Through the Darkness

by B C Yancey

  He cupped her chin and took her mouth in a thorough kiss, then pulled away and pressed his forehead to hers. "I can't believe it—a baby…"

  She hesitated a minute before pulling away and asking, "You're happy about it then? You're not upset that I didn't tell you sooner?"

  "I couldn't be happier." He took her in his arms and held her, "It doesn't feel real, Pegleg; things like this don't happen to me—at least they never did until you came into my life."

  Elyria ran her fingers through his hair and brushed her nose against his. "I could say the same, Captain."

  "How are you feelin' right now?" He whispered a few minutes later, kissing first her upper lip, then her lower.

  "Pretty good," she breathed, closing her eyes with a joyful sigh under his ministrations. "Better than I have in a long while."

  He trailed kisses across her jaw, then to the sensitive spot behind her left ear. She tipped her head to the side, granting him better access. Grinning, he murmured, "You up for a bit of kissing?"

  She licked her lips, finding it difficult to concentrate enough to make coherent speech. "Only kissing…?"

  Standing, he pulled her up beside him and guided her into their bedroom with a mischievous chuckle. "Come on, let's go to the candy store."

  Forty-One

  Two days later, Everett crouched beside Elyria, holding her hair out of her face while she hunched over the porcelain toilet and vomited. "You sure you don't want me to go fetch Doc?"

  Elyria's whole body spasmed with another heave, emptying the contents of her stomach.

  Everett winced. This latest bout of nausea had taken them both by surprise. Her appetite over the past two days had been nigh on voracious up until fifteen minutes ago when they sat down for dinner.

  She dry-heaved twice more, then slowly sank to her knees, bracing herself against the toilet bowl with shaky arms. "I'm fine, Everett…" She swallowed and covered her mouth.

  Rising back to her knees with a groan, she clenched her eyes shut, and dry heaved, then let out a careful breath once it passed.

  Everett pressed a kiss to her clammy brow, then hurried to the kitchen and poured her a glass of water. But before he could make it back to the bathroom, Bertrand Wagner shouted from outside, "Hey, MONTEROSE!"

  Everett cursed. Casting a glance to his front door, he ignored the idiot and returned to the bathroom. Handing the glass of water to Elyria, he said, "Here you go, some water to rinse out your mouth."

  She took a sip and swished it around, then spit it into the toilet. "Who's outside?"

  "MONTE ROSE," Bert shouted again, "I WANNA talk TO YOU."

  "Bert Wagner…" Everett grumbled. "Don't worry; he'll give up soon enough." He watched her for a minute and turned a deaf ear toward the imbecile shouting outside. "You want me to help you up yet?"

  "Yes, please…my knees feel bruised," she groaned. He helped her to her feet, then braced her when she wobbled. Swallowing convulsively, she gripped his hands at her waist and whispered, "I'm fine; I just…stood up too fast."

  His brow lowered in concern. "You look green."

  Her lips bent in a half-hearted attempt at a wry smile. "I feel green."

  "FINE," Bert yelled, sounding angrier than before, "I'm done tryin ta reasonable with you."

  Everett grimaced and glared over his shoulder in Bert's general direction, "You'd think he'd-"

  Suddenly, the front window exploded. Everett covered Elyria with his body, folding himself around her as a large rock clunked and rolled to a stop near the kitchen table.

  "Come out and face me YOU COWARD," Bert bellowed.

  "Are you alright?" he gasped, pressing a kiss to her brow. His hands smoothed up and down her limbs, searching for wounds.

  Elyria nodded, though her entire body trembled.

  "Stay here," Everett growled, "I'm going to go deal with him." Closing the bathroom door behind him, he marched to the front door and shouted, "WAGNER," as he flung the front door open.

  Bertrand Wagner with his insolent face—complete with a left black eye and a broken nose from their fight two nights ago—stood at the base of the porch steps with a defiant glare. "You've ruined m'family. Stuffing yer nose in where it don't b'long, d'mandin ought ya've no right." Suddenly, he produced a pistol and aimed.

  Everett shouted a curse and dove for Bert, tackling him to the frozen ground just as he fired. The shot went wild, pinging against the wind vane perched on his roof.

