All the Sweet Tomorrows

by Bertrice Small

  She saw his face sag with relief, and knew in that minute that he would give up his little dream for her if she asked. For a moment she was tempted to, but then she forced a small smile to her lips. Reaching up, she touched his cheek with her hand.

  “It’s truly all right, sweetheart?” he begged for her reassurance.

  “It’s all right, you big fool,” she teased him wearily. “No wonder God gives the task of bearing children to women. You men go completely to pieces at the slightest little thing.”

  Adam nodded his head at her, saying, “I will admit that I should rather face an enemy in battle than go through what you are going through right now, little girl. Still, I will stay by your side if you want me.”

  “I would like that,” Skye answered him, “but you must promise me that should you become distressed by my labor, you will feel free to go. I will understand.”

  Eibhlin sighed a secret sigh of relief. Part of the difficulty with Skye’s erratic labor had been that she had not wanted to bear this baby, and her mind had been exercising a fierce grip on her entire body. Now that Skye had come to terms with herself, Eibhlin knew that the labor would progress, and indeed it did, but at a far slower pace than the nun had expected. Finally Eibhlin felt she must examine her sister more closely, and Adam and Gaby helped Skye up onto a table that had been prepared with a mattress and clean linens. Eibhlin washed her hands thoroughly, and then began a gentle examination of her patient. Skye was but half dilated as the nun slipped a hand within her sister’s body. Scarcely breathing, Eibhlin reached out and found what she had been expecting. A soft Celtic curse escaped her as she withdrew her hand.

  “What is it?” Skye was instantly alert.

  Eibhlin washed her hands again. “The babe is turned the wrong way,” she said. “ ’Tis breach.”

  “Will it right itself?”

  “Perhaps. The situation is not yet acute, and so I think we can wait a bit.”

  Skye was helped from the table, and with grim concentration she began to pace back and forth, Adam walking with her. Knowing what was to come, Gaby and Eibhlin both took the opportunity to sit down and rest.

  The pains began to come with greater regularity now, and finally after several hours Eibhlin felt she must examine her sister once more. This time Skye was fully dilated, but the baby had still not turned itself correctly. It was well past midnight, and now May 1st.

  “I’ll have to try and turn the child myself,” Eibhlin told her sister.

  “Can you do it?” Skye returned.

  “I’ve done it successfully many times,” was her answer. “Don’t worry, Skye. It will be all right.”

  Skye tried to keep her mind off what her sister was doing while Adam sat by her head and sought to comfort her by talking. She had not wanted this bastard child, but suddenly, now that the babe was in danger, Skye’s maternal instincts all rushed forward as she silently prayed all would be well.

  “There!” Eibhlin said triumphantly. “Now, sister, bear down so we may get this child quickly into the world!”

  “The infant is turned?” Gaby sounded anxious.

  “Yes, Madame la Comtesse, the child is properly positioned now to be born. Look! You can even see its head.”

  A mighty pain tore through Skye, forcing a cry from between her lips. Instinct took over and she pushed hard to force the child from her body. Adam mopped her steaming brow with a cool cloth, and she saw that he was white about the lips. She was suddenly reminded of Geoffrey Southwood, who had helped her to birth their son in a barge on the Thames. If only Adam could stay by her as Geoffrey once had, she thought. She knew that, like Geoffrey, Adam was a man of great sensitivity who would treasure the memory of the birth.

  Another pain cut into her, and she heard Gaby cry, “Ah, ma fille, the child is being born!”

  “We’ve got the head and shoulders, sister,” Eibhlin said. “Just a little more, dearest!”

  Skye felt the proximity of victory, and it showed in her face, for Adam said, “I want to see the baby coming from your body, sweetheart.”

  “Yes! Yes!” she said urgently through gritted teeth, and he stood up and went to stay by Eibhlin. She watched him with an almost pagan joy, for the look on his face was one of both wonder and amazement. Then he caught her gaze with his own for a quick minute, and the love and admiration that flowed from him gave her new and incredible strength. At the next pain she bore down as hard as she could, and she actually felt the baby sliding from her body. There was a tiny hiccough, and then a small cry of outrage as the infant was born and took its first breath.

