by Stacy Henrie
With that Minnie shuffled her clingy daughter out the door. Now what?
She gazed at the baby she held against her side. William was sucking the ends of his loose bonnet strings. Smoothing his nightdress, Ada bounced him a little. Immediately he dropped the ribbons and gurgled, revealing a single tooth.
“Do you like that, little man?” Ada bounced him again and was rewarded with a giggle. The happy noise went straight to her heart. Wouldn’t Ned be so pleased to hear she was going to have a baby? Their flat would soon be home to three.
She carried William into the parlor, where she pointed out the knickknacks and books and the furniture she and Ned had purchased. The baby babbled back as though carrying on a conversation. By the time Ada had finished giving William a tour of the flat, Minnie and her daughter had returned with a steaming cup of tea. The smell alone soothed Ada’s stomach.
Handing the baby back to his mother, she led Minnie to the kitchen table. They each took a seat on one of the chairs. After a minute, Minnie convinced Janey to sit down as well.
“Thank you for the tea and for helping me realize why I was sick.” Ada blushed at her own naiveté, but she couldn’t stop smiling.
She was going to have a baby—perhaps a light-brown-haired boy like Ned, or a dark-eyed girl like herself. Son or daughter, she would love this child and teach them all she’d learned and observed in the past few months about love and compassion and the fulfillment found in hard work. Another thought deepened her smile. Surely her parents would write her once they knew they had a grandchild.
After sipping some of the tea, she breathed a contented sigh. “Your visit was more than fortuitous, Minnie.”
It was Minnie’s turn to blush. “Don’t know what a fancy word like that means. But I’m ’appy to ’elp.” She reached out and patted Ada’s hand where it held the cup. “Anything you need, Ada, you let me know. Because I ’ave a feeling, you and me, we’re going to be great friends.”
• • •
As Ned greeted his wife with his usual kiss on the cheek, he was struck by the radiance of her smile tonight.
“How was your day?” she asked as she moved about the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on their dinner.
He moved to the sink to wash his hands, knowing full well that some of the ink smudges would remain no matter how much he lathered his fingertips. Back in Yorkshire, his hands had been covered with a different sort of stain from tending the game animals on the estate, clearing away brush, or tramping through the wet woods in search of poacher traps.
There were days at the print shop when he longed to be outdoors like he used to be. Rain or sun, he’d spent every day outside. Ned lifted his gaze to peer at their tiny garden. He missed the fresh, damp scent of the earth and the stillness that came with walking in the woods alone.
Hearing Ada behind him, he smiled and scrubbed harder at his hands. He wouldn’t trade the potent smell of the print shop or the whir of its machines for his old job. Not if it meant losing his lovely Ada.
“Ned? Did you hear me?”
He hadn’t answered her question yet. “Sorry. Things at the shop were busy. We finished one large order and already have two more to fill.” He grabbed a nearby towel to dry his hands and turned to face her. “How was your day, love?”
“It was good.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “Very good, actually.”
When she didn’t elaborate, he eyed her curiously. “What? No more bits to share than that? Are you waiting for our walk?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” she replied innocently, but he saw the way her dark eyes were shining with amusement.
He waited until she’d finished setting the table before he snagged hold of her wrist. “All right. What aren’t you saying?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Henley.” She threw him a cheeky grin.
Feigning a growl of protest, he began to tickle her in the side. Ada squealed with laughter. “Ready to fess up yet, Mrs. Henley?”
“Never,” she said in between laughs.
Ned grinned and tickled her some more.
“Fine, fine. I surrender.”
He curled his arm around her waist. “You wouldn’t make a very good soldier,” he teased as he kissed the skin below her ear.
“No, I wouldn’t.” She looped her arms around his neck. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to leave you . . . and our baby . . . to join the ranks.”
He bent to kiss her mouth, but he straightened in surprise when her words registered in his mind. “Wait. Did you say our baby?”
