How Far the World Will Bend

by Nancy Klein

  She nodded and stood up from the piano bench; in an instant, she was so dizzy that she was forced to lean against the closed keyboard of the concert grand, waiting for the feeling to pass.

  John was beside her in seconds, his arms about her. “What is it, my love? Are you ill?”

  “No—no, just a little light-headed. I am quite tired.”

  He strode to the desk and capped the ink well. “I can finish my correspondence tomorrow.” He returned to her side and lifted her into his strong arms. She protested weakly, but he ignored her, and mounted the stairs to his room, where he gently set her in a chair.

  “Shall I help you undress?” he asked, hovering over her in concern.

  “Just give me a moment, please,” she whispered, and he nodded. As she gathered her thoughts, she watched him shrug out of his coat, and hang it in his before loosening his neckerchief.

  “John,” Meg said hesitantly, “I have something to tell you.”

  He looked up from the dresser, where he was depositing his pocket watch. “Yes, my love, what is it?” he asked absently, searching through his pockets for something.

  “I am with child,” she said simply and watched as he processed her words. She saw him stiffen as the import of her statement hit him. He spun on his heel, a look of incredulous joy overspreading his face.

  “You are….”

  “I am,” she said succinctly, and her smile wobbled. “Does that please you?”

  He was beside her in two strides, going down before her on one knee and cradling her face in his hands. “You are certain?” he breathed as his eyes searched her face in rapt concentration.

  “Of course, I am certain,” she replied in an amused tone. “Doctor Donaldson examined me today.”

  To her surprise, he lifted her from the chair and onto his knee, and buried his face in her neck. She was shocked to feel tears against her skin.

  “John,” she said in a tender voice, “what is it?” With persistent hands, she forced him to look into her eyes.

  He blinked and held her tightly. “I am—so happy and so—grateful. When you left me, I kept wondering what it would have been like to—have children with you. I thought how marvelous it would have been to have a son or daughter—and now you have made that dream come true. How can I tell you what it means to me, to know that my child is growing inside of you?” He ducked his head once more against her neck, and she protested softly at the feel of his long eyelashes against her skin.

  She stroked his hair, and nuzzled her lips against his cheek. “I love you,” she whispered, “You will be a wonderful father.” She continued to speak in a low, sweet voice until he mastered his emotions. Gently placing her back in the chair, he rose and strode over to the window. She saw him pull a handkerchief from his pocket and wipe his eyes surreptitiously. Turning from the window, he smiled sheepishly at her.

  “I wonder what you will do to fill your days, now that you no longer will work at the clinic?” he remarked.

  Meg gazed at him, perplexed that this would be one of the first things he would say to her in the face of such momentous news. “Why would you think I would not work at the clinic?”

  He stared at her. “In your—state, you should not be out in public, let alone working. I assumed you would leave your position immediately.”

  Meg continued to gaze at him impassively. “I should not be out in public? What nonsense is this?”

  At her comment, his face grew dark and he drew himself up to his considerable height. “I meant that you must care for yourself. You must curtail all of your activities, and rest.”

  She laughed helplessly and spread her hands before her. “John, I cannot spend my days idle, with nothing to occupy my hands or my mind.”

  “There will be plenty for you to do in preparing for the baby,” he asserted in a staunch voice. “You can ready the nursery, and sew and knit—”

  She laughed. “No baby should be exposed to my handiwork. Come, John, this will not do. I have been active and useful my entire life—surely you would not ask me to put that aside? That would be silly.”

  All trace of warmth left his face, and he moved to stand over her. “I will not have you working while you are in this condition,” he said, his eyes flashing with fear. “Someone must think of your health, and that of our child, if you will not do so. You are too fragile in your current state, and are not thinking clearly. No, Meg, I forbid you to go to the clinic.”

  Meg felt her temper rise. She was already chafing from Doctor Donaldson’s edict; her husband’s dictatorial attitude inflamed her further. “What did you say?” she asked in a deceptively soft voice.

  He crossed his arms on his chest. “I forbid you to go to the clinic,” he repeated, in a slightly less assured tone. She had a strange glitter in her eyes, and he watched as a dark flush swept up her neck and over her cheeks. He had not seen Meg this angry since the night of his mother’s dinner, when she had sparred with him over taking food to the striking workers.

  “You—forbid—me?” she asked in a venomous tone. “Without discussing the situation with me or attempting to hear my viewpoint—you forbid me?”

  “Yes,” he replied, beginning to think he might have chosen to make his argument more persuasively.

  Meg stood and headed deliberately to the door that separated their bedrooms.

  “Where are you going?”

  She swung around, her hand on the door knob, and glared at him. “If I am too fragile to work, I am obviously too fragile to share a bed with you. In light of your concern, I believe it is best that I sleep in my own bed. We can continue this discussion in the morning, when cooler heads may prevail.” She opened the door, stepped through it, and slammed it hard enough that plaster drifted down from the ceiling.

