A Woman of Choice

by Kris Tualla

  “That’s enough, Lily.”

  “No, Nicolas, it’s not. My brother has been cuckolded. And I

  have been led to believe you wanted a future with me. I believe I have every right to ask!” Lily’s voice was getting louder and higher in pitch. “How long?”

  Nicolas raised one brow. “I’ll tell you the truth. It was only the night of the May Day Ball. We both were the worse for drink and the evening progressed in a manner we didn’t intend.”

  “And you expect me to believe that?”

  “I don’t care one way or another what you believe, Lily!” Nicolas threw his hands in the air and realized in a wash of relief that he truly didn’t. “It doesn’t change a thing!”

  Lily’s lip began to quiver and a tear formed in each eye. She placed one hand over her heart. “Are you saying that my opinion of you doesn’t matter? You don’t care what I think of you?”

  “I reckon I am.” His outlook brightened. “I don’t care what you think of me.”

  “But, Nick! What about our future?” Lily’s eyes widened and her cheeks hollowed.

  “Lily, we don’t have a future.”

  The blood drained from her face. “Don’t say that! I love you!”

  He delivered the death blow on a whisper, hoping to soften the impact. “But I don’t love you. I should have told you sooner.”

  “But…” Lily scrabbled for words. “You might… You could learn to…”

  “No, Lily. I’m sorry.”

  “Nicolas?” she pleaded.

  “No.”

  Bursting into a torrent of tears, Lily lifted her skirts and bolted from the room. When she met the front door, she slammed it open. Nicolas reached the porch in time see her climb into her carriage without the footman’s help.

  She turned to him, her turquoise gaze as cold as the Nordic glaciers their color matched. “You will regret this, Nicolas Hansen!” she threatened. “Mark well what I say!” Then she slammed the carriage door.

  “Go, GO, GO!” she screamed, pounding on the roof of the cab.

  Once Lily’s landau was out of sight, Nicolas spoke.

  “How much did you hear?”

  “All of it. I was in the kitchen when she arrived,” Sydney answered from behind him.

  “We need to talk. In my study. Now.”

  Nicolas closed the study door after Sydney and motioned her to a chair. “You heard her ask about the bleeding?”

  Sydney blushed, but didn’t turn away. “Yes.”

  “Might she be right?”

  Sydney shook her head. “If I had conceived a child in March, before you found me, I would be six months gone by now. I would be a lot bigger, and the child would have moved by the end of July, not only this week.”

  Nicolas was surprised by both her words, and his reaction to them: hope buckshot with terror. “The child moves?”

  “I felt it two days ago when I was in the spring pool. When Rickard found me.”

  Nicolas’s eyes dropped to her belly. His fingers twitched. He willed his hands not to reach for her.

  “Does it move often?” He hauled his eyes back up to hers.

  “Yes. It seems strong.” Sydney’s wistful smile spoke of past pain. “I only hope that I can carry this one long enough.”

  Nicolas cleared his throat and purposefully changed the subject. “I, uh, understand that you made Stefan’s birthday special for him. I wanted to thank you.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  Nicolas pretended to organize items on his desk. “I don’t recall much about the day. Did I—was I—rude to you?”

  “No.”

  “No? Oh. That’s good.” He cleared his throat again. “I haven’t had a house guest before on that day.”

  “On ‘that day’ Nicolas?” Sydney stood and moved to the study door. She fixed him with a glacial stare that disgraced Lily’s effort and chilled him to his core.

  “That day was immeasurably beneath you. You have entirely too much dignity for that sort of behavior. And you have far more strength than you give yourself credit for.”

  Sydney opened the door. “I pray a day like ‘that day’ never happens again. I also pray that your son will be able to enjoy his birthday from now on. It’s the least of what he deserves from his pappa.”

  Sydney left the room, pulling the door closed with a soft click.

  “Gud forbanner det all til helvete…” he muttered.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  September 17, 1819

  Stefan sat on the wagon bench wedged between his father and Sydney. The first day of school had dawned cool and clear. Birdsong echoed through the trees and squirrels darted overhead. Stefan’s excitement radiated as he fidgeted, as much as space would allow, during the entire ride into town. Sydney smiled and patted his leg. His bright blue gaze tugged at her soul.

