And that’s what they did that night. They sat in their dressing gowns eating pastries and meat pies that the cook had made up special, and they got drunk on sherry and wine that had somehow escaped the grasp of the greedy Union soldiers who had obviously made Hillhead Acres one of their headquarter encampments at one point. They talked about home, and their younger years, Victoria explained how Beau had just shown up at the door earlier that day, and how strained her relationship was with Christopher. Samantha talked of Thomas and as the night grew longer and the two became drunker Victoria told Samantha of how much she still longed for Wesley, how hard it was for her not to have a place to honor and mourn him, and they tried to analyze Victoria’s dream. The two decided that it must have been a message sent down to her from heaven.
Beau stayed cuddled up to Victoria with his head on her lap. She absentmindedly stroked his fur and scratched him behind the ears, leaving the dog so content that a rumbling emanated from his chest, sounding almost like a purring cat. As she began to cry while talking of Wesley, Beau licked the tears from her face, and it was only when the two sisters had fallen fast asleep in front of the waning fire, that he snuck out through the kitchen door to return to wherever it was that he came from, for he never stayed a full night. From that night on, Victoria would regularly fall asleep cuddled up with the dog, only to awake and find him missing once more.
Chapter Sixteen
Eight months had passed and the war still raged on. Victoria and Samantha had completely restored the top floor of Hillhead Acres. Room by room, they dusted, swept, scrubbed and cleaned. They mended, darned, and patched fabrics, curtains, linens, and rugs. Life was returned to Hillhead Acres one room at a time; like one deep breath giving life one inhale and exhale at a time. A few rooms on the first floor were all that they had left in order to complete the restoration: the library, the dining room, and the ballroom. Hillhead would never be the palatial home that it once was but at least now, it was habitable.
Samantha headed to finish polishing the wood floor in the dining room while Victoria decided to tackle the library. So many of the books were missing or destroyed leaving the shelves nearly barren. Stacks of books stood by the fireplace, and as she cleaned out the grate she could tell that the books that should have filled the shelves had been burned for heat, or possibly simply for spite. The waste of such precious items caused a wave of sadness to well-up inside her.
Or maybe it was just the hormones that caused her to be so emotional. Victoria was with child, a child that she had conceived at some point during those two weeks that Christopher had been with her at Hillhead. She was as large as a horse, but she would take the large stomach over the morning sickness that she had been plagued with early on in the pregnancy, any day. She had honestly believed that she was dying the first week of morning sickness, until they realized what the culprit was.
As she knelt there beside the fireplace, however, the sadness was replaced with an eerie sensation. The hair on the back of her neck began to stand and her heart pitter-pattered rapidly in her chest. She peeked over her right shoulder, but she knew that there was no one in the room. It was a sensation that she was becoming accustomed to feeling. This feeling of being watched, of someone being in the room with her, even when she knew it was empty save for herself. Victoria glanced over the left shoulder to the window and saw the curtains stood open wide. She gingerly raised herself back to her feet and took large waddling, purposeful steps to the window, she looked outside, but saw no one. She drew the curtains closed with a loud whishing clamor and a cloud of dust.
She began to cough and sneeze as the dust filled her lungs and nostrils. The noise echoed about her filling the emptiness of every nook and cranny in the desolate library. The emptiness of the house filled her world with a heavy weight. This was not the first time that she had believed that someone must be there. There were times that she even had thought she heard voices or possibly someone saying her name, but each time Victoria was left at a loss as to where the noises were coming from. The uncanny silence of Hillhead Acres was beginning to get to Victoria. She was starting to question her sanity. Why else would she imagine people talking and feel like someone was watching her all the time?
Scratching and whining suddenly echoed through the house. Beau was at the door. Victoria waddled her way to the back patio door to let Beau inside. Beau trotted happily into the house and followed Victoria back into the library. Victoria was thankful for Beau’s company, even with her sister here the home still felt empty and creepy. The only time she felt safe was when Beau was there and that was the only time that she didn’t experience the weird sensation of being watched and didn’t notice the strange noises or voices. Though, the way she constantly talked to him as if he could actually understand her was just one more reason for her to question the hold that she had on reality.
Victoria sat, exhausted into one of the worn leather chairs in the library. Beau sat at her feet and placed a paw on her knee. It was as though he was trying to comfort her, as though he sensed her unease. She looked down at the sweet dog’s paw, frowned, and bent down to look closer.
“Poor puppy, did you hurt yourself?” Upon closer inspection, Victoria saw that Beaux had scabs on the left leg, which belonged to the paw, currently resting on her knee. She had never noticed these scabs or scars before, though they looked old. Victoria supposed she had never paid much attention to what his legs looked like before, so there was no telling how long those scabs had been there. Victoria reached out to touch the sore. Beau let a low growl rumble through his throat at her in warning. Victoria withdrew her hand. She didn’t think that he would actually bite her, but he was obviously unhappy with her inspection. Best to let it be. He turned and went back out the porch door that Victoria had left open for him.