  “ ’Tis a little girl,” Eibhlin said with a smile. “A perfect little girl!”

  “Give her to me,” Gaby said, holding out her hands for the baby. “I will clean her off so she may be properly presented to her mama and papa.” She took the baby from Eibhlin, and Skye laughed with delight as Adam’s eyes widened with pleasure at the sight of the baby. She was, she decided, going to love the child no matter the manner in which it was conceived, and more important, Adam loved it. Another pain knifed through her, and Skye worked to rid herself of the afterbirth.

  Eibhlin worked swiftly and efficiently to finish with Skye the job of the birthing. As Mignon carried off the basin holding the afterbirth the nun cleaned away all traces of Skye’s travail. “You’ve been torn a bit,” she said, “by the size of the child. She is a big girl. Chew on this herb, sister, for I shall have to stitch you up.” She handed Skye a piece of something green, and Skye obediently put the green herb in her mouth and grimaced, for it was bitter in taste.

  Within Skye’s sight, Gaby, watched by Adam, worked to make the baby fresh and pretty for its parents. Suddenly Adam’s mother gave a startled little cry. “Mon Dieu! How can this be, but it is!” She turned to her big son, commanding, “Adam, fetch Isabeau and Clarice at once! Vite! Vite!”

  “Maman, it is the middle of the night,” he protested, “and as proud as I am of the child, it can wait until morning to tell them of it.”

  “Do as I say!” Gaby commanded again. “Please, Adam, do not argue with me! Vite!”

  With a shake of his head Adam stumbled from his apartments to fetch his sisters, Isabeau and Clarice, who had come to stay at Archambault at the news that Skye was in labor. Walking through the chilly halls of the château he found their rooms and, banging upon each door, called to them. The doors were opened by sleepy tiring women, who eyed Adam balefully when he told them to fetch their mistresses.

  “What is it, Adam?” Isabeau came to her door, pulling a quilted velvet gown about her.

  “The child is born, and Maman insists that you and Clarice come immediately.”

  “Is Skye all right?” demanded Clarice, who had now come to her door.

  “Both she and the child seem fine, but Maman has suddenly gone mad, I think.”

  The two sisters looked at one another, and then pushing past their brother, they hurried down the hallway. Adam quickly followed them, and they re-entered the apartments shared by the de Mariscos.

  “Maman, what is it?” Isabeau cried.

  “Maman, are you all right?” Clarice echoed.

  “Yes, mes filles, I am fine, but I need you both here because there has been a miracle, and both of you can help me prove the existence of that miracle.” Gaby picked up the newly born infant, which she had wrapped in a soft blanket. Carrying it over to Skye, she said, “Ma chère Skye, this is no child of Henri of Navarre. This child is of our blood, and I can prove it to you. Ma soeur,” she said to Eibhlin, “take your niece a moment.” She handed the baby to the nun and then Gaby bent down, lifted her skirts, and drew her undergarments down to bare her hip. “Do you see it?” she said. “Do you see the small mole in the shape of a heart, Skye?”

  “Yes.” Skye was puzzled.

  Gaby dropped her skirts. “That birthmark is the mark of the St. Denis women. Only women of our own blood have that mark. Isabeau, Clarice, show Skye your birthmarks.”

  The two sisters und
id their gowns and, raising their nightdresses, each revealed a tiny dark heart upon the left hip just atop the bone. The mark was identical to that of their mother’s. “All our daughters bear the same mark, Skye,” Isabeau said.

  “Before I married I was Mademoiselle St. Denis,” Gaby explained. “That particular birthmark has shown up on the women in my family for at least ten generations. Musette also bears the mark, as does her little daughter, Aimée. I did not call Musette, however, since she does not know her brother’s difficulty. Nonetheless, ma chère Skye, this baby you have just borne is my own true granddaughter, the child of my son, Adam.” She turned to Eibhlin. “Unwrap the infant, ma soeur,” and when the nun had done so, she handed the baby to Gaby. “Look, Skye! On the little one’s left hip just atop the bone! The birthmark of the St. Denis women! There has been a miracle, ma fille! This is Adam’s child, and no one else’s!”

