by ML Gardner
Caleb settled back with a frown and stared at the darkening clouds on the horizon.
“Can we just check something?”
“Check what?”
“The marina.”
Jonathan sighed long and hard. “I sent Vincent to check the marina. If she were there he would have been back with her by now.”
“Let’s just go check again. Please?”
“Fine.” He turned around and headed toward the water.
∞∞∞
The sun was nearly gone as they walked along side each boat. Everything looked as it should. Nothing appeared disturbed and there was no sign of Claire.
“Can we go now? There might be word waiting at home.”
“Not just yet.”
Caleb stepped onto Aryl’s boat. He opened the door to the wheelhouse and looked back at Jonathan.
“She’s here.”
Jonathan moved to step onto the deck but Caleb held his hand up.
“Let me.”
He ducked in quietly and closed the door behind him. Claire lay sleeping on the floor with Aryl’s thick wool sweater clutched in her arms.
With the sound of the door latching closed, she opened her eyes and stared at Caleb.
“We’ve all been looking for you.”
She sat up slowly, holding the sweater close. “What time is it?”
“Almost nine.”
She put her hand to her forehead. “I’m sorry. I must have fallen asleep.”
Caleb sat on a stool, still unable to meet her eyes.
“Why did you come here? And why didn’t you tell anyone?”
She focused on the sweater, picking at it. “I didn’t know I was coming here…until I was here. As far as why?” Her eyes floated all around the wheelhouse. “I wanted to feel close to him.”
Caleb nodded and cleared his throat.
“You scared us. Rumor has already started that Gordon is a serial killer.” He attempted a laugh but it had been so long he’d forgotten how.
“I didn’t mean to start any trouble.” She folded the sweater and reached past Caleb to place it next to the wheel.
He took her hand before she could pull away.
“I’m sorry, Claire,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
Her throat began to close and her eyes stung.
“We both have to get on with life, you know? I’m just having a real hard time doing that.”
“So am I.” Claire pulled her hand away and clasped them in front of her. “I know what I need to do, but can’t seem to accept it.”
He nodded slowly. “I don’t know when I’m going to have the chance, or the nerve, to talk to you again. So, I’m just going to say it and get it over with. I’m taking Arianna and the babies to the city. Boston, most likely. I’ve been thinking a lot about it during the day and I just can’t—”
“I wish I could run away,” she interrupted.
He looked at her for the first time. “I’m not running away. It’s just…”
“I don’t hate you, Caleb. Arianna told me you thought that when she came to help me a few weeks ago. I don’t, really.”
“I still think it’s better if we leave.”
“Does anyone else know?”
“No.”
“Maybe you ought to talk to Jon.”
He shrugged. “He’s outside. We’d probably better not keep him waiting. Everyone’s worried about you.”
Neither made a motion to leave.
“Maura has this idea to match me with Gordon.”
“Is that what you want?”
“I don’t know. Kitten seems to like him. He followed me to Gordon’s today and refused to come home with me. I guess he lives there now.”
“Don’t let yourself be pushed into marrying someone you don’t love. Unless, you do.”
“Of course I don’t. I’ve only barely met the man. And I couldn’t ever love again. Being with Gordon would only be for practicalities sake.”
“Is that fair to him?”
“He’s a widower. I think he knows what I’m going through. At his house today I saw he still has pictures of his wife up.”
“How long’s it been?”
“Two years.”
“Maybe you should give yourself more time. It’s only been a season. Don’t commit the rest of your life to something when you don’t know if it’ll make you happy.”
“But the baby’ll be here before I know it.” She looked at him in a way that broke his heart. “I don’t want to be alone when it comes.”
“You won’t be alone. You have all of us.” He stood and stepped toward her. “You have me.”
“But you’re leaving for Boston, remember?”
He sighed, lowered his head and crossed his arms. “How about we make a deal. You don’t marry anyone before this baby comes and I won’t take my family to Boston until after you have it.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“I’d do anything, Claire. Anything and everything and it still wouldn’t be enough.”
“Alright. I won’t get married before I’m ready. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” He took her hand and led her out the door and onto the pier.
September 1st 1930
Caleb came to a screeching halt in front of Jonathan’s house. Arianna jumped out and ran to the door.
Ava ended her furious knocking, swinging the door open wide.
“What’s wrong?”
“Has Jean left yet?”
“No, why?”
Arianna held out a blue lump. “This is for his first day of school. I promised him I would make it and just barely finished it last night.” It was a thick wool knitted sweater. “It’ll keep him warm until you can get him a coat.”
Ava tilted her head. “Thank you, Arianna. So much. I’m sure he’ll love it.” She stepped inside, fanning herself.
“He might not need it right away. Seems like summer doesn’t want to end.”
“He’ll need it eventually, don’t worry.” She turned and called Jean downstairs.
His eyes lit up the way they always did when he saw Arianna, and he ran to hug her.
