Serial Monogamy Read Online Free
Author: Kate Taylor
Stanek’s suggestion.
“You aren’t thinking of accepting? It’s way too soon.”
“Lots of people go back to work as soon as they’re clear of chemo.”
“You have to be careful. You don’t want to wear yourself out.”
“I’m tired of being sick. I want to do something.”
The serial sounded a whole lot better than vomiting up breakfast two days out of seven, so I agreed.
The Dickens Bicentenary Serial: Chapter 2
Staplehurst, Kent. June 9, 1865
“I’m sure he will be back soon, dear. He’s probably helping other passengers.” Mrs. Ternan tried to sound comforting but stating their predicament only made Nelly feel worse. Her hand, which she had barely noticed in the first moments after the crash, was throbbing badly and an alarming amount of blood was still seeping through Charles’s now sodden handkerchief. It had been a quarter-hour since he had left to get help; soon after he had disappeared from view, she had checked the little pocket watch he had given her the Christmas before last, and then checked it again, and again. They could hear all kinds of noise outside, shouts and moans, the sound of which convinced them they were much better off than some. They debated whether perhaps they should clamber up to the door in their turn; Mrs. Ternan pointed out that even if they could not climb down from the carriage in their skirts, at least they could call and get someone’s attention.But Nelly forestalled her; Charles would want us to wait, she said. Neither said out loud what they were both thinking: the novelist would mainly want them not to draw attention to themselves as his travelling companions.
Nelly shifted her weight a bit to lift her hand, causing the carriage to move slightly as she did so. She winced, and her mother now noticed how stained the handkerchief had become.
“Let me look at it, dear.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. It’s still bleeding.” Mrs. Ternan leant over to grasp her daughter’s hand. Nelly tried to draw it away and this time, with her sudden movement, the carriage swayed perceptibly. They both gasped but Mrs. Ternan did not let go.
“Nelly. You need a better bandage. Maybe I could use my petticoat.”
“No, Mother. Don’t. You’ll spoil it.”
“It’s a petticoat, dear. We can always get another. I don’t suppose I am going to be able to reach my sewing scissors. Where’s my dressing case?”
Mrs. Ternan looked about the jumble of bags in the carriage and spied her dressing case up on the luggage rack, wedged in between two other cases in one corner. Thankfully most of their belongings had been on the rack above her head in what was now the lower side of the compartment so the bags had been forced back on themselves rather than tumbling on top of them as theylanded on the floor. It was mainly their hat boxes that lay about them; Nelly would not trust her new bonnets to the luggage van where their trunks were stored, so the hat boxes had travelled with them.
“I’m just going to have to rip it. Let’s see if there isn’t a seam loose,” said Mrs. Ternan as she lifted her skirts and began to examine her petticoat. And it was at this awkward moment that they heard various sounds outside the window and saw a hand reaching up to rap on the glass.
“Ladies? Are you all right?” a male voice called through the door.
“Yes,” Mrs. Ternan called back, hurriedly rearranging her skirts, “but my daughter’s hand is cut.”
“Right. We’ll get you out of there. Are there two of you?”
“Yes.”
“I found ’em, Dan,” the voice now called back to someone else. “Ladies, if I may, I will need you to try to open the door for me. I can’t quite reach the handle. Can you do that?”
“Yes. We’ll try to open it.”
“I’ll just stand back then.”
Mrs. Ternan now inched her way over to the door, reached up to the handle positioned well above her head and opened it up into the void as Charles had done before. There was a bit of
“You aren’t thinking of accepting? It’s way too soon.”
“Lots of people go back to work as soon as they’re clear of chemo.”
“You have to be careful. You don’t want to wear yourself out.”
“I’m tired of being sick. I want to do something.”
The serial sounded a whole lot better than vomiting up breakfast two days out of seven, so I agreed.
The Dickens Bicentenary Serial: Chapter 2
Staplehurst, Kent. June 9, 1865
“I’m sure he will be back soon, dear. He’s probably helping other passengers.” Mrs. Ternan tried to sound comforting but stating their predicament only made Nelly feel worse. Her hand, which she had barely noticed in the first moments after the crash, was throbbing badly and an alarming amount of blood was still seeping through Charles’s now sodden handkerchief. It had been a quarter-hour since he had left to get help; soon after he had disappeared from view, she had checked the little pocket watch he had given her the Christmas before last, and then checked it again, and again. They could hear all kinds of noise outside, shouts and moans, the sound of which convinced them they were much better off than some. They debated whether perhaps they should clamber up to the door in their turn; Mrs. Ternan pointed out that even if they could not climb down from the carriage in their skirts, at least they could call and get someone’s attention.But Nelly forestalled her; Charles would want us to wait, she said. Neither said out loud what they were both thinking: the novelist would mainly want them not to draw attention to themselves as his travelling companions.
Nelly shifted her weight a bit to lift her hand, causing the carriage to move slightly as she did so. She winced, and her mother now noticed how stained the handkerchief had become.
“Let me look at it, dear.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. It’s still bleeding.” Mrs. Ternan leant over to grasp her daughter’s hand. Nelly tried to draw it away and this time, with her sudden movement, the carriage swayed perceptibly. They both gasped but Mrs. Ternan did not let go.
“Nelly. You need a better bandage. Maybe I could use my petticoat.”
“No, Mother. Don’t. You’ll spoil it.”
“It’s a petticoat, dear. We can always get another. I don’t suppose I am going to be able to reach my sewing scissors. Where’s my dressing case?”
Mrs. Ternan looked about the jumble of bags in the carriage and spied her dressing case up on the luggage rack, wedged in between two other cases in one corner. Thankfully most of their belongings had been on the rack above her head in what was now the lower side of the compartment so the bags had been forced back on themselves rather than tumbling on top of them as theylanded on the floor. It was mainly their hat boxes that lay about them; Nelly would not trust her new bonnets to the luggage van where their trunks were stored, so the hat boxes had travelled with them.
“I’m just going to have to rip it. Let’s see if there isn’t a seam loose,” said Mrs. Ternan as she lifted her skirts and began to examine her petticoat. And it was at this awkward moment that they heard various sounds outside the window and saw a hand reaching up to rap on the glass.
“Ladies? Are you all right?” a male voice called through the door.
“Yes,” Mrs. Ternan called back, hurriedly rearranging her skirts, “but my daughter’s hand is cut.”
“Right. We’ll get you out of there. Are there two of you?”
“Yes.”
“I found ’em, Dan,” the voice now called back to someone else. “Ladies, if I may, I will need you to try to open the door for me. I can’t quite reach the handle. Can you do that?”
“Yes. We’ll try to open it.”
“I’ll just stand back then.”
Mrs. Ternan now inched her way over to the door, reached up to the handle positioned well above her head and opened it up into the void as Charles had done before. There was a bit of
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