by B C Yancey
Dark purple bruises, sickeningly familiar to ones his father used to leave after grabbing him too tightly, discolored both of Carson's arms from wrist to elbow.
Now, two and half hours later, Everett watched him, wondering how he hadn't noticed the signs of abuse before when they were all he saw.
Carson's clothes were neat and well cared for if not a little discolored and worn, but they did little to hide the faded bruises and scratches evident on either side of his neck.
Dark smudges were now clearly seen for the dual black eyes they happened to be when paired with the swollen bridge of his nose. Several other scars and wounds in various stages of healing across his face were all reminiscent of life with an abusive parent.
After Everett's own experiences—and having never cared for the oily mannered Bertrand Wagner—Everett was more than willing to lay the blame on Carson's father.
But, if he were to confront the man purely on a gut feeling at this point, it would more than likely make the situation worse for Carson.
He needed an admission of what happened at home, which would likely never come; or he needed to catch Bertrand in the act to try and put an end to it. At the moment, he didn't know how he ought to go about making either option happen.
Turning his attention to the clock once more, he sighed in relief and stood with a groan. "Please place your papers in the top right corner of your desk and make sure your names are legibly printed."
His thirteen students begrudgingly followed directions. Grabbing up his cane, he walked around his desk. Once everyone faced him and sat quietly in their desks, Everett leaned back and smiled. "It's time for lunch."
Excited chatter filled the room, and everyone sprang to their feet, clamoring to collect their lunch pails before racing outside.
Everett shook his head, his lips curling into a wry grin while he watched them, then turned just in time to see Carson stand with a pained grimace. He clutched a hand to his left side and walked quietly out the door, never once meeting Everett's concerned gaze.
"Sorry I'm late," Elyria said, walking through the main door at the opposite end of the room.
He turned to her with a smile that quickly fell from his lips. "Are you feeling all right? You look pale."
She sighed and nodded. "I'm fine; just a little tired is all."
Meeting her in the middle of the room, he took the small basket of food she held in her left hand and led her to his desk. "Another rough night?"
"Yes," she said before he pressed a quick kiss to her lips. "Hopefully I haven't kept you up?"
"Not at all," he murmured, setting the basket down and opening it up. His brow creased in a frown when he noticed she'd packed a smaller portion than usual. "You're not eating with me?"
Elyria pulled the chair he kept against the wall over to his desk and sat with a grimace, her lip curled in repulsion. "I wanted to, but last night's dinner still doesn't seem to be sitting well."
"That's what you've said the past few days." With mounting concern, he cradled her face in his hands. A knot formed in his gut. The smudges under her eyes were darker than they'd been yesterday, and her regular peaches and cream complexion looked increasingly wane.
She reached up and held his hand, turning her face to press a kiss into the palm before removing it from her skin. "Your lunch break will be over soon, eat."
Frowning, he removed his meal from the basket and sat at his desk. He couldn't take his eyes off her while he ate the entirety of the meal in silence, cataloging and comparing the changes in her appearance.
Before they'd moved here, she'd been a picture of glowing health, the complete opposite to the sickly and exhausted looking woman sitting beside him now.
She adjusted her position in the chair and sighed, "I'm fine, Everett…please stop worrying."
He swallowed his last bite of food and repacked the small basket with the now empty containers. "Will you go see Doc? Just to make sure this isn't anything serious."
"Yes," She said with a tired smile, "but only if I'm not feeling better by tomorrow."
"Fair enough." Taking her hand in his, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. "What are your plans for the rest of the day?"
"Does walking home and taking a nap count?" She grinned.
He chuckled, but his mirth quickly died. "It might be better if I drove you home if you're not feeling well."
Shaking her head, she stood and put her chair back in its place against the wall. "I am perfectly capable of walking on my own, thank you." She fumbled for the basket, holding it in front of her like a shield. "I'm tired, not an invalid."
"That isn't how I meant it, Peg-"
"I'll see you later," she murmured, leaving without allowing him to kiss her goodbye.
Everett stood there, his mouth falling slack in shock, unsure what just happened or how he'd managed to upset his wife in such a short amount of time.
Snapping his mouth shut, he ground his teeth and removed his spectacles to rub his eyes. His day had just gone from bad to worse.
Thirty-Six
"You've been feeling this way for how long?" Doc Gilbert asked, helping Elyria back to a sitting position on his examining table.
She closed her eyes and covered her mouth until the need to vomit lessened enough to speak. Lately, anything from sitting up to breathing seemed to bring the urge on. "A little over a month, I think." Her stomach lurched, but Doc must have anticipated it because he swooped a bucket under her face just in time.
After expelling what little food she'd managed to keep down that morning, he removed the bucket and offered her a glass of water. "To wash out your mouth."
She took a small sip and quickly swished it around before spitting it out in the bucket he held once more in front of her. After helping her lie back down on the table, he gave her right hand a comforting, fatherly pat.
Elyria forced a swallow. "Am I dying?"
He chuckled. "Countless women tell me it feels like that at times, but no."
"What's wrong with me?" She whispered, trying not to breathe too deeply for fear it would set her stomach off.
