Come Bide With Me(Elaine Faber) I sat with my mistress as she gazed through the window. The sun barely peeked from behind the winter clouds. “Griselda. Run and tell Nurse I wish to go into the garden with my kitten.”

I found Nurse in the library and gave her the message. She came at once to my mistress’s bed. “There’s chill in the air. Come Spring, you may sit in the sun each day.”

“Enough of this prattle,” the child said. “Ye know well the thing inside my head grows each day and eats away my life.” She rubbed her eyes. “My eyes grow dim and each day it is difficult to write my simple verses. Let me sit in the sun with my kitten if it pleasures me just a little.”

She spoke truth and no amount of coaxing could dissuade her. How could we deny the child? We bundled her with a knitted quilt, pulled her cap close upon her black curls and tucked a pillow behind her back. Once settled in the garden, she began to draw pictures and scribble verses. Her kitten played at her feet. “See how he plays, Griselda.” His pouncing upon imaginary beasts brought a smile to her pale face
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I lingered nearby, lest she have need of anything. Once satisfied she was comfortable, I returned to the kitchen where I scrubbed pots for the cook and watched the child through the window.

Her cries brought me rushing to the garden. She had fallen to the grass where she lay weeping, calling her kitten’s name. She pointed atop the garden wall where the kit had jumped and disappeared on the other side.

I called for Nurse to unlock the garden gate.

A farmer stood in the street, twisting his hat. “I beg pardon, miss, ‘tweren’t me fault. The kit leaped from yonder wall directly in me’ ‘orses’ path. Betimes I cud’ stop the beast, he had trod upon it. Me’ apologies, miss.” He hung his head. “I fear the wee thing is dead.”

Hot tears pricked my eyes as Nurse gathered the kit in her shawl and handed the bundle to me. “Run and find old Tom to deal with the kit.” She turned to the farmer. “Twas’ not to be helped, sir. God speed. We’ll tend the kit.”

Life has dealt unkindly to my little mistress, leaving her motherless and ill. Little brightened her life save the kit and now it, too, was taken from her.
I flew around the house and found old Tom, pulling weeds from around the garden gnome in the front of the manse. “Tom, come here! I have a great sorrow!”

“What is t’trouble, miss? What have ye there? The mistress’s kit?”

I held out the bundle. “I fear he’s run afoul of horse and wagon. Here, bury it quickly. I must run to her. Even now, she lies weeping in the garden.”

I ran back to my mistress, dreading to speak of the kitten’s fate.
Was I to blame for the mishap? Perhaps I should have remained in the garden with her. But, had I not been instructed to return to the kitchen?
Nurse had helped her rise to her chair. Had her face not been as white as a winter snowdrift and her eyes bright with recent tears, one might not have guessed her heart was breaking.

“Nurse, I am weary and my head hurts.”
The tremble in her small voice chilled my heart. I volunteered nothing. She knew the kit was dead. She took to her bed and refused all nourishment, even her favorite pudding.

The days passed thus, as she declined in spirit. Though the weather was fair, she declined going to the garden and turned her face to the wall. Fearing the end was near, Nurse summoned the doctor.

As he left her room, he pressed a small vial into Nurse’s hand.
“This will ease her pain. Give her a spoonful when she cries out. It should last until...”

What a small bottle it was. She turned away, hiding her tears.

I came often to her room. My tear-filled eyes made lies of my jokes and smiles.
Two days ago, my mistress sent a request to the kitchen. “Send Griselda to me. I wish her to accompany me to the garden.”

I was released from my duties and came to her room at once, where Nurse argued. “There is a chill in the air. You’ll catch your death.”

“What difference whether I die of cold today or another, for surely before the first leaves fall, I’ll be as cold as my mother in her grave.”

“I’ll not hear you speak so,” Nurse said. “God rest your blessed mother. Even as you speak, your cheeks are rosy. Surely you’re on the mend.”

We could not deny the child. And, thus despite the nip in the air, I accompanied her to the garden where she wished to write upon her tablet. I fear I dozed in the sunshine. When I awoke, she lay, as though sleeping, a smile on her lips, and the chill of death upon her face. I turned and beheld the creaking garden gate. Though it is always locked and only Nurse holds the key, it stood wide open!

Though stricken with grief, the message on her tablet gladdens the hearts of the household. It read as follows....

"Each day, I hear my mother’s voice. “Come through yon garden gate and bide with me in Heaven.

'Each day I replied, “No. I want to stay with Kitten. Last week, Mother called and Kitten answered. He jumped the garden wall… Today, Mother calls again, “Come, my child. Come and bide with me and Kitten. Today, I think I shall go to her…"

…
Even now, in my sorrow as I go about my duties, I think of my little mistress. I imagine her sitting at her mother’s knee, her kitten at her side.

Were we wrong to take her to the garden? Who am I to judge? How could we deny the child?

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