The Fallow

by Alicia Britton

  Since her crutches were by the door, she’d almost be better off plodding to the bathroom downstairs. It would save her a few steps later.

  She sat back down. After a few deep breaths, she was ready to try and succeed this time.

  And she made it all the way downstairs without falling or making a mess. And she considered that another Christmas miracle.

  “Hey. . .” Law said, cheerily drawn out. He rose from his chair to greet her. “The lady of the abode. How are you feeling?”

  He shared a condoling glance with Herald, who forced a grin. Then Herald grabbed the mitts to tend to the oven. Perhaps they didn’t mean to let on that they had been talking about her, but she had learned to read into those subtle exchanges. They didn’t want to say so in her presence, but it was clear Herald had mentioned a few things about her health. And Law was pretending he knew nothing of it.

  “Never been better,” Virtue replied, and it was only a lie by half. She was simply referring to her state of mind. “Happy Christmas Eve.”

  She kissed his cheek. Law set her crutches aside and helped her into a chair. “Wine?” he offered, tipping the bottle that had already been well enjoyed. There were two glasses on the table with traces of red, and there wasn’t much more than a serving left. Fortunately for them, there were still a few unopened bottles lined up on the counter.

  They all had their reasons to celebrate, but just the thought of alcohol made her stomach lurch. She waved it off with both hands. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” She put the back of her hand to her mouth in hopes it would prevent or hide the gag. “I’m absolutely no fun, but. . .”

  “That’s all right.” He poured the rest of the wine into his own glass and winked. “More for me.”

  Law was in much better spirits these days. It was obvious that he and Herald had put their tiff behind them. They were like brothers again. Herald did, indeed, position Law as their “hope for the future.” And he dedicated the entire second edition of The Rising Tide to his persona and qualifications. Law was the Heir of the Redeemer and the support he was receiving had been encouraging. She was almost positive that had something to do with his improved outlook. But the only details she was privy to were the ones they shared with the masses.

  Why were Law and Herald at odds in the first place? Perhaps she would never know.

  They were trying to protect her. While she was still healing, body and soul, she wasn’t challenging that very often. She had her health and romance novel to focus on, and maybe that was for the best.

  And for once, Virtue didn’t startle at the sound of footsteps. Law was early, but they would not be dining with him alone. Beyond the window, the sky was gray, snowflakes were falling as they had been all day, and the light was already waning. But Bernie had a way of shining through as she climbed the steps onto the porch. She had her medical satchel draped across the front of her. She was also carrying Hannah on her other hip. It wasn’t an impossible scenario, but it seemed an unlikely one. “Are Blasphemy and Gospel coming?”

  “I thought so,” Herald said at the same time there was a knock.

  Bernie came in, greeted everyone, and gave her standard, “I can’t stay long.” And she expressed Blasphemy’s apologies for her. “Something came up. There was an emergency. She didn’t say what.”

  They all believed it was safe to assume that Gospel wouldn’t be joining them for that reason, either. It was a disappointment, but one they were familiar with.

  Would they be all right?

  It was an almost daily concern, for someone, somewhere. Herald had kept his promise and cut back significantly on his outside endeavors, but that put more pressure on everyone else to find the next story. Staying ahead of the Divinity Daily was a constant uphill battle. They had a larger staff, better connections, and more resources at their disposal. All things considered, The Rising Tide was bolder and braver, and that gave them a fighting chance to sweep them on more than one occasion. But they lashed back hard and had their fair share of “breaking news” as well.

  Virtue tried to stay focused on the speculation being volleyed about. But then it came on like an avalanche. There was no time for the crutches. She had to stumble to the bathroom.

  She kicked the door shut with her good foot. Then she tumbled to her hands and knees and scrambled the rest of the way. She made it to the toilet just in time.

  Everything that she didn’t eat made its way out of her, and not delicately, either.

  There are no secrets here.

  And she didn’t feel much relief afterwards. Her gut was in knots and she could hear her pulse in her head.

  She plopped down on the bathroom rug and held her head in her hands as she listened to the whispers coming from outside the door. Her companions had more questions than answers. Virtue couldn’t make out every word, but the please help her seemed the male consensus. It was, therefore, no surprise that Bernie was the one to enter. “You should be doing better by now.”

  She shut the door and pulled a little white cup from her satchel.

  “What’s this for exactly?” Virtue asked, taking what was meant to collect another sample. Sometimes it was positive. Sometimes it was negative. But nothing seemed to change the fact that she was perpetually under the weather no matter what she did or didn’t do.

  “When was your last menstruation?”

  “I don’t know. . .” She had to think about it. There was no reason to keep track. And she was perpetually off kilter, so nothing had been on schedule. “Late October? Early November? You can’t honestly think I’m. . .”

  The hunches were getting wilder. And yet they had had so many of these conversations—why don’t you feel better yet?—that nothing surprised her anymore. And they could practically finish each other’s sentences.

  “So after the Braintree incident?”

  There was a Virtue before. And there was a Virtue after the incident. But she was sure she experienced her curse of womanhood at least once in the cabin. “Yes. Exactly!”