“Yes.” Ada rewarded him with another beaming smile. “I think I’m pregnant. Minnie O’Reilly from next door—she recently moved in—thinks so too. She’s actually the one who helped me realize why I have felt sick and weepy. Ned, I really believe we’re going to have a baby.”
He was going to be a father. They were going to be parents!
“Are you pleased?” Ada asked, slight worry in her tone.
Ned lifted his hands to cup her beautiful face. “More than pleased, Ada. I’m overjoyed.”
“You’ll make a fine mother.”
“And you a fine papa.”
He kissed her fervently then. When they parted, they were both breathless. Ned led her to the table. Tonight he kept her hand in his as he blessed their meal. Before ending the prayer, he added, “Father, we also ask Thee to bless Ada and the little one we believe she’s carrying . . .” Ada squeezed his hand, prompting tears of gratitude and anticipation to fill his eyes. Ned had to clear his throat before continuing. “We’re grateful for all that we’ve been given, and we close in Thy Son’s name. Amen.”
To his surprise, Ada softly echoed his amen. It was the first time he could recall her doing so—and the sweetness of it added to the sanctity of the moment.
• • •
September 1910
Her daily queasiness, which had mostly been held in check by Minnie’s tea, eventually disappeared as quickly as it had come—to Ada’s great joy. She felt less tired too in performing her household tasks. Or perhaps her energy had more to do with her inner contentment. Though there were days when she wondered how she could wring one more penny from Ned’s wages, or when she and Minnie had to pool or trade their foodstuff with each other, Ada couldn’t help feeling happy. She would have a baby next year, a little bundle of energy and personality like Little William. And she couldn’t wait.
“Can you believe we’ve been here four months?” she remarked to Ned during one of their evening strolls about London. Ada knew her way around now without fear of getting lost.
Smiling, Ned shook his head. “It seems half as short. And twice as long.”
“My thoughts exactly.” She laughed and linked her arm more securely through his, feeling proud to be walking beside him. “Have you given more thought to what we should name this little one?”
Her husband squinted up at the gray sky. The cool air felt wonderful to Ada after the heat of working over the range to prepare dinner.
“I like Ned Jr. if we have a boy.”
Ada nodded agreement. “And for girls’ names?”
“Maud or Lucille is nice.” He sneaked a kiss to her cheek. “Though I still like Ada.”
His remark drew a smile from her. “Have you thought of any others?”
“One.”
She waited for him to say it. When she realized he was purposely drawing out the suspense, she gently pushed him. “Tell me.”
“It’s a name my mother said she would’ve given a daughter if she’d had one.”
“What is it?” Ada asked, intrigued.
Ned stopped her at the corner to let a bus pass by, its upper level boasting an advertisement for Pears soap. “It was Rosemary. I believe that was the middle name of one of my grans and Mother always liked it.”
“Rosemary,” Ada repeated. “I believe I like that one best.”
“Really?” They crossed the street. “Because the others are good names too.�
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“They are, but Rosemary is quite beautiful.” She gazed up at him, a fresh wave of love filling her. “Our own little rose—if the baby’s a girl.”
He grinned. “That’s what we’ll call her for short.”
“Rose?” she guessed.
“No, too stiff. I was thinking Rosie.”
“That’s perfect, Ned.” She squeezed his arm. “I love it.”
Their conversation turned to the things they’d need to procure before the baby’s arrival, such as a cradle. Ada watched a mother on the opposite side of the street pushing a perambulator. Perhaps they could find a pram that wouldn’t cost too much. Minnie had volunteered to stitch some nightgowns and a blanket. And Minnie’s husband, Thomas, who was an expert at whittling, promised to make a small toy the child could eventually play with.
“It’s our turn to have the O’Reillys over to . . .” A sudden pain in her back had Ada pulling in a sharp breath.
Ned glanced down at her as he slowed to a stop. “Are you all right?”
“I’m a little sore. Probably from doing the washing.”