  The thick stench of sweat mixed with liquor emanating off Bert hit Everett in the face like a brick wall and made him gag as they wrestled for control of the weapon.

  Bert cackled and grunted, managing to cock and fire off another shot before Everett could stop him. The bullet flew by so close it burned his right cheek before embedding itself in the trunk of the one-hundred-foot pine tree near his house.

  Once he managed to wrestle the pistol free, Everett knocked Bert upside the head with the butt of the weapon before tossing it out of reach.

  Bert let loose a vile stream of cuss words and clutched at his cheek with his left hand while swinging at Everett's head with his right.

  Everett ducked and landed another blow, this time to Bert's opposite cheek. He followed it with a knee to the groin for good measure and a jab to the ribs.

  Howling in outrage, Bert wrapped both hands around Everett's throat and dug his thumbs into the soft tissue. Squeezing so hard a vein bulged on the side of his face, Bert choked him until Everett saw stars and flashes of light burst before his eyes.

  Somehow Everett managed to pry Bert's right hand away, breaking three of the man's fingers in the process. Everett coughed, gasping in a lungful of precious air and landed another solid blow to Bert's head to try to subdue him.

  Cursing up a storm, Bert grabbed a fistful of snow near his left hip and threw it in Everett's face, then swung his left fist in a wild sucker punch.

  But Everett blocked the blow with his arm and wrenched Bert's wrist flat, pinning it to the ground with his right knee as he laid into him with heavy fists.

  Bert howled, "Ya aren't fightin' fair," and raised his broken hand in a weak attempt to defend himself. But Everett's fist caught him in the jaw, snapping his head to the side and dazed him.

  The longer they fought, a sea of red—whether from rage or blood dripping in his eyes—clouded Everett's vision. Bert's face blended and morphed into that of his loathsome father's, and vengeance cried out to be sated.

  By the time he was through with the heinous bastard, he vowed, Bart would regret ever laying a hand on Carson—let alone showing up here to threaten his family.

  "CAP," Marcus yelled. He ran up and pulled Everett off the unconscious man, "Stop, STOP. You'll kill him."

  Chest heaving, Everett pushed Marcus away and stumbled to his feet. He glared down at Bert, clenching his hands into fists and winced from the pain the action caused. "He deserves to die, Marcus."

  Marcus stood between them, slightly crouched with his arms outstretched like he was dealing with a wild animal instead of a mere man. "I agree, but he isn't worth going to jail for, Cap."

  Spitting out a mouthful of blood, Everett glared at Bert lying unconscious in the snow. He muttered a curse and ran a hand through his hair, striving for control. Marcus was right. The piece of scum wasn't worth going to jail over.

  Marcus nodded, "You gave him a sound beating, now go catch your breath and simmer down." He caught and held Everett's gaze. Slowly, he straightened and shouted over his shoulder, "SALLY?"

  "I'll go grab Ed Simmons," she said, standing several feet behind her husband. Her eyes were wide as saucers in her pretty heart-shaped face.

  Marcus reached into his pocket and tossed her a set of keys, "Let him know we've got ourselves a bit of a problem with Bert."

  Sally gave a jerky nod and ran to the truck. A minute later, she peeled out onto the road and raced toward the sheriffs.

  Everett removed his glasses, wiped the blood out of his eyes, then put them back on and limped towa
rd the shed at the side of his house. "I'm getting some rope."

  "What for?" Marcus called out behind him, "You've knocked him clean out."

  Everett turned, pointing to the man still lying in a bloody and unconscious heap, "Because if I can't kill him, I'm at least gonna hog tie him and make sure the oily good-for-nothing can't get away."

  Forty-Two

  Over the next week and a half after the altercation with Bertrand Wagner, Elyria found herself growing more and more fearful. No matter how hard she tried to push it aside, she couldn't escape the worry that their days of carefree happiness were at an end.

  She'd even found herself making mental lists of all that had gone wrong since she reunited with Everett in an effort prove herself wrong. Unfortunately, her plan had backfired. Now she woke up each morning, afraid if she allowed herself to be happy a new misery would befall them before the day was through.