  For the Virtue after, a pregnancy was not possible. She had the scars to prove it. Very occasionally, though, stories would surface that the Fallow with an egg in the right place at the right time could become pregnant anyway, assuming the anatomy was left intact overall. But her last period put to rest that very slim possibility. Her tubes were now tied and no egg had beaten the scalpel.

  “Hmmm,” Bernie replied. Despite what should have put an end to all doubt, her expression was still rapt with scrutiny. “I have a theory. Just humor me. All right?”

  Virtue obeyed with a shrug. If there was a chance they could rule out one more thing, she’d gladly do her part.

  Bernie pulled out a pipette, a bulb, and a rectangular plastic plate with little wells in it. “I thought these tests were a thing of the past,” Virtue commented, handing her the cup.

  “They are. They’re illegal too. No one wants science to play God. But, luckily, I have smart brothers who don’t buy into that.” Corollary, of course. He wasn’t writing for them anymore, but he still took part in what little acts of rebellion he could get away with. “It helps that the Authorities aren’t exactly kicking down doors for unsanctioned pregnancy tests.”

  Virtue watched her pipette the urine into the wells a drop at a time. She let it settle and then dumped the contents in the sink. Afterwards, she rinsed the plate with water. “I don’t know if you realized this, but you had two incision wounds and only one of them had stitches.” Bernie looked over to gauge her reaction. “Were they going in or coming out when your friends intervened? Who knows, right? But, consider it this way. There’s a fifty percent chance that one of your fallopian tubes is still open.”

  “Okay?” Virtue replied. This was all news to her. She had so many injuries and never paid that much attention to any one in particular. The foot was everyone’s biggest concern. Then her back. Then the infection. And the ones that followed. . .

  Virtue was already wiping away fresh tears. Yes or no. She’d be a mess
either way. Her tender heart was just getting a head start.

  Bernie added droplets of another solution into the wells. “Perhaps I would have mentioned this earlier,” she continued while she worked, quickly and without much pause for thought. “But that day you came in, it was a bit chaotic. I noticed the wound was healing on its own. I didn’t poke around. And then it must have slipped my mind. And I wasn’t aware of the exact sleeping arrangements, either.”

  Bernie lifted a congenial eyebrow. The intimacy was still fairly new to Virtue and happened infrequently enough to warrant a rush of heat to her face. She did have questions only a woman would know the answer to, but she didn’t have an overwhelming need to bring them up with her doctor. Virtue was never at her best and Herald was patient and understanding. He’d always wait for her to come to him. And yes, there were times she couldn’t stand it anymore, even in less-than-ideal conditions. He didn’t decline, complain, or treat her as if she were contagious. And in some cases, she probably was.

  “So. . .” Bernie flicked the liquid into the sink once again. She began adding a third liquid, slowly and a bit more deliberately. Her concentration and steady hand made it clear this was the moment of truth. “I don’t want to give you any false hope. . .” She watched and waited. “But it’s something to keep in mind, even if you get a negative result today.”

  She tilted the plate, transfixed by its contents. She then lifted it to the light and continued her inquiry.

  “What does the blue mean?” Virtue asked, growing impatient. She couldn’t get a great look from where she stood, but it was obvious there was a color change in most of the wells.

  Bernie turned her head slowly. She was clearly in awe, but the look she gave Virtue was an amused version of surprise.

  Virtue put her shaking hand to her mouth to rein in the gasp. The tears began falling in a steady stream. It wasn’t a full sob until she burst from the bathroom. She hobbled directly into Herald’s chest. “What’s the matter?” he asked, his tone and embrace both so full of worry.

  She was trembling all over. When she attempted to speak, the words wouldn’t come out.

  “What is it?” Law came over with Hannah fussing in his arms. She preferred the ladies, but he was getting on much more competently than usual.

  Hannah was in their lives now. Blasphemy was essential to their cause and was often handing her off to anyone available so that she could complete her assignments. So they had all been getting more practice with Hannah.

  And it seemed as if that would come in handy.

  Herald tried to peel Virtue away in attempt to see her face, but she was more determined to hide it. So he took her by the waist. He slid his fingers into the back of her short hair and just held her there.

  Law had a free hand to set on Herald’s shoulder and he directed the question at what must have been Bernie.

  Tentative footsteps approached from behind. Bernie gave Virtue a fair chance to answer, but eventually, she buckled underneath the silence and scrutiny. “Do you want me to tell them?”

  Virtue took a moment to consider that and then nodded against Herald’s chest.

  “She’s pregnant,” she stated after another heavy pause. It was amazing how much fact, concern, and anxiety she could express with one prognosis.

  Law guffawed and slapped Herald’s back. But that wasn’t likely why he staggered.

  Hearing no additional response from Herald or Virtue, or Law for that matter, either, Bernie took the opportunity to fill in what she knew. “She’s probably about eight weeks along. And with the dates being what they are, I think she’s pretty sure you’re the father, Mr. Hargreave. Congratulations.”

  “What?” Herald finally emitted. His heartrate dropped to barely there. Virtue could hear it, feel it falter, and that was through her own breakdown. “I could have sworn you just said she was pregnant.”

