Awakening
1034 Words
*Freya*
When I open my eyes again, I am lying atop my bed. The pain in my head has diminished appreciably, but a new ache in my hip more than makes up for the loss. Angel is curled up with a leather-bound book in a nearby chair.
“Oh, hello,” Angel chirps as soon as she notices that I am awake. “You gave us quite a fright.” She gets up, crossing the short distance, and perches on the end of the bed.
I scoot up into a reclining position so that I can see Angel a little better. “What happened?”
“You fainted.” She says.
“Again?” I ask.
She blinks, “Again!”
“Well, I didn’t exactly faint the first time. It was more like a blow to the head.” I admit.
“What!?” She asks.
“Well, not really a blow to the head,” I hastily correct. “I fell, and then I hit my head.”
“Oh my,” Angel breathes. “Are you all right?”
“I think so,” I reply, gingerly rubbing the fast-growing lump above my right ear. “How did I get up here? The last I remember, I was in the kitchen.”
She smiles, “I carried you.”
“You carried me up four flights of stairs?” I ask.
She nots, then shrug, “Well, Cook helped.”
“Oh, dear Goddess,” I grimace at the thought of Cook having to lug me up four flights of stairs. “How embarrassing.”
“And Mary and Susie,” Angel adds.
Utterly mortified, I sink back into the bed as if trying to disappear among the voluminous quilts.
“Actually, it wasn’t very difficult at all,” Angel continues, oblivious to my distress. “First, we wrapped you in a blanket. Then I grabbed your shoulders, Cook took your feet, and Mary and Susie spaced themselves out between us.”
“And I didn’t wake up?” I ask.
She shakes her head, “You did make a few odd noises when we rounded the corner on the second landing, but no, you were most definitely unconscious.”
“Odd noises?” I ask.
Angel’s expression turns sheepish. “Well, actually it might have had something to do with the fact that you crashed into the end post when we turned the corner.”
My eyes open wide, and my gaze flies down to the sore spot on my right hip that I have been rubbing absently.
Angel smiles wanly. “It could very well have been your hip that hit the endpost. I seem to recall we clipped you somewhere in the middle.”
Suddenly, a dreadful thought enters my mind. “What about your mother?”
“None of us exactly told her what happened,” Angel reveals.
“But she must have heard the commotion.” I point out.
Angel makes a face, “Yes, well, she did seek me out once we got you up here.”
“And?” I prod.
She giggles, “I told her you swooned.”
“Swooned?” My eyes widen in disbelief.
Angel nods. “From the excitement of your first big ball and all that.”
“But that’s ridiculous! I never swoon!” I huff.
“I know.” She says.
I half roll my eyes, “Aunt Norah knows I never swoon!”
“I know. You’re not exactly the swooning type.” Angel admits.
“She didn’t actually believe you, did she?” I ask.
“Not for one second,” Angel quips, tapping her slender fingers on her book. “But Mother can be marvelously tactful sometimes, and so she left it at that. As long as you appear at the ball tonight in good health and spirits, she won’t say a word. I’m sure of it.”
I pull myself up into a sitting position so that I can examine all my new aches and pains. “What a ridiculous day,” I sigh.
“Hmm?” Angel looks up from her book, which she had started to read again. “Did you say something?”
I sigh, “Nothing interesting.”
“Oh,” Angel glances back at her book.
“What on earth are you reading?” I ask.
She smiles, “All’s Well That Ends Well... Shakespeare.”
I feel compelled to defend my education. “I know who wrote it.”
“Hmm? Yes, of course, you do,” Angel smiles absently. “I brought it in to read while waiting for you to wake up.”
“Good grief. How long did you think I was going to be unconscious?” I ask.
She shrugs, “I had no idea, actually. I’ve never swooned before.”
“I didn’t swoon,” I ground out between clenched teeth.
“So you say.” She mumbles.
I sigh as I look up at my cousin’s mock-innocent expression. “I suppose you want me to tell you what happened.”
“Only if you want to,” Angel reopens the leather-bound volume and begins to read again. “I have all the time in the world, you know,” she adds, looking back up at me. “I have decided to read the complete works of Shakespeare. I’m doing the plays first, then the poetry.”
“Are you serious?” I ask.
She nods, “Absolutely. I’m going to do it in alphabetical order.”
“Do you realize how long that is going to take?” I aks.
“Of course. But I figure that with the way you’re going, I’ll be spending plenty of time at your bedside.”
I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean by that?”
“Who knows how soon you will be unconscious again?” She contemplates.
“I can assure you I have no such plans for the immediate future.” I huff.
Angel smiles sweetly. “I imagine you don’t. But if you don’t tell me what happened this afternoon, I might just knock you out myself.”
- Writer
