Free The Hour of Dreams by Shelena Shorts Page A

whispering and hovering about.
    “Good morning, Phoebe,” they said upon sight of me.
    I nodded. “Good morning.”
    “You’re lucky, you know?” Rosana, a town gossiper, informed. “We heard.
You
could very well be in there, thanks to those blasted savages.”
    Something about the idea of including William in that category caused me to give her a cutting glare. I knocked on the door and was greeted with the narrowed eyes of Mrs. Corey. I cleared my throat.
    “Good morning. May I visit Charity, please?”
    She studied me a moment and then softened. “Of course. She’s resting, but I am certain she would be glad to see you.”
    I followed her upstairs and noticed two doors open, showing empty beds inside, and two closed. She took me to the last room and slowly cracked open the door so I could enter.
    Charity was lying on her back, and her mother was sitting next to the bed, holding her daughter’s hand. They both looked at me with glossy eyes, only Charity’s were swollen, with fresh purple rings under them. In that moment, guilt consumed me, and I was about to back out, when her mother stood and called my name.
    “Phoebe. It’s all right. Charity has been asking about you. Heaven knows this is not your fault.”
    Relief immediately struck me, and I strode over to her bed and knelt beside her.
    “I’m so sorry, Charity,” I whispered, needing her to believe me.
    “I know, Phoebe.” Her voice was weak, which made me cringe.
    Her mother excused herself and left us to talk alone. It was true, what they'd said about Charity not remembering the attack. She said the last thing she remembered was meeting Samuel to talk in the woods near the hill. He asked whether he could write to her, and she agreed. Then when it started to get dark, she tried to go home. The next thing she remembered was hearing the sounds of dogs barking and people calling her name, but she couldn’t move or respond.
    I apologized again, but she insisted it was not my fault. “I’m the stubborn one,” she whispered. “I should have stayed home.” A tear spilled over her bruised cheek.
    Just then, her mother came into the room and announced breakfast, followed by more rest for Charity. They expected her to go home later that day, and I promised to visit her soon. I kissed her forehead and slipped out while her mother helped her sit up.
    On my way down the hall, my feet felt heavy and hesitant. There was no sense in denying my overwhelming curiosity to know whether William was behind the other closed door. Questions passed through my mind about where he would be going next, how soon he would be leaving, and whether he was even all right.
    I was nervous and fearful, but then reminded myself that he saved my father’s life. At the very least, he deserved a thank you.
    Without contemplating any further, I placed my knuckles on the door and gave it a light knock. There was no answer, but the pull I felt coming from the other side of that door told me the room was not empty. Maybe he was asleep, or worse.
    I glanced down the hall and, with it clear, felt it was now or never, so I put a hand on the latch and gave it a push. A very startled William was sitting shirtless on the bed, wrapping his torso with a bandage. My mouth fell open in horror at my invasion.
    “Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry.”
    “No!” He put his hand out. “Please. Stay.”
    I froze in my tracks, needing to make a choice. My whole body felt like it both did and didn’t belong. Sorting through my options, the hallway didn’t seem appealing, so I turned my head away from his bare chest and closed the door, remaining inside.
    With my back turned, I could hear him dressing. It seemed like it took forever. No longer able to refrain, I stole a glance to find his face clenched in pain as he tried to pull on his coat. He certainly didn’t look dangerous. If anything, he looked helpless and alone. Especially since I hadn’t seen one single comrade of his since they'd marched out