Victoria shrugged it off and decided that she would try to tend to Beau’s wounds if he came back later. She would try to take a peek at them while he slept, perhaps. Victoria’s sewing basket sat beside the chair that she had plopped herself down in. She took up a piece that she was working on for the last week. She had found the gown tucked away in a chest that was hiding in a nook upstairs. Victoria had spent the last week altering it for her to wear after the birth of the baby.
Samantha came in to join her sister. She carried with her a new letter from Thomas and one from Christopher as well. Samantha always felt uncomfortable discussing Thomas with her sister. Sam feared that it made things more difficult for Victoria, because it was a reminder of Wesley. Victoria always insisted, though, that her sister share his letters with her, and tried to convince her that it was okay for Samantha to talk with her about him. So, Samantha read Thomas’s letter. It was pretty typical, just talk of life as an officer, an officer trying to keep the morale of his troops up while they are losing the war. He asked after Victoria, wishing her the best with the birth of her child. He told funny stories about some of the men in his platoon. The way he told the story reminded Victoria of the way that Wesley used to amuse her with his anecdotes.
The pain of Wesley’s death had lessened over time, but it would never be completely gone. She forced herself to think of the future, the future of herself, the baby, and her husband. She couldn’t stop the idea from creeping into her mind that she wished the baby were Wesley’s instead of Christopher’s, though. Those thoughts made her feel ashamed. She would have to confess to a priest whenever she could make it to church next. Surely wishing that was a sin. Sitting there with her thoughts and sewing, in the comfortable company of her sister, Victoria felt herself begin to doze off.
It was evening before Victoria awoke from her nap. She lit a candle that rested on the end table beside her and picked up the new letter from Christopher. According to this letter, as with all of the letters since Victoria let him know that she was with child, Christopher expressed the fact that he was overjoyed with the news of the baby and extremely excited by the fact that he might possibly be present for the birth. He would be coming home for his Christ
mas leave soon. It was hard for both of them to believe that they had been married for nine months already, eight of which he had been gone to the front. He would be nearly as much of a stranger to Victoria as he would be to the baby.
Not only had his letters been more cheerful since he found out about the baby, but his letters had also been coming more frequently. Each letter talked of the future possibilities and even possible names for the new addition to their family. Victoria supposed that he saw this as his second chance, but she was surprised that he wasn’t more cautious and worried due to the fact that Lydia had lost their baby and then died from the complications.
She, herself, was indeed frightened, if the truth were to be known. Childbirth was not easy, from what she understood, and she understood very little since it was not a topic that was openly discussed. Her mother and Polly had been sent for. They would be arriving soon so that they could be there to assist in the birth. Victoria felt that she would not rest easily until they arrived. This would in fact be the first time that she saw either of them since the day that she and Christopher left Mossy Oak for Hillhead. That alone made her anxious to see their carriage pulling up to the front of the house.
After reading Christopher’s letter, Victoria left the room to go find Samantha so that they could sit down together to enjoy their evening meal. As she walked about the house looking for her sister, Victoria determined that the house was indeed nearly finished now. It was good timing too because Victoria could tell that this baby would be coming any day now.
Chapter Seventeen
The hour grew late as the sisters finished their evening meal. The sisters bid each other goodnight as they headed to their own rooms to prepare for bed. Victoria sat at her dressing table in her white night gown pondering the being that grew inside her large stomach. She picked up her sterling silver brush and drew it through her long blond hair. She had never really given much thought about becoming a mother. She had known that it would happen one day but that day always seemed so far off. Now there she sat her tiny, enviable waste replaced with this giant lump and she was indeed about to be a mother.
I have absolutely no idea how to be a mother or what is required to take care of a baby. That idea hit her in the gut. Pain exploded in her stomach and back. Victoria grabbed at her swollen abdomen and began to try to control her breathing as she walked over to her bed and laid down in the hope that it would help ease the pain. Victoria extinguished the candle and began to count. Soon the pain subsided and she fell asleep.
“Aaargghh!” Victoria woke up several hours later in excruciating pain.
Samantha ran into the room, awakened by Victoria’s scream. “What? What is it?”
Victoria’s blankets became warm and wet. “The baby’s coming!” She cried as another contraction hit her.
“Oh, oh…But Mother and Polly aren’t here yet and I don’t really know what to do!” Samantha’s hands fluttered about from her chest, to her forehead, to her lips as she frantically paced in Victoria’s bedroom. “I’ll go get the others. Maybe they will know what to do,” she finally declared with newfound conviction.
The contractions came stronger and quicker. Samantha returned with the Negro women, Grace and Delia. Grace placed her hands upon Victoria’s stomach, moving them around feeling for the position of the baby. She sent Delia to fetch her some butter, a knife, and warm water. She asked Samantha to bring in plenty of fresh blankets, towels, scissors, and needle and thread.
Grace began to hum a gospel song under her breath as she walked about the room, lighting candles, and stoking the fire to a roaring blaze. When Samantha returned, the two women assisted Victoria to a standing position, removed the sodden nightgown and blankets, reapplied fresh new linens, and dressed Victoria into her chosen birthing gown. Samantha sat behind Victoria. She re-brushed and re-braided her sister’s hair to help keep her calm.