  John stared at the closed door, wondering how this had happened. Just moments ago, he had been wild with happiness—and now this. He sat down by the fire and placed his head in his hands. Why had he spoken in that cold way to her? His irrational fear for her health and safety had overridden any other reasonable thought in his head. If anything should ever happen to her, he did not know how he would go on—he was certain he could not survive without her. He had turned what should have been a moment of celebration into an argument. He should apologize, he thought with sudden determination, and surged to his feet.

  As he wondered what to say or do to make her understand what was in his heart, he heard the door knob turn, and watched as Meg reentered the room.

  She strode over to face him; the flush had faded from her face. “I refuse to leave things like this. I have just told you we are to have a child. We can argue later—for now, I would like to celebrate my news with you.”

  He stared at her and, in one fluid motion, stood and lifted her into his arms, burying his face in her hair. He held her so tightly that, after a moment, she protested. He instantly put her down, thinking she wanted to step away, but she instead wrapped her arms around his neck, and he pulled her close to him once more.

  “I am sorry,” he whispered fiercely, “but if anything were ever to happen to you, I would die of grief. I cannot go back to a time without you.”

  “You won’t have to—I am not going anywhere. Nothing is going to happen to me. I am young and healthy—you will not be rid of me that easily.” She felt his arms convulse at her weak attempt at humor, and she continued to hold him until he could bring himself to set her down. He kept his arms about her as she leaned back to gaze up at him.

  She took a deep breath. “As for the clinic—well, I have been disingenuous. Doctor Donaldson told me to leave today and not to come back until after the baby is born.” Seeing his dawning look of outrage, she stepped back. “I did not mean to dupe you, John—I intended to tell you that I would be leaving the clinic. But you made me very angry by ordering me to leave. If you had explained your concerns, rather than telling me what to do, I would not have reacted as I did. Surely you understand that I have been my own master my entire life—answerin
g to someone else is a new experience for me. You must be patient, and give me time to adjust.” He was quiet, and she was uncertain what was going through his mind. His face had a thoughtful expression, but his eyes were still hot. “What are you thinking?” she asked softly.

  He hesitated. “With your ability to time travel, I feared you might not be able to have a child—that something might prevent us from being able to procreate. I overreacted out of fear of losing the child as well as you.”

  “I will not lose the child, and you will not lose me.” She smiled faintly. “Are there any other pressing thoughts in that mind of yours?”

  “I am thinking that I would like a daughter.”

  “And so we shall—after I first bear your son.” She was relieved to see his face lighten with a smile.

  “Have it your way,” he said, enfolding her in his arms once more. “I shall be delighted whether it is a boy or girl.” They stood quietly for a moment, and he added in a low tone, “I am sorry, Meg. I know you do not like being told what to do, but your welfare trumps all other considerations where I’m concerned. You will have to understand that I will ‘come the master’ over you if I think you are doing something dangerous. It is my nature.”

  She lifted her head and gazed at him. “And it is my nature to tell you what I think of your interference. You are always welcome to ‘come the master’ over me—as long as we are in bed.”

  His eyes flashed, but a moment later, he looked at her with a fearful expression. “You are with child—we should not—it is not good for the baby….” His voice trailed off, and she understood what he was trying to tell her.

  She grasped his hand and held it tightly. “It will not hurt the baby, my love. In the time I come from, we have discovered that—that gentle lovemaking will not harm the fetus. She watched him flush with discomfort at her reference, and smiled. “Doctor Donaldson tells his expectant patients that as long as a couple is careful in their relations, and not too—exuberant, all will be well.” He still looked doubtful, but after several minutes of her clear explanations, he began to look relieved—and cheerful, she thought in amusement.

  He helped her to remove her garments and carried her to the bed where he laid her as gently as an egg before he disrobed. As he joined her, his touch was so tender that it brought tears to her eyes. He handled her as if she were a precious artifact, caressing and stroking her. He made love to her with tender passion, and she could feel him holding himself in check, fearful of hurting her. At the end, he held still as she trembled in his arms, and only by his shudders did she know he had found completion as well.

  Afterwards, he lay with his head on her shoulder and she stroked his damp hair as he told her of his hopes and wishes for their child. She realized yet again what a remarkable man he was—he spoke of his determination that his son or daughter grow up surrounded by love and affection, never knowing want or anxiety or need. How could it be otherwise, he asked, when they loved each other so much? Surely all of their passion and devotion would create a remarkable child. Meg smiled—she loved him so much that the irritant of leaving the clinic dissolved, leaving nothing but sweet anticipation for the day when she could place their baby in his arms. All would be well. She kissed him, a gentle kiss, and felt him respond with interest. She kissed him again, this time with a hot, open mouth, and he clasped her to him and made tender love to her yet again.

  Chapter 27. Threading the Needle’s Eye

  As the months of her confinement crawled along, Meg chafed under an oppressive boredom. Without her routine at the clinic, she felt useless and untethered, as if she had no place in the life going on about her. When she was with John, she felt contented and fulfilled, but she could not be with him every hour of the day. He had important work to do, and the improvements he was making at the mill took up most of his working hours, keeping him late at the office and occupying his thoughts when he was home so that he was distracted and distant.

