Echoes of the Moon

by Jennifer Taylor

  As if in answer, her stomach shifted, and an odd look passed over her face.

  Henry fetched the teapot and filled their cups.

  He stood in front of Ian, who tapped the fingers of his free hand on his lap, beating out a complicated rhythm.

  “Hold still, man,” Henry said.

  Ian held out his cup. “Sorry.”

  Maggie sighed. “I know you’re trying to keep me company, and your effort is appreciated, but you’re vexing me.”

  His brows rose. He hoisted himself up, holding onto the edge of the divan, and reached for the handles of the wheelchair. “Clever of you to put locks on this chair, Henry.” He settled in his wheeling chair and grinned. “Once again, I thank you, my friend.” He promptly made his way over to the pianoforte.

  “Bethan, are you ready to become the town’s midwife?”

  “Yes, of course.” She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt.

  “You have already delivered one child, with minimal help from me.”

  “Yes.” But she would have to do it all alone, and the first babe she delivered would likely be Maggie’s.

  Why did she torture herself with dreams of a normal life? Just because Elunid had a good day, didn’t mean she would have one tomorrow. Her shoulders slumped under the weight of worry.

  Maggie had misinterpreted her, no doubt. “Don’t worry, Bethan. You’ll do fine.”

  “If your midwifery skills are equal to your piano playing skills, you’re a force to be reckoned with indeed!” Ian said.

  “Agreed.”

  “What would you men know about it?” Bethan asked.

  “It’s heartening to see your sister doing so well. Was it my medicine, do you suppose?” A look of childlike hope lit Ian’s eyes.

  Bethan shrugged. “I’m not sure. It helped calm her to a certain extent last night, but she didn’t receive any this morning, and she’s been better than I’ve seen her in ages.”

  “I’ll keep working on it, and no time like the present.” Ian glanced at Maggie. “My reasons are a tad selfish; a remedy that helps her may help me as well. I must be my best self for the babe and my Maggie.” He wheeled behind the divan, kissed the top of Maggie’s head. “Come, Henry. We’ve not talked in a while, and I’ll slip you some medicine before you leave, Bethan.”

  Maggie rose, and Bethan rushed to assist her. She waddled over to the bookcase, grabbed her midwife basket, and handed it to Bethan.

  “Here you go. You’ll find everything you need in it. I just replenished the supplies this morning.”

  When Bethan reached to take it, Maggie tugged back, slightly.

  Maggie sighed and released her hold. “It was my life and reason for living before I met Ian. You can’t blame me for wanting to hold onto it.”

  “Of course not,” Bethan said, responsibility weighing on her. “I have impossible shoes to fill.” She glanced down at Maggie’s feet. “Even if they are swollen.”

  “Ha ha,” Maggie said. “I’ve faith in you, Bethan. Don’t forget, I expect you to come and fill me in on what’s happening with our ladies, and even if I’m big as a boat, I can still give advice.”

  Bethan hugged her, held her at arm’s length. “You’re quite beautiful, Maggie.”

  “Away with you,” Maggie said.

  “Yes. I need to retrieve Elunid and get her—and this basket—home.”

  “I believe I’ll lie down a bit.”

  Bethan helped Maggie onto the divan and tucked a blanket on her legs.

  “Thank you, Bethan.”

  Henry and Ian stood behind the counter, heads together.

  “I’m going to fetch Elunid now,” Bethan said. “Goodbye, Ian.”

  Before she could blink an eye, Henry appeared at her side. “I’ll carry your basket for you.”

  “No,” Bethan said. “I must, for it makes my new vocation seem more real.”

  He nodded. “I understand. May I take your arm?”

  He might as well, for he already had her heart.

  As if in punishment her for her selfish turn of phrase, they happened upon Elunid and Isadora on the docks, heads together. George stood, wringing his hands, eyes following a retreating figure. Charlotte.

  “Something’s amiss,” Bethan murmured.

  When they approached, Isadora slunk away, a secretive smile on her pockmarked face. Bethan felt the absence of warmth as she broke away from Henry.

  Henry put his hand on George’s shoulder. “What’s the matter, son?”

