Another Life

by Sara MacDonald

  The hairs rose up on the back of her neck as she looked upwards at the scattered stars in the cloudless night. She could be Isabella. Isabella, Gabriella. It did not matter, for this landscape would endure long after they had both ceased to be remembered. Isabella must have stood there too in the house or garden, looking up at a sky with her own thoughts of mortality.

  Where was the spirit of Mark in this infinity?

  She had once at tempted to explain to him the profoundness of the discovery of herself as part of the universe, something she had never felt in a city. How, in a sudden moment on that doorstep of the farm, with her feet firmly on the earth, aged seventeen, she had looked up dizzily to the star-filled blackness and felt herself spring into existence. Such a strange and powerful feeling.

  She had watched Mark’s eyes crinkle with interest.

  ‘The human spirit is unique and the sense of oneself within the universe necessarily solitary. We live in a fast-moving urban world where we have forgotten to be still and listen to the beat and rhythm of the planet we inhabit. Some people never experience your moment on the doorstep, Gabriella. That sudden amazing feeling of accord and harmonized coexistence with nature …’

  He had pulled her to him, smiling. ‘The endless cycle, the absoluteness, the mystery of human life is what makes it so exciting … Don’t ever lose that feeling, my beloved Gabriella.’

  Gabby called Shadow and went inside. Mark. It was like losing a limb. You felt the movement of it, as if it was still attached to you. All the time. Every minute.

  Shadow came reluctantly back inside and Gabby locked the door, made toast and Marmite and climbed into bed. She lay with the firelight flickering over the walls for a long time, unable to sleep.

  As a child she had once seen a Cretan house left exactly as it had once been. Bed, chair, spinning wheel, jug, basin, pottery oven; all in its particular place, an exact space between each object. Everything you needed in one room. Perfect.

  This was how she felt here. The beams of John’s car shone across the walls as he came home, then silence. Gabby listened to this heavy silence as the fire died and the room creaked and settled around her.

  She turned on her side, bringing her knees up to her chin, taking herself back to the London house. She followed Mark’s lean frame around the rooms, watched his familiar habit of raking his fingers through his wiry hair, greying at the temples with single white hairs sprinkled through the rest of his head. The way he folded himself into a chair with unaware grace. Heard that slow throaty laugh and the way his slanting dark eyes crinkled in the corners with amusement nearly all the time.

  Mark. A life together ended abruptly almost before it had even begun. A life so vividly real she could almost remember each day. Yet the twenty-odd years at the farm had faded into one long shimmery heat haze of a life, passed safely sleepwalking to the moment Mark stood on the other side of a church gate.

  A log shifted in the dying fire and Shadow stirred, and it seemed to Gabby the room shifted too, as if her grief had found an echo. Was this where Isabella stayed while the figurehead was carved? Did Isabella and Tom Welland walk these cliffs? Had Richard Magor banished Isabella here to this Summer House in disgrace, to have a child he later took as his own?

  She would never know. She would never know what really happened.

  Isabella slept with Tom’s letters under her pillow. She knew them all by heart and she touched them in the dark and whispered his words to herself.

  My Dearest Isabella,

  This, My first letter, is begun off the coast of Spain where we are becalmed. I am afraid I am not good with words. My hands are more used to carving than writing. I fear the voyage to Prince Edward Island is going to be long and troublesome. The Esmeralda is a barque of similar size to Lady Isabella but she is not so seaworthy, nor so comfortable or well-built. I am told the Captain is too ready to take to the bottle at the hint of bad weather. I am praying for wind to hasten this voyage to its end, for then I can start to prepare for our life together.

  It is three days since I set sail from Falmouth and five days since I last saw your beautiful face and spoke to you. Isabella, I feel I have deserted you and this causes me sleepless nights. It is then, in the dark, that I think I should have waited, whatever the cost, and that I should have spirited you away, up north, away from Cornwall, and when our child was born we could have sailed for our new life. But in the morning I know we could not have found happiness at the expense of so many.