Delia returned with the warm water, butter, and knife that Grace had requested. She promised that there was more water in the process of being warmed downstairs, as well. Grace took some of the warm water and began to wash her hands. Then she applied some butter to her hands and moved down to the foot of the bed. “Scoot down here,” she directed Victoria. “We must make you big for baby.”
Grace forced Victoria’s body to open in preparation for the delivery with the force of her hands and the butter that Delia had brought to her. The pains grew stronger and came closer and closer together. “Scream if you want to Mistress Victoria, there is no one to hear you. There is no shame in it.” And scream Victoria did, for hours on end it seemed like. Breathing and pushing and panting and sweating… Words came out of Victoria’s mouth that would have caused even the most fallen of women to blush. Samantha bathed her sister with cold well water. She held her hand and encouraged her with soothing words.
The end was coming and Victoria could take no more. “Oh just shut up Samantha!” She screamed with what felt like the last of her strength. Then she moaned and tears rolled down her cheeks. “Oh, I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.” She cried as she saw the sun rising and light making its way in through the windows
“Come on Mistress. Just once more. The baby is almost here. I can see the head. Just one more push and your beautiful baby will be here.”
“No, I can’t, I can’t”
“Push! Push now!” the old slave woman commanded her with an authoritative voice not suited for a slave woman.
“AAARRRGGHHH!!!” Victoria bore down and pushed one final time before collapsing back on her pillows in a faint. The sound of a crying baby quickly revived her however. There, that was her reward for the last nine months of being uncomfortable, fat, hungry, sick, and all of the other aspects that come along with expecting a child that none of the ladies had warned her about due to the impropriety of the subject. Hours of labor and there in Grace’s hand was her reward: a beautiful pink little babe.
“It’s a girl,” Grace told her as she handed her the swaddled bundle.
“What are you going to name her?” Sam asked as she admired her new niece.
“Arabella,” Victoria answered her. “For, she is my beautiful little girl.”
Chapter Eighteen
Later that next evening, the bedroom was lit by the red glow of the fire that raged cheerfully in the fireplace. Victoria sat in a wooden rocking chair wearing a white nightgown. She held her newborn girl to her breast as she suckled. All the long hours of labor have been worth it, she thought as she looked down lovingly at her first child. The purest love, a love that she only ever could have imagined before, filled her heart and erased all of the pain from the past. “Arabella, you are the most perfect little baby that ever was born, with your perfect ten fingers and your perfect ten toes. You are now my life and my world. Your father, Christopher, will be so happy to meet you when he returns from the war.” Victoria kissed Arabella’s fuzzy little head and the pink cherub cooed softly. Soon the newborn was asleep, content with her belly full of milk.
Without warning, a cold breeze surged through the room causing the flames to leap high inside the fireplace. A cat let loose a screeching mew. “Samantha? Is there a window open?” Victoria called out.
She waited a few minutes, but there was no answer from her sister. The hounds outside began to howl and bay, the only response that she received. Victoria stopped the chair from rocking and worked her way to standing. She called out to Delia and Grace, but they too were silent. Carefully, Victoria hobbled over to the cradle and laid her baby girl down. Still weakened from the labor, it was difficult to move about, but she began to check the windows. A crash drew her out into the hall. “Sam?” Victoria looked back and forth trying to find her sister and the source of the noise. She thought that perhaps her mother and Polly had finally arrived.
A cold wind blew through the hallway. Victoria turned to the direction that it came from. Thinking that if it was her mother and Polly, perhaps the door was opened to make it easier for them to bring in their luggage. Out of the co
rner of her eye, she saw a shadow move quickly past her. She turned again to follow it but it was gone. There was a familiar unease in the air, similar to the night so many years ago when she ran through the streets of New Orleans, the feeling of being hunted. The presence that she felt did not belong to her mother or her dear Polly, of that she was now sure. No, nor was it Sam, Grace, or Delia. Then there was movement again. Finally, she saw loose, flowing red hair disappear into her bedroom. Victoria tried to run in after it as quickly as her sore, spent body would allow. She made it to her door and let loose a blood-curdling scream. A strange woman stood in the room.
After the shock of seeing the strange woman subsided, Victoria rushed to the cradle and picked up Arabella. The strange redheaded woman just stared at Victoria. Victoria grew more uneasy. “What do you want?” she finally asked. “Why are you here?”
“Give me the baby,” the redhead demanded. She was finely dressed in an elegant blue and white gown with a high collar. No one that Victoria knew was able to afford such luxuries these days due to the war and the high-prices of even the coarsest of fabrics, leaving people to rework old clothing the same way that Victoria was altering the gown from the trunk. The clothes that this redhead wore were so fine that they rivaled that of Victoria’s gowns even before the war. “Give me the baby,” the woman said again. Her gestures and expressions were frantic.
The Possessive Kiss: Victoria's Story: Book Two of The Kiss Series Page 15