  “I don’t know, but look at Elunid. The light’s gone out of her. I wanted to come get you, but I didn’t want to leave her.”

  Elunid’s fingers clenched in her skirts, marring the beautiful fabric, lips moving in a soundless conversation.

  “Ellie.”

  She flinched at Bethan’s touch.

  “What did they say to you?”

  No answer. Henry and George joined them.

  “George, do you know what they said to her?” she asked.

  “No, I couldn’t understand. I’m so stupid, and now her light’s gone out.”

  “George, it’s not your fault,” Henry said.

  “Sister, did they make sport of you?”

  Finally Elunid shook her head but kept her eyes lowered.

  “They said something about tomorrow, how it would happen tomorrow,” George said. “And when I asked them what they meant, they said I was too stupid to understand.”

  “No, George.”

  “Look, you’ve dirtied your dress, Elunid.” Bethan said. “Let’s go home and change out of our finery.”

  See, Henry? This is why I cannot have a life of my own.

  As they walked to the Siren Inn, Henry had his arm around George’s shoulder, and Bethan had one arm around Elunid’s, the basket in the other one. All she could do was tend to Elunid’s physical needs, the only thing she could control.

  ****

  By the time they arrived at the Siren Inn, the mood had turned sober, and his heart ached to see the slump of resignation in Bethan’s shoulders.

  When Lena took Elunid by the hand, Henry grasped Bethan’s. “I wish I could take this burden from you.”

  “It’s my burden to bear.” Without another word, she turned and joined her sister.

  A fair number of customers already filled the tables, as early as it was.

  “Ah, du bist shon!”

  “What did she say, Da?”

  “I said you look handsome, George!” Lena ruffled his hair.

  “Lena,” Bethan said. “I’m sorry we tarried so long.”

  “No, beautiful fräulein. Everyone deserves a little holiday.”

  “I’ll change my clothes and join you.”

  “George, take off your topcoat and hang it up. Take mine as well,” Henry ordered.

  George approached Elunid, whose eyes darted around the room. When George took her hand, she smiled.

  “Thank you for your company, Miss Elunid.” He bowed.

  His gallant lad.

  Elunid bowed her head gracefully, then grew stiff again.

  “Come, Elunid. Let’s get our work-a-day clothes on.”

  When they married, they would lift each other up, comfort each other through life’s ever-changing currents.

  He watched her retreating form until she disappeared, feeling Bethan’s pain as his own. The snuffing out of Elunid’s bright spark was like a death to her.

  At least he could ease her workload. “George, would you like to clear tables tonight? Can you be careful enough?”

  “Of course, Da! I’m almost a man now.”

  He stifled a laugh and put on his apron. Mayhap he could comfort Bethan later tonight.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “I have frittered away the day. They’ll not be happy about that,” Elunid muttered.

  Bethan helped her out of her dress and into some everyday attire. “You’ve plenty of time, Elunid.” No sense in trying to talk Elunid out of her thoughts. “Did we not have a w
onderful time?”

  She hung up Elunid’s dress, while Elunid bent to retrieve her sewing basket on the floor. “Did we not confound the town with our foolery?”

  “Just like when we were girls.” But the lilt was gone from Elunid’s voice. “Young George is a good lad.”

  “You have an affinity, the two of you.”

  “Inasmuch as anyone could.” Elunid sat in the chair by the bed, reaching in her basket for the cloth. “I’ve made progress, but it’s not enough.” She bent to her work.

  Bethan swallowed her impatience and tried to gauge Elunid’s state of mind: lucid, but single-minded. Good. She had better get to work.

  “I’ll be checking on you later.”

  “No need. They’ll be checking on me.”

  If only she could see into her mind. Maybe then she could understand her better. She shut the door quietly and headed for the taproom. At the entrance, she took a deep breath and pasted a smile on her face. Henry smiled at her, his eyes upon her in blessing, and she pulled her shoulders up and smiled in reply.