But it had been some time since she’d experienced the aches and pains that had first accompanied her daily tasks. This soreness felt different, too. A pestering fear, one she tried to block out with reminders that she’d probably only bent down too much today, wouldn’t cease harassing her thoughts. She didn’t want to worry Ned, though, especially if her concerns were entirely unfounded.
“Should we head back?” he asked, his expression worried nonetheless.
She attempted a reassuring smile, even as the aching in her back returned. “It would be nice to lie down.”
They turned in tandem and headed back the way they’d come. Ned gratefully carried the conversation, seeming to notice that Ada no longer felt much like talking. She did her best to listen and comment, but as the pain in her back increased in strength, so did her fear.
Chapter 5
“Is there nothing more you can do for her?” Through the partially open bedroom door, Ned could see Ada hadn’t moved since the doctor had completed his examination. She lay on their bed, facing the wall, her pale face contrasting sharply with her dark hair. His heart twisted painfully in his chest.
The doctor put on his hat and shook his head. “She’s young, but she’s strong and will likely have another baby in time.”
“Why did she lose . . . the baby?” The last word scraped against Ned’s throat. He could hardly believe he’d left for the print shop this morning, still believing he’d be a father in a matter of months, and then discovered Ada bleeding and in pain when he’d returned home. He knew all about birth and life and death. But unlike some forest creature he had a mild fondness for, this was his wife.
Could her hard work around the house, something she’d never had to do before marrying him, be the cause of her miscarriage? Would she have kept the baby if they’d been living back in Yorkshire? The possibility tore at him, and Ned ran his hand through his already disheveled hair.
“Unfortunately, these things simply happen.”
Ned followed the doctor through the main room toward the door. Minnie glanced at them from where she worked at the range, finishing the preparations for dinner that Ada had started earlier.
“What about the London air?” he asked quietly. “Should my wife stay indoors next time? Or do less work?” They couldn’t afford a servant, but he’d figure something out if it meant Ada was able to carry another baby.
“Mr. Henley,” the doctor said in a gentle tone, “miscarriages occur everywhere on God’s earth—in the most populated of cities and in the fresh air of the countryside. And one encounter, however difficult, is not an indication that you ought to move or even that your wife will miscarry again.”
The man’s pragmatic statement eased some of the guilt Ned had been harboring all evening. “Thank you, sir.” He paid the doctor, shook his hand, and saw him on his way.
“’Ow is she?” Minnie asked in a low voice when Ned returned to the kitchen.
Pocketing his hands, he lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug. “The doctor believes she’ll recover quickly. But . . .” He coughed as his lungs tightened with fresh pain. “I’ve never seen her so low, Minnie. Not even when she knew she’d likely lose her parents once she married me.”
“I ’eard what the doctor said just now. Ada’s strong.” She squeezed his shoulder in a comforting gesture. “You both are. You’ll get through by and by. In the meantime, dinner’s ready.”
He thanked her as he followed her to the door of the flat. Trepidation and helplessness soured his stomach when he shut the door behind her. Both the doctor and Minnie seemed so confident in their knowledge and assistance. But what about him? How could he help his beloved Ada?
Slowly he moved to the bedroom and pushed the door fully open. Ada’s gaze didn’t stir from the wall. “Minnie finished dinner. Would you like some?”
“No.” Her whisper barely reached his ears.
He wasn’t feeling especially hungry either. The haunted look in Ada’s tearless eyes compelled him to her side. He didn’t want to jostle her aching body, though, so he grabbed a chair from the kitchen and positioned it beside the bed.
“I’m so sorry, Ada.” He reached out to clasp her fingers. They felt cold. “I know how much you—how much both of us—wanted this child.”
She shut her eyes against what he suspected was another wave of grief, but she didn’t speak.
“The doctor says you’re young but strong,” he tried next. “And that it isn’t living here that brought on . . . the loss.”