  Nicolas guided the horses to the front of the school. Though two and-a-half months had passed since the return of her memory, the building still caused her heart to quiver.

  I must go back to church. I must get over this, she resolved.

  Nicolas turned to Stefan with a broad grin. “Here we are, son. Are you ready?”

  He jumped from the seat and Stefan clambered after him. He handed Sydney down and they followed the bouncing boy into the building.

  The new teacher, Miss Bronwyn Price, was a pleasant and attractive young woman, taller than Sydney’s five-and-a-half feet by a few inches. Her hair was dark and wavy, and her eyes a warm sultry brown. She owned a dazzling smile which she turned on for Stefan.

  “Welcome, young man. Are you ready to recite your ABCs?”

  Stefan nodded with enthusiasm. “I can count to a hunerd!” he bragged.

  “Can you now? Well that’s wonderful!” There was that smile again.

  “Miss Price? I am Nicolas Hansen, Stefan’s father.” Nicolas extended his hand. “I’m afraid the boy’s never been in school, and he only had a tutor for a short time. I hope he doesn’t give you any trouble.”

  “I’m certain we’ll get on fine.”

  “Well, please let me know if it turns out otherwise.” Nicolas turned to Stefan. “John will pick you up after.” Stefan threw his arms around Nicolas’s legs and Nicolas ruffled his hair. “Be good, then.”

  Letting go of Nicolas, Stefan hugged Sydney. That was a delightful surprise.

  “I’ll have apple muffins for you when you get home,” she promised. “Make your pappa proud.”

  “I will.” Stefan waved and waded into the herd of chattering children.

  “Mr. Hansen, Mrs. Hansen, it was a pleasure meeting you both.” Bronwyn Price offered her hand once again.

  Their awkward silence was brief, but it had substance.

  Sydney took the teacher’s hand. “I’m a houseguest of Mr. Hansen’s. My name is Sydney Bell.”

  Miss Price’s eyes dropped to the swelling below Sydney’s waist before her eyes snapped back up.

  “Please forgive me!” she blushed.

  “It’s an understandable assumption. Please don’t give it another thought.”

  Nicolas led Sydney back to the wagon at a rather brisk pace. He was silent while she collected her purchases at the Brown’s store. His hands fisted during the stop at the post office. His jaw clenched on the ride back to the estate. Sydney stared at the white scar on his cheek.

  “It was an honest mistake,” she ventured when they were almost home.

  “She knows there’s a baby.”

  Sydney scoffed. “It’s going to be rather impossible to hide! In case that was your plan?”

  Nicolas didn’t answer her. The scar rippled on his cheek.

   

  The next morning, Sydney woke in a bad mood. A realization insinuated itself into her consciousness yesterday and grew overnight.

  Now she was just plain mad.

  Sydney heaved the bedclothes aside, splashed her face with cold water from the ewer, and jerked into her breeches and work shirt. Even her clothing enraged
her this morning. She dragged the brush through her hair and twisted it into a topknot as she hurried downstairs. She hoped to get a bite of food and be out of the kitchen before Nicolas came down.

  Sydney was relieved to see only Addie in the kitchen. She poured coffee, added milk to cool it, and gulped it down.

  “My, my!” Addie scolded. “What’s your rush, dearie?”

  Sydney grabbed a hot biscuit. She blew on it and tossed it from hand to hand, then broke it open and scooped honey onto it. As she stuffed it into her mouth, the back door opened.

  Nicolas carried a newspaper. “I’m going to have to dig a new privy in the spring,” he mentioned to anyone who listened. “I believe we can bide over winter if it all freezes.”

  Sydney stepped past him with no words of greeting. She needed to get away from him before she slapped him.

  “Is there a fire, madam?”

  Without a backward look, Sydney waved one hand and headed to the stable.

  “That blasted, pompous, selfish man!” she muttered as she stomped across the yard. Wet grass tugged at her feet and dampened her ankles. She kicked a patch of dandelions, their fuzzy offspring grounded by dew.

