkins, this is not supposed to be pressuring. You have a choice, and I’ve found that out,” he eyed her knowingly at that, “but the surgery would go a lot smoother with a second pair of hands. If not for me, than for Frieda.”
“Hold on,” she said, “why did you say ‘you have a choice’ like that?”
“Well, it’s clear you aren’t exactly eager to help me.”
“I’ve surely been wrangled in to this whole endeavor against my will...or better judgment.”
“But not without protest. Face it, you don’t like me.”
“Because there’s so much to lose by hating you.” She sighed.
“So you admit it?” He said, raising an eyebrow.
Carla paused, thinking on this statement. She hadn’t really thought about whether she hated Ezekiel Howell, at least not like she hated Montgomery. She certainly found him disagreeable, and a tad more forward than she would like, but she wasn’t sure on what grounds she disliked him. Then it hit her; there was something she truly disliked about the doctor.
“You know about me and Frieda.” She grimaced.
“Of course.”
“You’re the only one.” Carla said.
“Right.” He nodded.
“Suppose you were to tell someone. Whether accidentally or purposefully, what then?”
“Why would I ever do that?”
“I don’t know! But you could, and then…”
Carla didn’t know how to finish; she didn’t know what might happen. She could only assume it couldn’t be good. She knew vaguely about a law in England that made buggery illegal, worthy of ten years in prison, but said nothing about the female version of the act. She followed Oscar Wilde’s works , when she could get her hands on them, and often wondered how such a man lived so openly and without lawful rebuke. Maybe England was better than America, but Carla doubted it. Every country seemed hostile to her and Frieda’s love. Suddenly, the doctor felt very empty inside.  
Carla remained silent, seeming to disappear from her body. Zeke, less than gracefully, slid out of his chair and shuffled over to the couch. He quietly sat next to Carla, her eyes glazing over in  thought. Zeke took her hand into his own, and only then did she notice him.
“I would never tell anyone. I hope you know that.” Zeke’s voice was soft and earnest.
Carla nodded, still seeming lost. She gazed into her tea, a dark vortex in a cup.
“I, of all people, understand the pain of losing someone you love. I wouldn’t wish that pain on my greatest enemy. Absolute least of all, you and Frieda. I care deeply about the both of you; you’re like kin.” Zeke continued.
“If you say so.” Carla muttered.
“Well, I hope you can warm up to me in time. I know I’m a tad standoffish, but I do like your company. It’s rare to find intelligent people in this town. Not to mention good physicians.” He sighed.
Zeke pushed himself off the couch and picked up the pot from the tea tray, thinking it needed refreshing. Shuffling past the window, something caught his eye. Flecks of white were sprinkled among the black of night. His entire lawn was covered in a thick, white sheet.
“Oh. It’s snowing.” He mumbled, smiling.
“What?” Carla asked.
“Snow. First of the season. It’s lovely.”
Carla slowly rose from the couch and joined Zeke at the window. Instead of joy, she looked upon the snow in frustration.
“I can’t walk home in this.” She sighed.
“Oh. Well, I hadn’t thought of that. No matter, you’re welcome to stay the night.”
“I couldn’t impose.” She insisted.
“Don’t be ridiculous. As you said, getting home in that is impossible. I’ll put you up for the night.”
Carla started to protest again, but realized it was futile. Zeke was stubborn about everything, and that included courtesy.
“Alright,” she said, “but I don’t need any more tea. I think I’ll retire early.”
“Fair enough. Give me a moment, and I’ll show you to the guest room.” Zeke said, and returned the pot to the tray.
He picked up the whole thing with the intent of taking it back to the kitchen.
“Dr. Howell.” Carla said.
“Dr. Wilkins?”
“I want you to know, I don’t…entirely dislike you.” She said.
Zeke smiled at the doctor, beaming even. Carla even noticed the strange glow about him Frieda had mentioned. To Carla’s surprise, he looked unbelievably happy. Maybe his smile wasn't as creepy as she first thought.
“Likewise!” Zeke said.