Breaking his hold on her hand, she rolled onto her other side, her back now to him. He longed to scoop her into his arms and hold her as she cried. But he hesitated, fearful of hurting her or upsetting her further.
“Can I bring you anything, love? A book? Some water?”
She shook her head, but the movement was nearly imperceptible, and Ned would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been watching her.
“Would you like me to read to you?”
Again he caught the slight shake of her head.
It was agony to see her so lost in her heartache, however appropriate. “I think I’ll try some dinner then.”
There was no answer and no movement, other than the steady rise and fall of her rounded shoulders as she breathed in and out. Ned lifted the chair and carried it to the door, where he paused.
“Ada?” He didn’t turn, afraid he’d read her condemnation in the lines of her back. “Do you blame . . . me?”
A long moment passed with nothing but the muted sounds of the city on the other side of the window to fill in the stillness. Then he heard her faint reply, “No.”
He should’ve felt relief at her answer as he served himself food and sat alone at the table. But he couldn’t shake off the shadows inside his own mind, telling him that he was still to blame. After all, what did he expect after bringing a delicate young woman like Ada to the city? She’d endured the hard work admirably. But at what cost? That of their baby and Ada’s health and happiness?
They’d come to London to create a home of their own, but if that dream could not be realized . . . Hanging his head, Ned silently poured out his anguish to the Lord, his tears striking the untouched meal on his plate.
• • •
Ada stood up from the table and took her half-empty cup of tea to the sink for washing. A week had passed since . . . She shut her eyes against the pain that immediately lanced her heart. Would it ever go away? There were moments when she felt trapped in a state of numbness or hurt so bad she could hardly breathe. The beautiful little baby she and Ned had talked and dreamt about would not be coming after all.
“You sure you’re not wantin’ another biscuit now?” Minnie asked from where she sat at the table.
Janey was entertaining William in the parlor. The sound of his happy laughter was as much a balm to Ada’s flagging spirits as it was a painful reminder of what she’d lost.
&nb
sp; “No, thank you.” Minnie’s shortbread was the most delicious Ada had ever tasted, but one biscuit had been enough. Especially when she and Ned had mostly been subsiding on toast. Minnie had graciously helped clean the flat the day before, giving Ada one more day in bed, but Ned wasn’t overly skilled in the kitchen in Ada’s absence.
She ran the water over the teacup, watching the dark liquid wash away. Just like her baby’s life had. The thought had her gripping the edge of the sink with one hand. She’d expected tears like the ones she’d seen in Ned’s eyes that first night before he’d gone to sleep on the sofa to allow her more room. But her eyes remained dry.
“I know ’ow you’re feelin’, Ada.”
Setting down the cup, she turned and looked at Minnie in surprise. “You . . . miscarried?”
“After Janey and ’fore William.” Her friend’s gaze grew wistful. “It gets better—to where it don’t ’urt so much. But you still wonder. What would they ’ave been like.”
Ada stared down at her dress. No one had likely suspected she’d been pregnant. Her stomach had barely begun to expand.
“It’s the talkin’ what ’elps,” Minnie added. “You can talk to me. Or to Ned.”
A lump clogged her throat when Ada thought of her husband. He was still sleeping on the sofa in the parlor. When they spoke in the evenings now, their conversations were short, comprised of simple questions about her health and his day at the printers. Neither of them mentioned the baby.
“I think Ned blames himself,” she admitted. “For bringing me here.”
Minnie gave a thoughtful nod. “Do you blame ’im?”
“No. And I told him such. But . . .”
Her friend lifted her eyebrows. “But?” she prodded.
“Oh, Minnie, I think he’s angry at me.” She sank back down into her chair. “I’m afraid he blames me—for convincing him to come here and to marry me in the first place. He could see how much better things would be if we raised our family away from my parents, but what if we can’t have a family?” She glanced around at the flat, its walls pressing in on her as they hadn’t since her first month here. “What if all of this is for naught? What if it ends up being only me and Ned?”