  Skye looked at her daughter, and then she looked to Eibhlin, her voice confused. “Eibhlin, you are a physician. Can this be? Is it true? Is it even possible? Can this baby be Adam’s daughter?”

  Eibhlin looked closely at the newborn infant. The tiny dark heart atop the left hipbone was quite plain. There was no mistake about it. She took the baby, rewrapped her in the blanket, and handed her to her mother. Then, turning to Adam, she said, “Who told you that you could not have children, Adam?”

  “ ’twas an old herb woman,” Adam said. “I had been ill with a very high fever, and she claimed that the fever had burnt all the life from my seed.”

  Eibhlin nodded. “An only half-accurate diagnosis, my lord. What I suspect is really the truth is that for a time your seed was lifeless, but nature sometimes has a way of reversing itself, and it is very possible that now, many years later, you have perhaps a small amount of life to your seed. I have heard of cases like yours.” She looked down at the baby, and smiled. “She has your mama’s nose. There is no doubt this child is of your flesh, my lord, but do not get your hopes high, for there is very little chance of your siring another child. You have been fortunate, and God has heard my sister’s prayers, but, as your mother has said, this is a miracle!”

  Adam de Marisco moved to Skye’s side, and together they gazed wonderingly upon their daughter. “How do I thank you, sweetheart?” he said, and she heard the catch in his voice.

  She shook her head, her eyes filling with happy tears, her own voice catching in her throat. “I … I can’t believe it, Adam.” Then she looked about the room and saw that both her sister and the others had tears in their eyes.

  Finally Eibhlin managed to regain her equilibrium, and taking the baby from its parents, she said, “It is time that everyone went to bed. Is the cradle in the bedchamber?”

  “Yes, ma soeur,” Gaby said coming to herself. “Give me my newest granddaughter, and I shall put her in her cradle while you and Adam help Skye.” She turned to her daughters. “Well, don’t just stand there, you two! Go and open Skye’s bed for her! Must I tell you everything?”

  Isabeau and Clarice giggled, not one bit put out to be scolded by their maman. They felt giddy with happiness at the wonderful good fortune that had befallen their beloved brother and his beautiful wife. Hurrying into the bedchamber, they drew back the coverlet of the freshly made bed with its lavender-scented sheets.

  Carefully Adam de Marisco lifted his wife up and carried her to their bed. Gently he set her in it and drew the covers over her. Skye’s eyes were beginning to close as all the tension of the last months and the lengthy labor she had just endured caught up with her. She was asleep even as his lips softly brushed her mouth.

  “Is she all right?” he asked Eibhlin.

  “Yes,” Eibhlin nodded with a kindly smile, “but she is very, very tired. Had this kind of a labor come when she was a girl I should be less concerned, but she is past thirty, Adam, and that is not a good time for a hard birth.”

  “Is there any danger, Eibhlin?”

  “I don’t believe so, for Skye has always been healthy. I am just cautious.”

  Eibhlin led them all from the bedroom, closing the door behind her as she went.

  “Go back to your beds, mes filles,” Gaby ordered her daughters. “I am certainly going to seek mine, and you, ma soeur, deserve a good rest also. I will see that the nurse is sent to watch the baby while we all sleep.” Clarice and Isabeau hugged their brother and then departed the room, closely followed by Eibhlin and Gaby, who with tears in her eyes kissed her son, stating a final time, “It is a miracle!”

  When they had left Adam de Marisco tiptoed back into Skye’s bedchamber once more, and stood for several long minutes looking down at the sleeping form of the newborn child. His daughter! He had a daughter! Not some royal bastard that he would accept for Skye’s sake, but his own child. It was a miracle. He wanted to pick the baby up and examine her carefully, but he was afraid to do so. They had all said she was a fine big girl, but to him she looked so tiny. Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be time enough to become acquainted with his new little girl. He walked over to the big bed where Skye lay sleeping, and his heart went out to his lovely wife. She looked so very tired after her long ordeal. He had loved her for so long, and now he owed her a debt that he could never repay, for she had given him a child. Somehow he was going to get them home to England. Ireland, he knew, was totally out of the question, and Skye knew it, too. If there had been troubles in Ireland before, they were going to double in the next few years. Bending down, he kissed her lightly once more, and then went through the connecting door between the two chambers and sought his bed.