“Look what Arianna made you, Jean. Special for your first day of school.” She held up the sweater, noticing one side was a little longer than the other and the buttons were slightly out of line with the button holes. She suppressed a grin.
“I love it! Thank you,” he said, reaching out for it. He wriggled into it and despite the slight defects, it fit perfectly.
“It might be too hot today, little man, but I wanted you to have it on your first day.” Arianna was still getting used to her usefulness as a homemaker and stood proud.
“Merci,” he said with a flattering little smile. She kissed his cheek just as Caleb called for her.
“Hold on, Mr. Impatient!” she called back. “You have a good day,” she said, kneeling down to straighten the sweater. “Learn a lot and don’t let anyone pick on you. If they do, you let me know.”
He grinned. “Ava already told me that,” he said, looking up and taking her hand.
“Come to my house later and tell me and the babies all about your first day.” She stood, gave a quick wave and darted out to the road.
Jean turned to Ava, already starting to sweat under the heavy wool.
He stared at her with a wide eyed innocence. “Why does she love me so much? I’m not her bebe.”
“Because you are very lovable, Jean.”
September 5th 1930
Maura sat at the table with her hands flat in front of her, fingers spread wide. She stared intently, studying the bones and veins of her feminine but sturdy tools. These hands had worked hard, for as long as her twenty seven years could remember. They had loved and soothed, healed and disciplined, cooked and cleaned, setting into a frantic pace with only minor thought to direct them and their purpose. Everyone around her depended on these hands. She turned them over, studying the palms. Slightly callused with long fingers and a prom
inently branched love line. And yet, she had thought so little about her hands over the years, these instruments of work. She ticked off a mental list of all the things these hands had done, weaving and spinning, knitting and sewing, and she envisioned each project in fast motion, from start to completion. Concentrating on her hands was safe. Whatever she touched, be it material or loved one, she shielded and repaired. Only these hands, she thought with resentment, failed her. They failed to save the child she had just announced to her friends and family, and the steadfast hands that everyone depended on, now lay limp on the table before her. Useless.
She glanced at the clock. Ian would be home soon. She had no dinner prepared—none in mind, either. She had wasted her day and she chastised herself silently. For the most of the day she’d spent staring, helpless.
That morning, after Ian had left for work, she rose with the morning sun, and bathed—her mind racing through her list of loving obligations. Caleb and Claire were her priorities. She had sewing to do for Jean. There was gardening and baking and Jonathan had requested some time to talk to her.
It was a rare, quiet day, with Tarin and Scottie off at Arianna’s farm, and Claire spending the day with Gordon on his deliveries.
She smiled at the day before her, quiet and productive as she set one foot on the commode to dry her leg with a towel, stiff from line drying. After a stabbing pain she pretended to ignore, she felt it. A slow, warm trickle from between her legs. She hesitated to look, floating in denial for a few precious moments, insisting to her emotional mind that she had only peed. But she did look down, eventually, and stared blankly at the small pool of blood forming around the arch of her foot. With a deep shuddering breath, she returned to the bath, and cried.
After cleaning herself and forming a makeshift pad, she sat at the kitchen table and reviewed her hands. And here she still sat, when Ian came home.
She heard the door, but made no move to welcome him. Still tucked away safely in her own mind, with deliberate scrutiny of her hands, she heard the door close and his solid footsteps nearing the kitchen. He stopped short when he saw her, and stared a moment at the back of her bent head. He knew nothing short of catastrophe would cause Maura to sit so still, so quiet. He moved toward her, slowly. He had seen this look before, forlorn and lost, desperately trying to stay above the pain.
“What is it, love?” he whispered. Not quite catatonic, but not ready to leave her safe place either, she gave the smallest shake of her head, eyes glued to her hands.
He took one of them slowly and gave it a small squeeze. “Talk to me, Maura.”
He smelled of salt water and hard work.
“How was fishing?” she whispered.
“Fine. Tell me what’s wrong. Is Scottie okay? Tarin?”
She nodded.
“Where are they?”
“Out.”
He bounced one leg under the table, partially from impatience and partially from the urgent need to pee.
He postponed it as long as he could, sitting with her for nearly ten minutes in silence, giving her time to share what had her so eerily calm.
“I’m sorry, love, I really have to use the bathroom.”
She gave a small nod again, and resumed counting the miniscule veins on the back of her hand. Eighteen that she could see, small and delicate blue, one pulsed ever so slightly…She heard the door to the bathroom close and open again quickly. The next second, he was behind her, arms around her chest and his head resting on hers.
“Oh, Maura,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
She stiffened in his arms, and he tightened his grip. “Does anyone else know?”
“No.”
“You’ve been alone with this all day?” he asked incredulously.
Small nod. He reprimanded himself for not staying home. He’d had the feeling, as he dressed for work, a pressing need to stay with her. He stared at her a long while as she slept in the early morning hours, trying to make sense of the strong urge, but having no viable reason, he went.
“When did it start?”