  Our parting and separation are cruel, and in the long nights imagination conjures so much doubt. When I am on dawn watch and the sun appears over the horizon and the dolphins jump beside the ship, you seem so far away and I am heading away from you. I ask you, Isabella, never to doubt my love and fervent intention to return for you and the child.

  I trust Lisette is caring for you well, as I cannot view my life without you and all I do is for that one end.

  One comfort is that my brother, Harry, sails with me as Second Mate and will return with this letter and more as I write. Isabella, my thoughts are never far from you. Feel this in your heart as the days pass.

  Tom.

  I cannot view my life without you and all I do is for that one end.

  Isabella took courage from Tom’s words for she had become unwell as her time approached. The doctor had consigned her to bed and sought a second opinion. Knowing little of Isabella’s circumstances he requested a meeting with Sir Richard to ask his permission to send for a gynaecological specialist from Plymouth.

  ‘It would have been preferable for Lady Isabella to have stayed here near Falmouth where it is easier for her to be visited by her doctors. The access to the main highway is a distinct advantage. But I’m afraid it is too late to move her now.’

  ‘I’m afraid my wife was insistent,’ Richard said. ‘You know what women are like once they have an idea in their heads.’

  ‘I do,’ the doctor said. ‘I have never been keen on the north coast myself. And it is certainly not the ideal place in winter for a difficult confinement. Sir Richard, I am concerned about Lady Isabella. She is frail. As you know she has suffered from a persistent cough which tires her and prevents sleep. It is not going to be an easy birth.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ Richard asked rather irritably. ‘I can not have the child for her.’

  ‘Do I have your permission to ask a second opinion and to take their advice over any medical practice they suggest?’

  ‘My wife is not in danger?’

  ‘Sir Richard, childbirth always carries danger.’

  Richard stared at the doctor. ‘I do not want to lose the child … or my wife, of course. If it is a boy, he will be my heir.’

  ‘Then I have your permission to seek further advice?’

  ‘You do.’

  ‘Sir Richard, one further thing. Is Lady Isabella prone to low spirits?’ The doctor, seeing Sir Richard’s face, added hastily, ‘Or is it her condition?’

  ‘Her condition,’ Richard said briskly and walked the doctor to the door.

  As he departed, the doctor wondered if the rumour his wife repeated to him last night might not be true. There was certainly no doubt Sir Richard seemed more interested in an heir than his wife. Odd. Could a man fool himself and others that a child conceived outside marriage was his own? But then, Sir Richard was a man no longer young and perhaps he thought this was his last chance of a son.

  Isabella was sure the baby would come early. It moved constantly, restless and turning, disturbing her sleep. Her back ached with the weight she was carrying. Instinctively she knew something was wrong.

  What if something happened to her? Please God, do not let me or my child die. I want to see Tom again. I must be here to take care of my child. There is no one else but me.

  Lisette had taken to sleeping in the chair beside Isabella and had told the midwife to be ready at any time. Lisette trusted the midwife far more than any fancy doctor.

  In the few months she had been in St
Piran, Isabella had quietly helped many people, and now that she was unwell prayers were said in the chapel and small gifts arrived at the door.

  Ben Well and had sent word to Tom by the packet ship, knowing it would only reach him after the birth of his child. He had watched the light and hope begin to fade in Isabella and he saw that Tom must return for her or she would decline here. His message had been to the point. ‘Thou should return home, Thomas. I believe the time for trouble is gone. The moment for it has passed. Isabella’s spirits are low. She has great need of thee by her side.’

  His wife feared greatly for the lass. She was not built for childbirth, even Ben could see that. He had watched many women die in childbirth and he had seen the loss of spirit which came after the birth. A strange thing it was; a falling away of the body and soul.

  Ben was not at all sure that the moment for trouble had passed. But he knew that Mr Vyvyan was trying to withdraw from his business dealings with Sir Richard and he had made it clear that he would protect his tenants and the community.