He settled a gentle hand atop hers, "When did you last have your monthly courses?"
She thought about it for a moment and frowned. "Toward the end of July, but I don't see…" her voice trailed off when the importance of his question hit. Her stomach lurched, and her limbs shook. "Are you telling me I'm…"
"Expecting a child…yes, I believe you are."
Elyria covered her face with her hands and blew out a slow breath. "You're sure?"
"I'd wager you're no more than ten weeks or so, but it is what all your symptoms suggest. If everything goes well and there are no unforeseen hiccups along the way, you and your husband should be expecting the new addition sometime late April to early May, I imagine."
Tears of both happiness and fear fell down the sides of her face into her hairline.
Doc's voice lowered and filled with concern as he gently touched her right arm. "I take it my prognoses has caused a bit of shock?"
Elyria nodded and choked back a sob.
"Believe me, that's a common reaction…but I've no doubt you and your husband will be excellent parents."
"How will I ever be a good mother," she quietly wept, "if I'm unable to see when my child is in need or hurt?"
He fell silent, a chair scraped against the floor before he sat down beside her with a sigh, then said softly, "May I share something not many people outside of my own family are aware of?" At her nod, he continued, "I am the seventh of nine children—the only boy of the litter—and my mother rest her soul, managed to not only keep all of us alive and safe from any serious harm, but she did so while being blind."
Elyria wiped the tears from her cheeks and sniffled. "She was?"
"Yes, it developed as a complication of measles at the age of seven." Doc leaned forward and gave her hand a fatherly pat, "There's no guarantee for any woman whether they will or won't be what we deem to be a good mother. And I'l
l have you know, every parent at one point or another finds themselves asking that very same question."
Elyria slowly sat up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Are you saying I have nothing to worry about?"
"NO. Heavens, no; in fact, you'll find yourself worrying over some of the silliest things. What I'm saying is, parenting is difficult…and we are all of us limited—whether or not we suffer physical impairments." He paused, his voice lowering to a gentle whisper, "Good mothers are not made by their ability to see. It's a matter of the heart."
A sharp knock sounded at the door before it creaked open, and Nurse Sumner said in a low, irritated tone, "Your 2:30 appointment is here, Doctor Gilbert."
"Thank you," he turned and called out, "I'll be just a moment." He held silent until the door clicked shut before muttering, "That woman. Smart as a whip, but her disposition's as sour as a crate of lemons."
Elyria bit back a smile.
Clearing his throat, Doc walked to his desk and began scribbling, "I'm going to send you home with a list I want you to give to your husband. The items should help alleviate or lessen your nausea, which in turn should help you get more rest."
He returned and placed the folded piece of paper in Elyria's hand, then helped her down. "Unfortunately, the other symptoms you are experiencing won't go away for at least another six months; in fact, many of them get worse for some women."
Resting her palm lightly on his elbow, she followed him out of the room.
"Nurse Sumner?" He said, handing Elyria her walking stick. "I'd like to see Mrs. Monterose back in my office in one month."
"Yes, Doctor."
He turned back to Elyria and touched her gently on the arm, "But don't hesitate to see me sooner should the need arise."
"Thank you." Elyria nodded and quickly made her next appointment, eager to leave the ill-tempered Nurse Sumner's presence.
During her walk toward the school, eager—and if she were honest a little bit nervous—to share the news with Everett, Elyria couldn't stop thinking of what Doc had said. Pregnant. She pressed her left hand to her belly and shook her head in awe.
What would Everett think when she told him? Would he have the same reservations or fears? A part of her hoped so if only so she wouldn't be alone.
A crisp breeze blew her hair into her face, snapping her back to the moment at hand. She shivered from the cold and tucked her scarf more firmly under the collar of her winter coat, silently chastising herself for not paying attention to where she walked.
It didn't take long before she realized by the absent sounds of town that she had missed her turn along the way.
She stopped and tried to gain her bearings, then froze when a dog just up ahead growled—a deep sound that sent chills of terror through her body.
Backing away slowly to put some much-needed distance between them, the dog growled louder before it let loose a terrifying volley of threatening barks.
A panicked scream tore from her throat and the desperate urge to flee took over. She ran, not knowing or caring where she headed so long as it offered her safety. But the dog chased after her and sunk its teeth into the hem of her skirt.
She cried out when she tripped and stumbled, but managed to catch her balance and whipped around. Using her walking stick like a club, she beat at the animal until it turned tail and ran, tearing a small chunk from her skirt.
Shaking, Elyria fought back the tears and tried to figure out where was. She held her walking stick in a death grip and began walking, but within the next twenty minutes, a new fear became evident. She was lost.
Thirty-Seven
Everett parked the car in their driveway and let out a weary sigh. It had been a long and exhausting day made intolerable after his wife failed to show for lunch, which could only mean one thing. She was still mad at him.
The problem was, he didn't know what he'd said or done yesterday to land him in trouble, so he had no clue on how to make it right.
Gathering his nerve, he walked to the back door, his brow lowering in a puzzled frown when he found it locked. He jiggled the doorknob and reached into his front pocket to retrieve the key, but stopped short.
