The AttemptEvery few hours Tony woke in pain. I dosed him with opium then held him as he gasped until the medication took effect.
It reminded me of Air, a month before he died. We sat on the cold ground by the fence, and I held him as he coughed up blood. Eleanora screamed, long hair flying, banging on the black iron bars with a piece of metal until the lady at the poorhouse called a doctor. I felt sorry for two-year-old David and six-year-old Herbert, who clutched her skirts and cried in terror.
I couldn’t smoke around Tony: this made him cough. Even with Amelia and Michaels there to assist, I dared not leave him for long. It took several days before Tony was well enough to sit in a chair, so I wasn’t able to venture out as I wished.
At times, I felt trapped, at other times, close to t