  It was rumoured that Sir Richard was in disagreement with many of his business partners and with his family, and Ben had realized that, without support, Sir Richard’s threats were empty. They did not need him, for there was business enough in St Piran without him.

  With luck and a fair wind, for the packet ships were fast, Tom could be home in six or seven weeks.

  Tom’s child made a dramatic entrance into the world. There was no gentle warning but Isabella was seized by a violent pain in her back, and she screamed out and terrified the sleeping Lisette, who leapt from her chair and rushed to Isabella, who was lying whimpering and hot to the touch.

  Lisette hastily pulled the bell-pull to alert the household and then went to light the lamp. She took a cloth and immersed it in cool water from the basin and went to bathe her mistress’s forehead.

  ‘Now, my bird. Listen to Lisette. Do not hold your breath. Breathe easy and as gentle as you can. Relax your fingers. There! That is better. All is well. All is well. Now, we must time the pain carefully. Do not fight the pain, Isabella. Go with it and it will hurt less.’

  Isabella’s eyes were huge and terrified. ‘Will that terrible pain come again, Lisette?’

  ‘I am afraid so, my lamb. It is your baby telling you it is time to be in the world.’

  ‘But you told me the pains would begin gentlyat first and then …’

  ‘I did,’ Lisette smiled. ‘Do you not think you must have a son, to herald his arrival so painfully?’

  Isabella tried to smile.

  ‘Lie still and calm. Good. Now, your body will tell you when the next pain is coming. When the pain is too bad to bear I will give you something, but I cannot give it to you too soon. The calmer you are, Isabella, the easier the birth.’

  There was a knock on the door and the two maidservants entered carrying water and lavender.

  ‘Cook has run for the midwife,’ one whispered to Lisette, glancing at the bed in awe.

  Lisette took the jug of water. ‘Good. Now you both know what to do? We will need continual hot water.’

  ‘Yes, yes, we know.’

  Lisette returned to Isabella’s side. She did not like the colour of her face. Her eyes were closed and Lisette saw the dark rings under them. Isabella opened them suddenly and said quietly, ‘Lisette, I am afraid my body is not strong enough to bear this pain.’

  ‘With God’s help you will bear it as other women do.’

  ‘Am I a coward, Lisette?’

  ‘You are young and afraid and in low spirits. Some women sail through their confinements. You are not one of them. Isabella, it is but a few hours’ pain and then you will have your child in your arms, just as your mother held you. Think of that …’

  Lisette leant down to stroke Isabella’s forehead. ‘How beautiful this child will be. Yours and Tom’s.’

  ‘Mine and Tom’s.’

  Isabella and Tom.

  Another pain was coming. Isabella could feel it like a vast wave and this time she clutched Lisette’s hand, tried not to scream out at the strength of it which seemed to raise her half from the bed.

  Gabby was woken by violent stomach cramps and nausea. She just got to the bathroom in time. She sipped water and was sick again and again. A thin layer of sweat lay over her skin. She went back to bed, taking a bowl with her. Every time the pain came she was left vomiting. She could not ever remember being so ill and was tempted to use the bell-pull that John had showed her for when his guests were unwell. But she did not want to wake him so she promised herself after every bout … If I get another pain I’ll pull the bell … until the early hours, when she fell into a hot and troubled sleep.

  She half woke to the feeling of people whispering and moving round her bed. Shadow was growling under her breath. Her nightdress was drenched and Gabby felt cold, icily cold, but when she opened her eyes and sat up and blearily looked round the room there was no one there. She did not think she had the strength to let Shadow out and fell back on the pillows, closing her eyes again.

  The room was full of a sense of urgency, and a faint memory of a man lifting her in a room and holding her to the light of a window to look at her face. She fell into a feverish sleep. She dreamt of candlelight and Mark …

  I ask you never to doubt my love and fervent intention to return for you and our child … I cannot view my life without you, and all I do is for that aim.