  "What's wrong?" Everett murmured, squeezing Elyria's fingers while waiting for Daphne's train to arrive. "You needing to hurl again? I'm sure I could persuade Pete to lend you a bucket."

  "I'm fine." Elyria shook her head and swallowed. "I'm just thinking…" She pursed her lips and closed her eyes, debating on whether to voice her fears.

  He nudged her gently with his elbow, "What about?"

  She turned to face him and lowered her voice, "That maybe my brother was right all those years ago."

  He fell silent for a moment, then said softly, "The happiness thing?"

  Elyria nodded.

  "Why would you think that?"

  She shrugged, "Because of everything that's happened over the past couple of months."

  "You think we're being punished for being too happy?" He asked, his voice full of confusion and a tinge of humor. "Name twenty-two things that prove we are."

  She scowled. After the lists she'd already made over the past few days, naming twenty-two things would be easy. Arching a brow, she began ticking the items off on her fingers, "One, the day I got attacked by the stray dog and then got lost. Two, the day you got into your first fight with Bert and broke your cane. Three-"

  "Nope, that one doesn't count," he interrupted with a chuckle, "because after I got into that fight with Bert, you told me we were having a baby. That one alone spoils your brother's theory."

  Elyria blew out a frustrated breath and silently acknowledged he had a point. "You think I'm being irrational again?"

  Everett settled his hand atop hers, imprisoning it between both his palms. "There's no safe way for me to answer that question. If I say no, you'll say I'm not taking you seriously. If I say yes, you'll say I'm patronizing you."

  She smirked; once again, he proved himself to be a wise man. Her emotions, and therefore, her rationale, weren't to be trusted lately. Not only did she seem to overreact to just about everything, but the simplest comment from him, however innocent, had the power to reduce her to tears. She hated it.

  Just the other day, he'd kissed her and commented on how pretty he thought she looked, and she'd had a full-blown emotional meltdown.

  "Think about it this way," he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to her cheek. "If misery is a consequence, why do people pursue things that make them happy instead of avoiding them like the plague?"

  "Why do you have to be so logical?"

  He chuckled, "I can count on one hand the number of people who've ever called me logical."

  The wind picked up, blowing icy particles of snow against her legs and pelting the windows of the station beside her.

  "What time is it?" She said with a shiver, raising her shoulders to burrow deeper into her coat. "I thought the train would have been here ages ago."

  "Subtle segue, my dear," he murmured with a wry laugh, tucking her scarf inside the collar of her coat and rubbing her back. "It's almost 3:00…if the train's not here in twenty minutes, we'll-"

  As if on cue, the faint whistle of a train sounded in the distance and Elyria let out a sigh of relief. Ten minutes later, it chugged and hissed to a rolling stop at the station.

  Once the passengers began disembarking, Everett gave her hand a comforting squeeze. "You look terrified."

  "I am," Elyria admitted, her heart racing with excitement and nerves. "Will she recognize me, do you think?"

  "ELYRIA," Daphne squealed, stepping from the train.

  "I believe that answers that question," Everett laughed.

  "Oh, my goodness, look at you, just look at you glowing with happiness," Daphne crooned and wrapped Elyria in as tight an embrace as her pregnant belly would allow. "I can't believe we're finally here!"

  Elyria laughed and returned the fierce hug. "I'm so glad you are."

  Daphne pulled away, cupping Elyria's left cheek. "Are you feeling well? You look a little piqued—not that I'm one to talk. This pregnancy has been awful compared to my last two."

  "My love," Simon said with a weary chuckle several steps ahead, "there's plenty of time to talk once we get somewhere warm."

  Daphne laughed and looped Elyria's arm through her elbow, leading her to the car. "Every now and then he likes to pretend he's in charge of our little circus when we all know he'd be lost without me."

  Elyria grinned, "He's quite fortunate you found him under his rock all those years ago."

  "Yes," Daphne giggled, "he is."

  Several hours later, after eating and getting the children settled in for the night, Daphne and Elyria quietly conversed on the sofa while Simon and Everett played a competitive game of backgammon at the kitchen table. Simon appeared to be winning if Everett's good-natured remarks of dissatisfaction were any indication.