  ***

  “That’s it?” Law called after her. “No goodbye? No Merry Christmas?”

  Bernie stopped with a sigh he could hear above the wind and falling snow. “I said I couldn’t stay long. And I wanted to get back before it was too dark.”

  She had slipped out of the cabin while he was in the bathroom, the moment he was indisposed. It seemed as if she had been planning for that and seized the opportunity to avoid an encounter with him.

  By the time she turned around, Hannah in her arms, he had closed the gap. He was winded, though. It was practically a sprint and he had slightly too much wine to pretend that didn’t hurt.

  Meanwhile, Bernie had abandoned a nearly full glass. She barely touched her food. Did she have a sweet tooth? Perhaps he would never know. She didn’t intend to stick around for dessert.

  She didn’t say much either. Come to think of it, all throughout dinner it was as if she wasn’t really there. Sure, she was taking the initiative with Hannah, who was more of a handful than usual now that she could walk, and the revelation had been a shock to everyone. But she was the one who must have suggested the pregnancy test. So how surprised could she have been?

  The wind was swirling. So were his thoughts. They landed for a second on the snowflakes in her hair. The rose color of her cheeks. And then he was seeking her gaze, but she wasn’t giving it to him. “Is everything all right?”

  Her eyes focused in on something in the distance and then zoned out on what appeared to be nothing. In that time, she sniffled slightly. And yes, the woods were a cold and wet place to be at this juncture. His body was in harmony with that too. His eyes were damp as well, but hers appeared teary, beyond what could be blamed on the weather.

  She brought her thumb knuckle to one eye and then had near perfect composure once again. “Of course,” she muttered. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  That question was so loaded, it took some effort not to chuckle. And she likely would have forgiven him for that anyway. She was now mocking herself with a weary smile.

  “You must be under a lot of stress.”

  Her eyes widened and fluttered.

  Obviously. . .

  “If it’s about Virtue,” he went on, guessing, since she didn’t give him more than a tiny clue that something was amiss. “She’ll calm down and come around. She’ll become a better version of herself. She has someone else counting on her. That has to be more than half the battle.”

  “Do you always see the bright side?”

  “No,” he said through a chuckle. “But I try very hard. I have to. The alternative is just. . .”

  He shrugged. She nodded. He didn’t have to say more.

  Bernie released a deep breath. Maybe his words brought some reassurance, but something lingered in her demeanor that was broader than just Virtue. That part of her remained unconvinced.

  Hannah was bundled up in her arms, curious and a bit fussy ever since they stopped moving. Bernie, like someone who had children of her own, knew just what to do. She brought Hannah’s head to her chest and began bobbing and swaying. She had good instincts or ample practice. Probably both.

  The two of them together brought the graves behind Bernie’s manor back to the top of his mind. Josiah Breckenridge. May you find comfort in the arms of an angel.

  She was no baby killer. Not that he ever believed that, but here was all the proof he needed. More than likely, she couldn’t save them all and that would always haunt her.

  No upstanding affluent man would want to die without an heir. . . .

  As far as the rest of her family was concerned, did the deceased baby trigger the rest? That was less clear.

  Early after the discovery, he obsessed about the many possibilities, for probably close to a week. He was fully prepared to do some digging when one night while tossing and turning it dawned on him that he trusted her. It wasn’t worth the effort. Or the risk. What if he was discovered? The don’t worry, I love you anyway wasn’t going to win him any points. If she had a hand in their deaths at all, though he still considered that unlikely, then they deserved it. He decided to leave it at that. And
from then on, he slept soundly, on that matter, anyway.

  “Let’s go,” he determined after catching sight of Bernie’s shiver. He glanced back as well. The door wasn’t opening with a call for their return. “I’ll walk you over.”

  “You don’t have to. I’m fine. Go.” While shifting Hannah on her hip, she bobbed her nose at the cabin. The wisps of smoke emerging from the chimney were still slightly visible against the cloudy gray dusk. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

  “Eh,” he dismissed with a wave. Then he took the initiative. And the first step forward. “I’m sure they want to be alone.”

  Bernie took that in and then caught up without argument.

  Law soon pocketed his hands to keep them warm. He also closed his hand around her Christmas gift. He debated whether or not to give it to her. Is it too soon for that?

  Yes. Probably. But Law never accomplished much by holding back.

  He pulled out the package, wrapped in brown paper and tied with hemp twine. “Hey, I, uh, stumbled across something and thought of you.”

  Stumbled across was probably the wrong phrase. But she didn’t need to know that.

  In truth, he knew someone who knew someone who had a black-market book business. And Law had made a request for something romantic—that was a requirement—and also unique, valuable, and preferably, a slice of Americana. From what little he had learned by perusing her bookshelf, she seemed to have a preference for historical and local.

  “You shouldn’t have,” she scolded, taking it tentatively. “I didn’t . . . I should have . . . Christmas,” she finished, shaking her head and shrugging all at once.

  Her words weren’t making any sense, and yet he smiled, for he understood completely. Christmas wasn’t necessarily jolly for a young widowed doctor who lived alone. She probably, just the day before, checked the calendar and gasped that it was upon them already.

  “Don’t worry about it. Just open it.”