  Gabby smiled. Mark. Mark. Her hands curled round to protect her aching stomach.

  With each wave of pain Isabella’s eyes were fixed on Mama looking down at her in her red dress. She pretended Mama was real; flesh and blood and here. She heard again her soft English voice with that Italian inflection. This gave her strength even though her body trembled with fatigue.

  There were so many women round her bed. The Catholic priest waited outside. Isabella had called him in case this child, who was taking so long to come into the world, needed baptizing.

  Lisette was worried. She wondered how much longer Isabella’s body could take this assault. It was now twelve hours of relentless labour.

  The doctor arrived and examined Isabella. He looked grave. The baby had turned late. It would be a breech birth and every woman in the room knew what that meant. They did not tell Isabella, but prepared quickly.

  The doctor gave her laudanum and the midwife asked her to lie quite still. She must not push.

  Anna, Tom’s mother, whispered in Isabella’s ear, ‘Tom is on his way home to you, Isabella … Be brave … soon the pain will be over.’

  The doctor cut Isabella carefully and Isabella began to float away.

  She smiled. I ask you never to doubt my love and fervent intention to return for you and our child.

  It was going to be all right. Isabella suddenly knew this. Her child was going to be born and to live and have children of his own. Isabella and Tom. Their children. Their children’s children. Mama smiled down at her.

  ‘Now, my darling child, now!’

  Isabella lifted her head and Lisette supported her on one side and Anna on the other.

  ‘Now, Miss Isabella. Now! Push! One more push!’

  With all her strength Isabella pushed and her son slid out into the world, tired but intact.

  When Gabby woke it was late and Shadow was sitting by the door. Gabby got out of bed unsteadily and let her out. She felt drained and weak. She made tea and had a bath, then, leaving the stable door open to the morning for Shadow, she went back to bed.

  The night came back to her. The feeling of people round the bed, Shadow growling … She stared at the mirror above the small table in the alcove and it caught the light and reflected back. She had such memory of a face somehow familiar, as if it reflected her own. Of footsteps slowly walking away down flights of stairs. Of listening to those footsteps until they faded away.

  Gabby shivered. She knew she still had a temperature, she must have been hallucinating, but when she closed her eyes she could still feel the sensation of people
in the room; as if they were trying to relay some message of hope to her, of continuity.

  Shadow refused to come back into the cottage but lay just outside the door in autumn sunlight, watching Gabby anxiously.

  Gabby sat upright very slowly, propped up by the headboard. She saw clearly and suddenly the face of the figurehead. She placed both hands on her stomach with the same awe and shock as Isabella had once done.

  I am pregnant. I am having Mark’s child.

  ‘It’s a boy!’

  The midwife took the silent baby quickly away and turned him upside down and smacked him. There was no sound. The doctor quickly took him and pushed his finger into his mouth and removed mucus, then he turned the baby again and methodically tapped his back hard.

  Everyone held their breath. Isabella was too exhausted to be aware that her baby was not breathing. Then there was a small coughing sound, a rasping wail, then a cry, and everybody smiled. The crying baby was bathed and swaddled and handed to Isabella.

  She looked down and marvelled. ‘How tiny he is.’

  The doctor smiled. ‘He is early and he is small, Lady Isabella, but God willing he will thrive. Now, I will leave these good women to attend you and then you must rest. You have had a difficult time of it. I will return in the morning.’

  ‘Lisette?’

  ‘I’m here, my bird.’

  ‘Is the priest still outside?’

  ‘He is.’

  ‘Would you ask him to come in?’

  Isabella turned to the young priest as he came in. ‘Will you please baptize my son, Father? He is small and I want to be sure he is in a state of grace.’

  With her finger Isabella stroked the tiny downy head of her infant son and love flowed through her. She felt such joy for his life that she smiled and looked up at the women around her and sought out the eyes of Anna, Ben’s wife.

  ‘I will name my son “Thomas Benjamin”.’