The house stood eerily quiet and dark. There was no clatter of pans or smell of food cooking to greet him. No sign at all that Elyria waited for him inside.
A sense of foreboding filled him, hastening his attempt to unlock the door. What if she lay dead, bleeding, or injured in some way? His hands shook so badly he dropped the key.
Muttering a curse, he bent and picked up the key, taking a deep breath before he slammed it into the lock and entered his home.
Terror-inducing scenarios of how he might find her, one after another, flashed through his mind until he searched the entire home.
Everything remained just as he'd left it that morning, but he couldn't find Elyria anywhere. He glanced at his watch and walked to the back door, hoping she'd gone on a walk and lost track of time.
No doubt she'd return any minute. Three times he found himself heading out in search of her, only to turn back for fear they'd cross paths. But after thirty minutes and still no sign of her, he walked over to Marcus' home and knocked.
Several minutes passed before the door swung open. "Evening Cap," Marcus frowned and took a step forward, "Somethin' wrong?"
Everett forced himself to remain calm and said, "You haven't seen Elyria, have you?"
Marcus nodded, "Saw her on my route around 12:00 or 1:00, I think."
Everett's stomach fell to his toes in dread. If Marcus proved correct, she might have been gone for almost 6 hours. "Any idea where she was heading?"
"I assumed she was on her way to see you…" Marcus stepped outside and closed the door, "She isn't home?"
Everett muttered a curse and shook his head.
Marcus settled a hand on Everett's left shoulder and gave it a short comforting squeeze, "Hop in my truck, we'll go find her."
For the next hour, they drove around town, looking for any sign of Elyria—a feat made difficult by the early winter sunset and moonless night.
On the verge of tears with his gut knotted in fear for where Elyria might be, Everett hung halfway out his window with his flashlight and scanned the surrounding area.
"Don't worry, Cap," Marcus murmured, "we'll find her any second now."
But another fifteen minutes passed without a sign of her. Tension filled the air in the truck, so thick it made breathing difficult.
Everett ran a hand through his hair and wiped his eyes clouding with moisture, hopeless desperation clenched around his heart every passing moment without sight of her.
When they came to a dead-end a quarter-mile west of the school and saw nothing except a vacant field beyond, Marcus pulled a U-turn, then came to a jerky stop. The headlight beams fell on a huddled figure at the base of a massive alder tree.
Everett looked at him in question, "What is it?"
Marcus blinked and shook his head, "My eyes must be playin' tricks with the shadows…" But then it looked up, and Elyria's pale face caught the light. He gasped and tugged at Everett's sleeved, "THERE!"
Everett followed where Marcus pointed, then shouted in glee and burst from the car. He ran to her without the aid of his cane, crying out, "Pegleg!"
She slowly stood, her eyes wide, "Everett?" She took a few steps toward him, then broke into a run.
At her side in the next ten-seconds, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head and clung to him, weeping as he pressed kisses to her face. "I'm sorry; I got lost."
"It's all right, we found you."
She pulled back slightly, "We?"
He nodded and wiped the moisture from her dirt-streaked cheeks. "Marcus and I have been out looking for you." He kissed her again, "You scared me."
"I scared myself," she whispered, hugging him tight once more.
"Are you sure you're not hurt?"
She nodded, "I'm fine."
"Come on,
" he said gently with a kiss to her brow, "let's go home."
They spent the quick drive home in relieved silence, Elyria sitting snuggly between him and Marcus, her hand tightly held in Everett's grasp. His heart hammered in his chest. All the possibilities that might have happened to her if they hadn't found her in time made him sick.
Once home, Marcus bid them goodnight only to show up ten minutes later with a half-eaten shepherd's pie in tow. "I just thought you two could use a hearty meal without the worry of having to scrounge one up yourselves."
"Thanks, Marcus," Everett said with a grateful smile. His throat tightened with emotion and tears stung his eyes, "For everything."
Marcus nodded and smiled, then turned to leave with a wave, "Happy to help…you and your wife have a good night, Cap."
Everett closed the door and locked it, then turned to find Elyria standing there. "Everything all right?"
She opened her mouth to speak, then snapped it closed and smiled. "Just tired."
Why did he have the sense she'd been about to tell him something before deciding against it? He frowned. "Are you hungry? Marcus brought over some shepherd's pie that looks pretty tasty."
Her face took on a greenish hue, and she covered her mouth with her hand. "I think I'll soak in the tub and go to bed if that's alright with you?"
"Sure…" he murmured with a feigned smile, "I'll just warm some of this up for me then."
She swallowed and slowly nodded. "Are you all right? Your voice sounds a little funny."
"Yep, just tired…it's been a long day."
Nodding, she chewed on her bottom lip before flashing him a small smile and walking to the bathroom.
Everett blew out a defeated breath and grabbed a fork from the kitchen. Setting the casserole on the table, he took a bite and set in for a lonely night.
Thirty-Eight
Two weeks passed, plunging them into the first week of November. Elyria still hadn't found the right moment to tell Everett she was pregnant, and she didn't know why. Fear of jinxing it, or that by telling him it would make it more real maybe?