residence floated up from the murky depths of memory, and no faces of loved ones materialized before her eyes to offer comfort. She tried to pull up a memory, but her thoughts seemed to bounce off an impenetrable barrier, her questions unable to breach the brick wall her mind seemed to have erected.
“What’s my name?” she whispered into the silence of the room, but no answer came. She wanted to call out, to summon whoever had brought her here, but she didn’t know who they were or what they were called. She didn’t even know if they were friend or foe. She wasn’t sure why that thought had popped into her head, but it made her hesitate. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to alert them that she was awake just yet. She had to try to remember as much as she could, but first, she had to remember herself. The very notion was absurd. How could she not remember her own name?
Forcing herself to concentrate, she mouthed a few names, hoping one of them would feel familiar, right, but they all sounded hollow and alien.
“Elizabeth, Mary, Abigail, Jane,” she muttered. Nothing. No sense of recognition. “Anne, Amelia, Sally.” Silent tears ran down her cheeks, sliding down her nose and dripping onto the embroidered pillowcase. She felt helpless and scared, but most of all completely adrift. At sea.
How had she come to be here, in this room? Had she undressed herself, or had someone taken the liberty of removing her clothes? Had they touched her? Violated her? Her body felt battered and bruised, but she didn’t think it was from a beating. Her hair smelled briny, her eyes were irritated, her lips cracked and dry. She noticed a few grains of sand on the pillow. Where had they come from? Her hair? She lifted a hand and touched the tangled mess. Her hair was matted and damp, sand sprinkling the sheet as she pulled on a curl.
She must have been in the water. Seawater. But why? She shut her eyes and tried desperately to bring forth an image, but nothing came. Nothing at all. It was as if her life until that moment had been completely erased from her memory. She covered her face with her hands and wept silently into the sand-covered pillow.
Chapter 7
It must have been about an hour later that the door opened and a middle-aged woman stepped into the room, accompanied by an elderly man with bushy gray whiskers. They had been speaking softly but grew silent when they saw her watching them. The woman smiled brightly and came toward the bed.
“Praise the Lord,” she said with great feeling, clasping her hands before her. “I’m so glad to see you awake. I’ll leave you two to talk.”
“Thank you,” the man said, and approached the bed slowly. “Hello, my dear. My name is John Rosings. I’m a doctor, so you have nothing to fear from me.” He had a kindly face and gentle manner, and she relaxed somewhat, hopeful that this man would be able to help her.
“May I sit down?” the doctor asked. “Oh, I do hope you speak English,” he said. “Do you?”
She nodded. For some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to speak.
“Good. Well, that’s one hurdle out of the way. How do you feel?” he asked.
Terrified, battered, nauseated, lost, she wanted to scream. “My head aches.” Her voice sounded hoarse, and her throat felt like sandpaper.
“Well, let’s have a look, then.” He reached out and very carefully examined her skull, his cool fingers settling on the throbbing bruise at the back of her head. She let out an involuntary gasp as he pressed a little harder. “I’m sorry for that,” he said, and removed his hands. He then pulled up her eyelids and stared deep into her eyes. “You must have sustained a severe blow,” he said, watching her. “Do you remember being struck?”
She tried to shake her head, but instantly regretted it as arrows of pain shot into her temples. “No,” she whispered.
“What about your name?” he asked softly as he used a bell-shaped tube to listen to her chest. “Can you tell me your name?”
“I don’t know it,” she replied tearfully. “I can’t remember my name. I can’t remember anything!” she cried, her desperation mounting. “How did I get here?”
The doctor reached out and took her hand, patting it in a paternal manner. “There was a terrible storm last night. A ship was wrecked just off the coast. You washed up on