  She had hinted to John that she could assist at the mill, dropping suggestions about various areas where she felt she could contribute, but he had brushed her ideas aside, and she had left matters as they were, not wanting to argue with him. He had suggested instead that she spend some time furnishing the nursery, an idea that further added to her leaden feeling. She had attempted to work in the lunchroom with Mary, but when she observed how offended Mrs. Thornton was that the Mistress of Marlborough Mills worked in a common lunchroom, Meg decided to stop. It appeared that all avenues of productive enterprise were closed to her.

  Mrs. Thornton was grimly pleased at the news of a forthcoming heir to the Thornton line. She was elated at the thought of an heir for her son, but still carried uncertainty in her heart as to whether Meg would be a devoted mother—would she insist on working at the clinic with a young babe, or would she come to her senses and remain at home, where a wife belonged?

  While Fanny chafed that Meg had managed to conceive before she did, with time she came around and was full of plans to outfit the infant’s room and his or her person. She secretly believed that Meg was incapable of preparing for an infant, and thought that it was up to her to provide for her brother’s child. Many days, Fanny would arrive without warning and whisk Meg away on interminable shopping trips for bunting, wool, and nursery furnishings. Meg spent a great deal of energy warding off Fanny’s selections of elaborate and incredibly expensive trappings. Meg gravitated to a simple cradle and bedding, and wanted to use some of her childhood furniture that was now stored in the Thornton’s attic. This plan was greatly to Fanny’s distaste, but a sharp word from Mrs. Thornton convinced Fanny to hold her tongue.

  In spite of these spirited altercations, Meg was bored to the point of despair. She had always been an energetic worker, welcoming labor of all sorts as a way to channel her energy. The only freedom or occupation she was still allowed were her walks in the countryside. Mr. Thornton and his mother had objected at first to these daily rambles until Doctor Donaldson interceded on Meg’s behalf and insisted that a young, healthy woman required exercise to keep her mind and body fit. To placate her husband and his mother, Meg would swaddle herself in shawls against any threat of chill, and set off to walk the fields and open spaces, come rain or shine. Aside from being in John’s comforting arms at night, these were her happiest moments, and she hugged this freedom to her jealously as an antidote to her idle hours.

  She attempted to shield her growing sadness from her husband with a high degree of success. She loved him so much that she did not want to distress him with her unhappiness; in point of fact, her low spirits over time had served to douse her rebellion. She accepted that mind-numbing boredom was to be her lot for the remainder of her expectancy.

  A surprise visit from Doctor Donaldson one afternoon found her gazing out the parlor window onto the courtyard below, tracing raindrops with her fingers as tears fell from her eyes. After several minutes spent observing her drooping posture and sad reflection in the glass, he cleared his throat and she spun around, surprised at his presence. She quickly wiped away her tears and smiled brightly at him. He asked several probing questions, and although she told him that she was just remembering her parents and wishing that they could be with her for the happy event, Doctor Donaldson knew better. After a scant quarter of an hour in her company, he was of the decided opinion that something must be done; upon leaving Meg, he sought out her husband.

  Mr. Thornton was by turns surprised and alarmed to see Doctor Donaldson. A quick word calmed his fear, but when the grim look on the doctor’s face did not fade, he quietly bade the medical practitioner to be seated and asked him what was on his mind.

  “Have you noticed, Mr. Thornton,” the doctor began with a tactful delicacy that was far different from his usual bluntness, “that Meg is acting different of late?”

  Mr. Thornton frowned. “In what way?”

  “She is listless and sad. Each time I see her, she seems subdued and in low spirits. I just found her crying in the parlor.”

&nb
sp; Mr. Thornton’s heart sank. He had sensed that she was discontented, but had convinced himself that it was solely due to her condition. Women in this state were often moody and unpredictable, his mother had informed him. It was to be expected that she would act in this manner. It was natural, according to Mrs. Thornton, who had never acted thus, of course; however, Meg was from the South, where the women were softer and less apt to shrug off their small problems. She then reminded John of Mrs. Hale’s low spirits.

  John remembered feeling a qualm of doubt as to the truth of his mother’s words. A small voice inside had told him that this was entirely unlike his energetic wife who never complained about anything; in his heart of hearts, he had known that she was unhappy. He had sensed that something was amiss and had asked her several times if all was well, but she reassured him that everything was alright, and he had taken her at her word, unsure of what else to do.

  He felt deeply ashamed—he had known she was not content with her lot, but with the amount of work he faced, he had opted not to pursue the issue, reassuring himself that she would tell him if she were truly unhappy. Once the baby arrived, he was convinced that all would be well. “What do you suggest, Doctor?” he asked quietly, putting his paperwork aside to give his guest his full attention.

  “Since the clinic is off limits, I would like for you to find some type of employment to keep her mind occupied. Is there nothing she can do at the mill to assist you that would not overly tax her? She is happiest when she is of use. Let her help you.” He hesitated before continuing. “If she worked at the mill, you could keep an eye on her to ensure she does not overexert herself. I would think she would be a true asset in any area requiring organization or recordkeeping—God knows, I have missed her sorely at the clinic.”

  Mr. Thornton thought for a moment and nodded abruptly. “What else should be done?”

  “She told me that you are going to London on business. While she would never say anything to you, I can tell that she is dreading your departure.”