  She barely had time to think of her sister’s odd behavior during the busy evening. And every time she passed Henry, he touched her in some way, if not with the gentle reassurance of his fingers upon her arm, then with a warm glance. In spite of her burden, she seemed to float on air, like a gull lifting with the breeze. She relaxed and enjoyed the excitement of the evening, for she and Elunid were the talk of the town.

  “How do we know you’re not Elunid?” Ed the butcher said.

  “Oh, trust me. You’d never catch her waiting on the likes of you.” She laughed.

  “Fetch me some more of that summer ale, Miss Bethan.”

  Henry appeared with a large tray of food. She rushed to help him distribute the fragrant comestibles, as Maggie and Ian came through the door.

  She straightened. “Maggie, why are you not at home with your feet up?”

  “Oh, please don’t chastise me, Bethan. I’ve heard it enough already.”

  Ian ran his long fingers through his hair, which already stood on end. “She is impossible and stubborn beyond belief!”

  The babe looked as if it had dropped some more, and Maggie could barely walk. Even her face seemed swollen.

  “She’s allowed out long enough to have some of your fried haddock, for which she has a powerful craving,” Ian said.

  Henry rushed to place a chair under the midwife and took another one nearby to put her feet upon.

  “I wish you’d all stop fussing with me. I’m not helpless.”

  Bethan leaned to whisper in Maggie’s ear. “I’ve been reading in the midwife book. It says your headache is caused by ill vapors. There’s naught to be done about it, as you know, but to give you some cinnamon water mixed with white wine, by the spoonful. Are you already doing it?”

  Maggie’s brows rose. “Very good, Bethan. I have been taking it, and it’s not helping.”

  “Right, then.” Bethan patted her on the shoulder. “It won’t be long, Maggie. Take heart.”

  Ian handed Maggie a mug of ale, kissed her forehead.

  A fanciful thought flitted through Bethan’s mind unbidden. What would it be like, to carry Henry’s child? Would he be as solicitous, tender? Stop it, Bethan. Stop wishing for things you can’t have. And suddenly she wanted very much to carry his sweetness inside of her.

  Henry gazed at her, as if he’d read her thoughts. “Is all well, Bethan?”

  “Henry, give Mistress Maggie my fish. I’ll wait for some more,” Ed the butcher said.

  Maggie nodded her thanks. “As many babes as I’ve brought into the world, I had no idea how the little beasts can take over a body.”

  The drummer of the Wandering Wastrels marched through the open door, beating his drum, and soon the inn was engaged in a rousing sing-along, with Charlotte and Reggie in fine fettle indeed.

  Reggie approached her. “Where is my peacock?”

  “The peacock’s in the closet, where she belongs.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it, my queen. I…”

  Henry appeared and put his hand upon her arm possessively.

  Reggie’s eyes took note, and he nodded, as if to himself. “I’m thirsty. Fetch me something, Henry.”

  Henry let out a burst of air, and Charlotte swept up beside him with a rustle of silk skirts. Bethan couldn’t help but stare at her bosom, which reminded her of two rolls left to rise too long. The vixen batted her eyelashes at Henry.

  Henry smiled.

  “You seem different, Henry.” She advanced, pressed her bodice against him.

  Did he fancy her? She was very fetching, with a delicate face and pouty full lips, not to mention the generous figure she seemed to want to share with everyone.

  “Same old night soil man,” he said, backing away.

  She made a face. “For a moment there, I forgot who you really were.”

  He seemed not the least bit bothered by her comment but turned and winked at Bethan.

  “Come, Charlotte. Let’s sing, since my ale is not forthcoming.” Reggie gave Henry the gimlet eye.

  “More music, you lazy dolts!” Widow Jenkins slammed her mug on the table.

  The Wandering Wastrels picked up their instruments and filled the room with bawdy tunes. Ian’s imprisonment in a wheelchair in no way inhibited him from participating, and Bethan caught the glowing admiration on Maggie’s face as he belted out a tune. George joined him with a natural harmony, making the crowd roar with admiration.

  When she entered the kitchen, Henry put his hands on her waist and wheeled her around. “What a day it’s been, hasn’t it, Bethan?”