  In his sleep Adam heard the baby whimper, and he was instantly awake, stumbling across the room and through the door. To his surprise and his relief, the nurse was already there. She smiled at him, and curtseyed. “ ’Tis all right, monseigneur. Go back to sleep.” He gratefully complied, and the sun was halfway across the skies above Archambault when he finally awoke again. He had fallen into bed without even removing his clothing, although he had remembered to take off his boots. Now Adam peeked into Skye’s bedchamber, and seeing his wife sitting up in her bed eating an egg, he hurried to make himself presentable. Stripping off his clothes, he called for old Guillaume to bring him water for washing, and while he bathed and trimmed his beard and mustache, the old valet laid out fresh clothing for his master which Adam hastily donned.

  Her blue eyes lit up as he came into the room, and she smilingly held out her arms to him. “Bonjour, mon mari!” she said gaily.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, he took her into his arms and kissed her passionately. “Je t’aime, I love you,” he murmured softly at her. “You are the most marvelous woman in this world, Lady de Marisco!”

  “Gracious,” she teased him, “and what has made you so happy today, my lord?” But then Skye could not keep up the pretense, and she called to the nursemaid, “Ila, bring the baby for my lord to see. Oh, Adam, you should see her! She is so perfect!” Her own eyes were shining with joy and happiness, and he took her hand, raising it to his lips to kiss it.

  “Merci, ma femme,” he said. “Mille fois merci!”

  Ila brought the baby from its cradle. Laying her carefully upon the bed, she said, “I shall go and get the extra linen I need if Madame will permit it.”

  “Yes, yes,” Skye encouraged the nurse, and then she turned to her husband. “Look at her, Adam. Isn’t she just perfect?”

  He looked down at the swaddled little bundle with only its small, heart-shaped face showing. “I really can’t tell,” he said honestly. “Can we undress her?”

  Skye unwrapped the baby from her blanket, and carefully removed the little shirt and napkin. Then she looked up at her husband. “Well?”

  Adam de Marisco gazed down with wonder at his daughter. She was indeed perfection. She had plump little arms and legs and a fat little tummy. She was rosy and creamy with a thick headful of dark curls, and now when she opened her eyes he saw that they were a beautiful blue. She stared at him boldly, and with a soft chuckle Adam touched the baby
with a gentle finger. Her skin was softer than anything he had ever known, and he was enchanted by it. “She’s roses and ebony, ivory and white velvet,” he said quietly.

  Skye smiled at his pride as she carefully redressed and rewrapped the baby. The infant whimpered, and quietly her mother opened her gown and put the baby to her breast. Skye’s milk would not be in for another day, but her breasts already tingled with a clear liquid that preceded the milk, and it was this nourishment she offered her daughter. Adam sat watching her, and he felt more at peace now than he had ever felt in his life.

  “What are we going to name her?” he asked his wife. A name for the child was something that Skye had not been able to discuss while she believed it to be Henri of Navarre’s baby.

  “Would you like to call her after your mother, and she might have Marie as a second name as May is the month of the Blessed Mother?” Skye looked to her husband.

  “That is kind, sweetheart,” he remarked, “but Clarice has a daughter who is Marie-Gabrielle, and Alexandre has a daughter who is Gabrielle-Marie. Our daughter might bear both those names, but she must also have her very own name, a name by which she can be distinguished from her cousins.” He looked again at his daughter, who was busily and hungrily nursing upon her mother’s breast. Once more he was overcome by the urge to touch her, and he did so gently, his pinky rubbing softly against her cheek. Again the word velvet came into his mind, and then Adam’s eyes lit up. “Velvet,” he said. “I want to call her Velvet!”

  “It is perfect!” Skye said excitedly. “Velvet Gabrielle Marie. Velvet de Marisco!”

  Velvet de Marisco chose that moment to get a bout of the hiccoughs, much to her parents’ amusement; and then the baby, not the least bit impressed by the importance of the occasion that had elevated her from nameless infant to Velvet de Marisco, fell asleep. Over her daughter’s head Skye looked lovingly at her husband, and Adam de Marisco smiled back. For the moment there was no longer any need for words.