The Great Plains by Nicole Alexander

have waited so long for news of you. There is an entire family waiting for you. Please, dear girl, you must remember.’
    Philomena fists were clenched. A slender bicep was contoured by the material she wore. Aloysius noted the taut jawline.
    â€˜I doubt they could ever return home with you,’ the doctor explained apologetically. ‘And if they did, Mr Wade, you would have to ask yourself whether the great disturbance that they would inflict upon your household and extended family and friends was in the best interests of everyone involved.’ The doctor withdrew a fob watch from his pocket and studied it.
    For Aloysius, time had stood still since he entered the asylum, since he crossed the threshold into this room. He wrestled with the doctor’s silence. ‘You think she should not have been brought here?’
    â€˜You have done what any other would do in your place, Mr Wade.’
    And yet now it seems wrong, Aloysius decided, for it was clear that Philomena was not one of them. ‘What would you do?’
    The doctor pocketed the rose-gold watch. ‘The daughter is not far from the end of her term and should remain here until the birthing.’
    Philomena’s daughter drew an imaginary pattern in the air.
    â€˜It will only be a matter of weeks,’ the doctor continued. ‘Certainly, after the birth she should be sent back to the reservation with her mother. That would be in everyone’s best interests.’
    Aloysius heard a low hissing sound. It was Philomena. He saw the coldness in her eyes and something else, a wildness.
    â€˜And it will give me time to study your niece a little more and, in so doing, allay your fears as to the ultimate decision.’ Harry motioned to the door. ‘Let’s retire to my office, Mr Wade. A glass of something fortifying is in order, I feel.’
    Philomena followed their departure and, as the door shut, Aloysius caught a glimpse of her moving to the window, her fingers pulled at the pins and combs dressing her hair.

Chapter 5
    December, 1886 – Dallas, Texas
    During the birth, as Aloysius waited, Philomena was escorted into the sitting room from somewhere in the asylum. Aloysius thought of the creaking boards he’d stepped upon on entry that very day and the silence that graced this creature’s tread. She waited patiently by the bedroom door, flanked by a nurse and a grim-faced male attendant, whom Aloysius had seen stalking the halls of the asylum on previous visits. Gone was the green silk and dressed hair. In its place was a plain blouse and an ankle-skimming brown skirt. During his numerous visits to the asylum, Aloysius never again saw her in the green silk gown. Curiously, he was glad to see her dressed in simple clothing; it suited Philomena and, if anything, only accentuated her natural beauty. She no longer hissed and spat in his presence but nor did she acknowledge him. Aloysius may well have not been there.
    Following their initial meeting five weeks earlier, Aloysius had returned daily to the asylum in the hopes that regular contact might awaken some memory within his brother’s child. He was loath to accept the doctor’s prognosis and wary of being too hasty in making an irrevocable decision, but the odds weighed heavily in the doctor’s favour. There had been little change in Philomena’s disposition. While the great fury that had so engulfed her on their first meeting had abated, she remained indifferent to him and had continued to behave oddly. For the duration of each visit she would spend most of the time standing and staring out of the window – one hour, two hours, it made little difference. Regardless of whether Aloysius spent the time talking about her family or reading aloud from a book, Philomena remained disinterested. Her silent vigil was punctuated by a mournful wailing that sounded much like a funeral dirge. At her feet sat her daughter, her hand resting on her mother’s