Judge

By

Becky

His first clear sensation was the smell of baking bread, and his hearing brought the sound of a kettle somewhere in the distance, steam rising from the spout as it boiled on a stove.

He moved slightly and groaned at the pain he felt throughout his body, pain in his head, back, chest and his hands and feet. Cracking open an eye, he turned his head slightly and looked around the dimly lit area.

He felt the warmth of the blankets tucked securely around his shoulders, and in the distance through the dimness he saw a woman sitting at a table. She had a care worn look of someone who had suffered long and had no real happiness in her life.

His brain told him to call out but his throat felt dry and his voice unused. Once again he groaned, and tried to rise from the bed, only to be pushed back down by soft gentle hands.

He heard a voice, soft and low crooning to him, “Stay still, hush now, I am going to take care of you.”

He felt himself being lifted up as a cup was pressed to his lips and he felt the water against his tongue, trickling down his throat in small sips. When he was finished, he was placed back against the pillows and covered up once more.

He was asleep immediately, drifting in a sea of dreams and nightmares.

His next solid memory was seeing the woman sitting beside him, sponging his face, neck and hands with warm water. He reached up to touch her face and his hand was caught and placed back at his side.

He felt the loose bandage against his forehead, and the dull thudding let him know he had a head injury.

He felt the spoon against his lips and the warm broth slide against his tongue, as it made its way down his throat. It tasted good and he wanted to thank his rescuer, but his thoughts ran helter skelter through his brain, as he closed his eyes and sleep claimed him once more.

Over the next few months, or so he reasoned by the changing weather he could discern through the small window, he was able to sit up, even though his head pounded, and he felt nauseous at times, it gradually lessened as he grew stronger.

His voice was scratchy as if it were made of sandpaper, and he wheezed a lot, the result of some sort of accident he thought, but really didn’t know.

His memory was sketchy, but flashes of images were beginning to return now and then mostly in his dreams.

His one clear memory was that of books, cases upon cases of books, and it was then he remembered he loved to read.

“Where am I?” he questioned the woman one day, as she sat feeding him the soup she had prepared.

Shaking her head, she looked into his brown eyes. “In a safe place, don’t worry now.”

He smiled at her and finished the soup she’d brought, then he closed his eyes again as once more sleep claimed his weary mind.

He stumbled through the small room, and sat down at the table, she’d been gone for what seemed like forever. He’d awakened to an empty house, was it a house, or a room? he wondered.

His efforts to slide his legs to the floor brought about a wave of dizziness, but he fought through the sensation, and tried to stand.

He found he could stand, but that one of his legs was numb, and his left hand was useless, turned at an odd angle, just as his left foot.

He stood with effort, and held onto the bed frame for a moment before trying to make it into the small kitchen.

He held on to the bedside chair, and dragged his left foot forward, stopping only to catch his breath and clear his sight. ‘Strange, I feel so groggy, and heavy,’ he thought.

Making his way finally to the table, he sat down heavily and sighed.

Triumph lit his features as he sat there looking around. When the door opened and the woman walked in, she smiled at him and walked over to his side.

“You should be resting,” she whispered as she caressed his whiskered face.

He leaned into her touch and looked into her bright blue eyes. “Alright, will you help me.” His voice sounded strange to his ears, but when she grasped his arm and helped him to stand he forgot all about his thought.

She brought a bowl of hot soup and a crust of bread. As he took the spoon in his right hand, she held a napkin for him. He fed himself slowly and noticed she would wipe his mouth frequently.

“Why do you do this?” he questioned quietly.

“Because you need help,” she answered sincerely as she gazed at him.

He looked out the window and watched the people as they walked by.

He heard the chiming of the tower clock and thought to himself, ‘I shall be late, but late for what?’ he wondered.

As she busied herself around the room he watched her. “What is your name?” he questioned.

Turning towards him she smiled, “Sarah, my name is Sarah Powell.”

“Sarah, do you know who I am?”

Sarah stopped her chores and walked to his side. “No, I’m afraid I don’t, there were no papers on you when I found you in the lower alleys.” she replied.

His mind tried to remember the events that had brought him to this place, but his memories were obscured and fuzzy. ‘From the head injury,’ he reasoned.

“Sarah, did I say anything, when you found me?”

Smiling at him, she shook her head. “You were murmuring, “Todd,” she replied.

“Todd, that must be my name then, don’t you think?”

She nodded. “Yes that is what I have been calling you since I brought you here.”

He watched as she finished making the bread, and sighed. “I wonder if I would remember who I am if I saw my face.” His questioning look gave her pause as she closed her eyes.

‘So, it is time for the truth,’ she thought sadly as she walked over to a tall dresser, pulled the top drawer open and withdrew the mirror that lay within.

His eyes brightened as she walked towards him, but when she withheld the object from his grasp, he looked at her sharply.

“Well let me see myself, perhaps I will be able to remember who I am.”

Shaking her head she looked at him. “Wait, you must know before I give you the mirror, your face is…”

She never finished her statement as he grasped the mirror from her hands and turned the reflecting glass so he could see himself.

He dropped the mirror and covered his face with his hand. “My face, my face, I’m hideous.” He wept.

Sarah knelt beside him and pulled his hand away, placing her own small one against the drooping cheek.

Rubbing her thumb across his sagging mouth she shook her head. “You are not hideous, you are alive, and I love you,” she whispered, as she leaned forward and kissed him tenderly.

“Sarah.” Her name brought a sense of peace and contentment, and he caressed her cheek. “Thank you, thank you for saving my life.”

Shaking her head she stood up and looked down at him as she pushed his hair from his forehead.

“You’re going to be alright now, no one will ever harm you again,” she told him as she walked back to the counter and continued her bread making.

‘ Yes, my dear Judge Turpin, you are going to be alright now,’ she thought idly, as she hummed lightly to herself and placed the pan in the oven.