  The way he said her name, his low voice resonating deep within her belly. No one had picked her up since her father. Henry made her feel as light and delicate as one of Mrs. Reynold’s teacakes. He set her down slowly, making her body brush against him. She couldn’t think, could only imagine what it would feel like to be pressed together, skin to skin.

  “I would like to talk with you later, Bethan.” The intimate tone in his voice made her watch his lips.

  “Yes, after I clean up.”

  “After we clean up. I’m at your side, Bethan. It’s where I belong.” He rested his palms on her temples and kissed her on the forehead, his lips lingering for a moment, but not long enough.

  She stared after him as he walked into the crowded room. Was she a fool to believe he would stay by her side? If he did, he’d be the first one who did. As she followed him out, she caught Widow Jenkin’s sly wink, as if she knew her blush came from more than a hot kitchen.

  Later in the evening, Isadora and Charlotte sat in the corner by the fireplace with their heads together. Why would Charlotte bother with the provincial Isadora?

  She reached their table. “Would you like something to drink?”

  Charlotte made a big show of peering up at her, to make sport of her height. “Perhaps a glass of wine? Or mayhap I should just ask for vinegar. For it will surely taste the same.”

  Isadora tittered. “I’ll have one too.”

  Silly girl. She knew Isadora preferred ale. She couldn’t help a twinge of sympathy for her; she wanted so badly to belong. Her father was immersed in a game of chance, paying no heed to her.

  “Most people drink ale, because of Lena’s skill,” Bethan said.

  “Of course they do,” Charlotte said.” I don’t know why Reggie insists on staying here so long.”

  Bethan shook her head and made her way back to the counter. She unearthed an old bottle of claret and poured two glasses.

  On her way back, she stopped by Maggie and Ian’s table. “Can I fetch you anything else?”

  Maggie burped and patted her belly. “I can’t have another bite, though this little beast is begging me to.”

  “I told you we would not stay long.” Ian wheeled around to her side of the table and placed her cloak about her shoulders.

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know.” She turned to Bethan. “I’m not used to being idle.”
>
  Bethan grinned. “You’ll be busy soon enough, Maggie. Enjoy the rest.”

  Ian’s eyes were intent upon her as she slowly stood. “Hold onto my handles for support.”

  Maggie nodded, and they made their slow way out the door.

  Isadora’s father fetched her from the table, gaping at Charlotte for a moment. As they exited, he said, “Why were you talking to that baggage? If your mother gets wind of this, she’ll likely slap you silly.”

  Isadora cringed.

  The inn began thinning out, and soon even the Wandering Wastrels trailed away.

  Bethan sent Sabine and Lena to bed, and soon only she and Henry remained. They tidied up in companionable silence.

  Bethan wiped the sweat from her forehead with a corner of her apron. “Thank you for your help.”

  He nodded and glanced at George, who lay stretched out in front of the fire. “Poor lad. We’ll have to get to work soon. It’s almost morning. It was a grand day, wasn’t it? Just the birthday he wanted.” He turned to her. “Thank you for making it special for him.”

  “He’s a fine boy. Elunid and I enjoyed the day as well.”

  He grasped her hands. “Come outside for a moment, Bethan.” The sound of her name from his lips, so intimate, made her center glow like a hot coal. She nodded.

  They stood in the little courtyard, hands clasped, listening to the sounds of people headed home from their revelries, the clanging of a ship’s bell echoing from the water.

  He cleared his voice. “Bethan.”

  She nodded.

  “I’d very much like to kiss you.”

  She leaned toward him. He took off her cap, smoothed her hair down with a touch so gentle it brought tears to her eyes.

  “So soft,” he whispered. He traced the contours of her face with his fingertips and kissed her, a slow, searching kiss, making her center pulse. His lips were soft and full.

  She kissed him back, felt the curve of his smile against her lips. She put her arms around him, pulled him closer to stroke his muscular broad back.

  Hold me tighter, Henry. She opened her mouth to better taste him, lay her tongue against his, exploring the rough texture and wet warmth of it.

  He wrapped his arms around her, held her against his arousal. His hands cupped her buttocks; she rocked against the hard length of him and gasped.