Page 310 of The Professor's Wife

He took a seat on the chair, distancing himself—and the food—from me. My stomach hurt so much, it felt like I’d swallowed knives. I squeezed my hands tighter, willing myself to stay calm.

“Alright, Daisy,” he said, leaning back. I could feel his imperious stare over every inch of me. “Begin chapter one.”

My stomach didn’t ache anymore, but I was still ravenous. I drank three bottles of water and slept on the floor most of the afternoon. Hours had slipped by, though it felt like moments. By the time I woke up, the chains had been removed from me, and I was no longer in the lesson room. Oliver had carried me out of the shed and to our bedroom of the cabin, though he’d deposited me on the floor because I was filthy. The curtains had been drawn open, allowing the mid-afternoon sun in.

I stood up on wobbly, aching legs and moved to the window, knowing what I’d find. Oliver was on the deck, sitting in his chair, reading. I knew what was expected of me. I didn’t waste time. I cleaned my corner and bathed. He’d already set aside my crisp, white nightgown on the bed. There were no other traces of me. Wrapped in my towel, I looked down at the nightgown, the ominous significance of it dizzying me.

Just a nightgown.

Nothing else.

As though…as though he didn’t believe I’d make it. What would have happened if he’d come through the door and found me dead?

I moved back to the bedroom window and peered out into the wilderness that surrounded us. What sustenance would my body have offered this piece of earth after he’d buried me deep in its soil? I couldn’t imagine finding peace here. I would have been nothing but a disturbance to the trees and the wild; I’d havebeen an unrelenting echo, screaming against nature, determined to keep the imprint of my soul alive.

Who else is out there now, screaming into the void?

There would have been no rest in this place. If there was an afterlife, it wouldn’t find me here amidst the wicked, insidious demon that haunted his piece of earth, determined to possess every inch of it.

I couldn’t make any more mistakes. I had to cease trying to peek around the curtain to see what was on the other side.

I had to be perfect.

If I did what he wanted, I had a chance at a life.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

Oliver watched me from the corner of his eye, absorbing my every movement with deep thought as I approached him with a tall glass of orange juice and a plate of cold meats. There was a strange look in him I hadn’t seen before. As I set the plate down on the table before him, he admitted a shred of his thoughts to me, whispering, “You don’t give up.”

It wasn’t a compliment. He said it like he was stating a fact, but it left him awed. The look didn’t soften his features. If anything, his eyes narrowed on me as I placed the napkins neatly by his plate.

“That will of yours, is it inherent, or honed?”

As I thought of my response, I clasped my hands together, peering down at the table as the seconds ticked by. “Both, I think, and even then, I’ve failed you.”

“Do you think you’ll get it right in the next life?” His tone was teasing, but he still watched me, waiting for a response.

“I don’t want another life,” I honestly answered, looking at him now as my eyes pricked with tears. “I don’t want to fail you anymore, Oliver. I’m reaching a point where…I feel certain that I’ll look you in the eye and tell you quite happily that I’ve failed you for the final time.”

He took my hand and pressed a kiss to my palm before resting it on his cheek. He shut his eyes, sighing deeply. “Of all the things you’ve ever said to me, I believe this the most. I can see it in your eyes.” He opened his own and watched me again, his gaze sliding over every inch of me. “Believe me, Daisy, everything I have done was born from good intentions.”

“I know that.”

He let go of my hand and began to cut into his meat. I turned away, my eyes cutting to the sky as the sun began to set. The trees barely moved, but when the wind came through, the leaves rustled in the gentlest way. It sounded like a melody. I shut my eyes and stood still. For one moment, I was the air and the wind, and the birds chirping, and the leaves singing.

I whispered, “‘For we are mistaken when we look forward to death; the major portion of death has already passed. Whatever years be behind us are in death’s hands.’”

I turned around slowly, and opened my eyes, watching Oliver take a bite and chuckle at my words. “‘Saving Time’ is one of my favorite letters by Seneca. ‘Lay hold of to-day’s task, and you will not need to depend so much upon tomorrow’s. While we are postponing, life speeds by. Nothing, Lucilius, is ours, except time.’”

He grabbed for the glass of orange juice, adding softly, “‘We were entrusted by nature with the ownership of this single thing, so fleeting and slippery that anyone who will can oust us from possession.’”

With vigor, he gulped down the orange juice and then placed the empty glass down, smiling brilliantly.

“You look victorious,” I said, tracking his every movement.

“Victory comes at a cost,” he replied, looking at me now. “I have trials to overcome. Burdens I can’t put off any longer. When we return home, there are things I need to do. Ugly things. I depend on your full support, Daisy.”

“What’s happened, Oliver?”