  In the stable, she climbed the ladder to the loft and dropped onto a rolled bale of hay. She felt it prickle the backs of her thighs through her canvas breeches. It crossed her mind that she should have worn the buckskin pair. She jumped up again.

  “You expect too much, sir! As if I haven’t enough to deal with as it is!” she yelled and paced in the small space. “You lost a wife? Well, I lost a husband! You lost one baby? Well, I lost two! Skitt!”

  She kicked the closest bale, releasing a poof of yellowed straw dust.

  “And now you ask me to play the role of wife and mother for the world, but you cannot bring yourself to—to—Oh! How dare you? Skitt!”

  She really liked that word. It suited her emotions. No wonder Nicolas used it so often.

  “Skitt!” Sydney kicked the hay bales with all her strength. Bits of hay pirouetted around her and danced in a shaft of sunlight.

  “Skitt! Skitt! Skitt!” She kicked and shouted with as much force as she could muster, satisfying her aggravated soul.

  “Madam?”

  Skitt. Sydney leaned over the edge of the loft and looked down into Nicolas’s confused blue eyes.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you ill?”

  Sydney shook fisted hands and hollered, “Why must you always ask if I’m ill?”

  Nicolas’s mouth opened. And shut.

  “I’m fine. Fine! Do you hear me?” Sydney’s voice grew louder. Her demeanor clearly negated her words. “I’M JUST FINE!”

  “And your identical twin, the one with whom I usually breakfast in the morning. Is she ‘fine’ as well?” Nicolas raised one eyebrow, “Or has she been consumed in this inferno?”

  Sydney’s mouth opened. And shut. She stomped one foot. “Oh-h-h!” she groaned. “You’re such a MAN!”

  Nicolas frowned. “And your point, madam?”

  “Leave me alone!” was all Sydney could think of to say. “Please! Simply go away and leave me the helvete alone!” She plopped down hard on the hay.

  Sydney listened for Nicolas’s booted step. Several minutes passed before she heard him leave the stable. She pressed her lips together as the corners of her mouth plunged. Her breath came in spastic gasps before she surrendered to her tears. She lay back and muffled her hopeless sobs in the crook of her arm.

  Her situation overwhelmed her. At thirty, she was divorced, pregnant, homeless. Most women her age had children approaching their teen years. Many would have grandchildren in half a decade. And she was heartsick in love with a man for whom none of this appeared to matter.

  What i Gud’s navn was wrong with her?

  October 28, 1819

  Sydney stood in the kitchen door and breathed the crisp autumn air. “I love October.”

  Addie shuffled over to share her view. “It’s God’s glory, to be certain.”

  The Hansen estate was awash in yellows, oranges, reds, and purples as trees blazed their final glorious display. Their warm brilliance was complemented by a vivid backdrop of cool cerulean blue.

  “Watcha lookin’ at?” Stefan pushed between them.

  “The leaves.” Sydney rested her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

  “Uh-huh.” Stefan looked at Sydney’s stomach. “You’re getting fat.”

  “Stefan!” Nicolas thundered as he ducked into the kitchen. “That’s very impolite!”

  “Why?” He looked at his father, truly puzzled.

  “It’s alright, Nicolas.” Sydney squatted to Stefan’s eye level. Uneasy yet determined, she laid out the truth to his son without bothering to ask his permission. “I’m getting fat because I have a baby growing inside me.”

  “You do?” Stefan’s eyes got very round.

  Nicolas coughed loudly. Twice. Sydney pushed on; it was too late to pull it back, even if she wanted to. Which she didn’t. Lying wouldn’t change her situation; it only allowed Nicolas to ignore it.

  “Remember the white cat? She got fat and then the baby cats came out.”

  Stefan looked at Sydney with increasing interest. “Will the baby come out of you?”

  “Yes, it will.”

  “When?”

  “About four weeks after Christmas.”

  Stefan screwed up his face. “Will you have to lick it?”

  Sydney laughed. “No! We’ll use a towel.”