  "I almost forgot," Daphne gasped, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "I had the complete misfortune of running into Nurse Winters a few weeks ago."

  Elyria grimaced, "You did? Where?"

  "At the hospital for my monthly check-up." Daphne sighed and adjusted her position next to Elyria on the couch. "You'll never believe it, but she managed to find a man willing to marry her."

  "What?" Elyria gasped.

  Daphne chuckled, "She practically crowed with delight when she told me they are to be wed just before Christmas."

  "That poor man."

  "Maybe marriage will be good, soften her cold heart up a little bit," Daphne murmured. "I can't imagine it will make her any worse than she already is."

  Elyria snickered and shook her head.

  "When were you planning on telling me you were expecting?" Daphne asked a couple of minutes later. "After the baby was born?"

  "No, I thought I'd tell you when it goes off to college, just in time for you to find an extremely thoughtful present," Elyria quipped, her hand rubbing the gentle swell of her belly. "Is it that obvious?"

  Daphne rested her hand atop Elyria's, "You seem to forget how well I know you and your appetite."

  Elyria laughed.

  "I had my suspicions at the station, but it wasn't until you barely touched the food on your plate and made several hasty trips to the bathroom I knew of a certainty." Daphne paused, then whispered, "Not to mention your blouse is struggling to contain your bosom."

  Elyria gasped a chuckle and covered her chest with her hands. "It is not. Everett would have said something."

  "No doubt he's waiting with bated breath for the moment you burst free," Daphne giggled.

  "You're terrible." Elyria punched her playfully in the arm and laughed, "I've missed you."

  Daphne laid her head on Elyria's right shoulder and let out a happy sigh. "I've missed you too."

  "I tried writing to you about it many times,"

  Daphne patted her hand, "When are you due?"

  "Doc Gilbert thinks around the end of April, maybe early May."

  "Well, then…once my baby is born sometime in February—or January if I have any say in the matter," Daphne said with a wry chuckle, "I'll make sure we're moved out here no later than March."

  Elyria turned to Daphne in shocked glee, "Here? You're moving here? But in your letter, you sa
id Simon was only warming to the idea."

  "I know, but once he saw the snow-capped mountains this morning, he admitted he'd be more than willing to relocate out here after the baby arrives." Daphne changed her position to rest her arm along the back of the sofa. "He said they called to him." She fell silent, then murmured, "Do you remember the letter your Captain wrote about this place?"

  Elyria nodded, her brow creasing with a frown.

  Daphne took Elyria's hand in hers, her voice a reverent whisper, "It's all true."

  Forty-Three

  The next several days passed in tiring chaos full of laughter and even some treasured moments shared with William and Anne.

  Everett found himself, on several occasions, pining for the day when he and Elyria would be able to share such moments with their child.

  On the morning of Thanksgiving, Everett awoke with bleary eyes to the faint smell of roast turkey and the quick patter of Elyria's bare feet running to the bathroom.

  Amidst pained groans and rubbing at the knot in his thigh, he sprung from their bed—much like a wounded gazelle with a pride of lions chasing after it—and followed after his wife in case she needed assistance.

  "Morning, Auntie El, Uncle Eberett," Anne chirped from out in the kitchen. "You wanna help me and mama make rolls?

  Elyria gagged and slammed the bathroom door shut in Everett's face. So much for wanting to be of assistance.

  Letting out a heavy sigh, Everett ran a hand over his face and through his hair to help wake him up, then turned and smiled at Anne. "Looks like Auntie El's going to miss out, but I'd love to help—it's one of a plethora of things I happen to be good at."

  Anne's face screwed up in a comical look of confusion, "What's plefora?"

  "Plethora," he said with a smile, "it means excess or a lot of something."

  "If you say so," Anne said with a shrug. "We can't pinch any dough, can we mama?"

  Daphne winked at Everett and grinned, "That's right."

  "B'cause it'll give us a belly ache and make us poopie."

  Everett covered his mouth and coughed back a laugh. "Good to know. There's nothing worse than being poopie on Thanksgiving, isn't that right?"