  Stefan looked relieved. “Can I watch?”

  Sydney glanced at Nicolas then. His face was crimson, the scar a thin white danger sign. She turned back to Stefan. “We’ll talk about that later.”

  Stefan nodded and scooped sugar onto his oatmeal.

  Sydney moved to a chair and avoided looking at Nicolas again. He stood silent, looming, sipping his coffee. She chewed her lip and wondered precisely how angry he might be.

  “How did the baby get in you?”

  Nicolas choked. Coffee dribbled down his shirtfront. Stefan looked at him in curious expectation.

  “I’ll tell you after school,” he answered. “Finish up your breakfast; it’s time to get going!”

  He mopped his shirt and poured himself a new cup of coffee.

  “Pappa, can I play with Alex after school today?” Stefan asked suddenly changing the topic.

  Nicolas frowned and Sydney was certain that was on account of her. “Who is Alex?”

  “I met him at school. He’s seven.” Stefan shoveled his oatmeal.

  “Has he a surname?” Nicolas snapped.

  Stefan looked up at his irritated father from under his hair. “It starts with a ‘muck’ and sounds like boy.”

  “Muck-boy? Could it be McAvoy?” Sydney suggested.

  “Yeah! That’s it!” Stefan nodded.

  “Stuart and Jenny’s boy. He was born a year before… Yes, that must be him.” Nicolas wrapped his hands around his mug. Sydney saw his knuckles blanche.

  “Where is their home?” she asked.

  “To the east of town, perhaps half a mile,” he muttered.

  “Alex wants me to see his puppies,” Stefan explained. “He wants me to come over today after school. Can I, Pappa?”

  “How will you get to his house?”

  “His pappa will take us.”

  “And how will you get home again?”

  Stefan slapped his forehead. “You will come and get me!”

  Sydney laughed and Nicolas allowed a small smile. “How about this? I will come to the school this afternoon and talk to Alex’s father. We will work something out so you two can play together. Perchance it might happen today, eh?”

  “Okay.” Stefan finished his oatmeal. He licked his spoon and hung it on his nose.

   

  Sydney sat on the back porch with a cup of tea when a sudden movement by the paddock caught her eye. Nicolas hadn’t said a thing to her all day since she told his son their secret. Now he
came toward the house and she tried unsuccessfully to discern his mood by the long stride of his muscular legs and the looseness of his fists.

  He dropped into the chair next to hers. "I spoke with Stuart McAvoy," he began. “He says Alex comes home each day with a new story about Stefan. Seems the boy’s a bit outspoken.”

  Sydney bit back a smile as she considered the father. “If they get on well, you could set a regular time for them to associate,” she suggested. “That would be good for Stefan.”

  He stared at his boots, eyes narrowed in thought.

  Before he could say aught else, Sydney smothered her trepidation and asked, “Did you have a talk with Stefan about the baby?”

  He nodded, but still didn’t look at her. “I did.”

  “And did you explain how the baby got inside me?”

  “I did.”

  “What did he say?”

  He turned to meet her eyes. “I believe his exact words were ‘that’s yucky!’”

  Sydney laughed nervously. “Better he believes that for now.”

  Nicolas grunted and relaxed in his chair. He seemed to have forgiven her.

  Sydney pointed to a mature maple tree on the side of the yard. “That tree’s so amazing, isn’t it? Look at the color of those leaves!”

  Sydney stared at the deep purples and scarlets of the foliage, set on fire in the setting sun. “I’ve never seen anything so absolutely glorious in all my life.” Her hand dropped to her belly as the baby moved, wanting to add its weight to her opinion. She rubbed its bottom, pressed under her ribs.

  Nicolas looked at her, not the tree.

  “De er slik vakker,” he whispered.

  “What?” Sydney turned her eyes to his.

  Nicolas waved his hand. “Nothing.”

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  That night, Nicolas opened Sydney’s door—she had not locked it since she regained her memory—and slipped into her room. He hadn’t visited her since Rickard punched him a month-and-a-half ago, but tonight he needed to be close to her. She turned toward him in the darkness and pushed back the bedclothes.