“This morning, after my bath.” Her mind fully pulled away from her hands, she gave a hard shake and began crying. He cried with her for only the third time in their marriage. The first, when she married him, the second when Scottie was born, as much for him and the fact that she had lived through the difficult birth, and now for her, and a little one they would never know.
After a few moments, he scooped her up carefully and carried her upstairs. He walked slowly, thinking with each step. Feeling the fragile bones of her ribs under one arm, he wondered if the cause of it was her thinness. She hadn’t eaten a proper diet in months. Maybe she worked too hard. Moved a large piece of furniture that he should have been here to move. He stopped short at their bedroom door—Maybe it was him. If something was wrong with him that caused…he pushed the thought away and opened the door. He set her on the bed and knelt down in front of her.
“What can I do?” he asked helplessly. There was so much blood in the bathroom, despite her efforts to clean it up. There wasn’t much more to be done but to see that she rested and healed. She shook her head and pushed herself back on the bed, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her head on them. He moved beside her with a hand moving slowly over her back and sat quietly as the sun slowly set.
∞∞∞
They heard Tarin and Scottie return just after dark. He mumbled something about returning and left the room quietly.
He instructed Tarin to make something for Scottie to eat, and bring something up to her aunt in a little bit. He wasn’t ready to tell her what was wrong, exactly, but told her that Maura was feeling very poorly and not to disturb her. Then he set to cleaning the bathroom before either of them could see the mess.
He drained the bathtub, its water tinted dark red and knelt on the floor with a rag and a small bucket of bleach water. He could smell the tang of fresh blood and felt a twisting pain in his chest as he cleaned.
He tried to work quickly and quietly but wasn’t quite finished when Tarin appeared in the doorway.
“Uncle,” she whispered. “What happened?” Her eyes grazed over the wet floor and red water in the bucket.
“Your auntie…she lost the babe.” He dropped his eyes and cleared his throat.
“Oh, no,” she said quietly and glanced back at Maura’s closed door. “Is she alright? Should I go see her?”
“Not just yet. Give her a bit of time, aye? And don’t say anything to Scottie just yet.”
She turned and went silently. He finished the last of the mopping and returned downstairs. Tarin had warmed up leftovers and was just pulling biscuits from the oven.
Ian put two on a plate, smearing them with butter and honey and started up the stairs to bring them to Maura.
“What’s wrong with Mam?” Scottie whispered to Tarin as he left.
Maura was curled up, just as he had left her sitting on the bed, hugging her knees. He sat as carefully as he could and held out the plate to her. She waved it away.
“Ye need to eat something,” he said quietly. She ignored him, staring over her knees, studying this time, her toes.
After sitting in what was, for him, uncomfortable silence, he heard a knock at the door downstairs and was grateful for the reason to move. He wanted to be near Maura, but more than that, he wanted to fix her hurt and that was something he was incapable of right now. He knew she should cry more. Tears would cleanse, but she had only cried briefly, and then resumed her blank stare.
∞∞∞
Ian opened the door to Jonathan, who stood smiling. His deep blue eyes danced excitedly, as if he knew some wonderful secret.
“Hey, Ian. I’m here to see Maura.” He stepped around Ian and inside, stopping just over the threshold and suddenly sensing the unnatural quiet of the house. His eyes turned sharply on Ian.
“What’s wrong?” It was then he noticed the deep, dark look shadowing Ian’s face.
Ian scrubbed his face with his hand and
sighed. “I’m afraid that Maura’s lost the pregnancy,” he said with a quiet finality that told Jonathan this was not a fear, but a fact.
His face dropped into solemn seriousness.
“Where is she?”
Ian nodded toward the ceiling. “Our room, resting.”
“When did it happen?”
“Started this morning.”
“Has the doctor seen her yet?”
“No, I hadn’t called him.” He looked down, slightly ashamed. “Ye see, back home, this is something a couple would just get through, unless there was a complication. The cost of a doctor in these times…” He trailed off, embarrassed and concerned. For if it weren’t for the lack of money, he would not hesitate to have a doctor look at her, complication or no.
Jonathan took a deep breath and made for the stairs. It was then he smelled the sharp scent of bleach, and an alarm went off in his head. Bleach meant blood.
“Go get the doctor. I’ll pay for it.” He took the steps two at a time and knocked on Maura’s door, but didn’t wait to be called in.
It swung open wide and he stood in the doorway. He hadn’t known what to expect, but it took him with a bit of shock to see her curled up, hugging her knees in the center of the large bed. She appeared small and fragile, almost childlike. His mental image of her, strong and brash, fearless and fearsome, crumbled.
She didn’t acknowledge him, seeming deep in thought.
“Maura,” he breathed. He moved slowly to the edge of the bed, looking down on her auburn hair. “Can I sit with you?” She gave a small nod and he sat carefully. The bed shivered, the springs giving a tiny squeak of protest. Sitting close, but not touching, he reached an arm around her shoulders and rested it there. He smelled it coming off of her, the salty stench of fresh blood.
“Toes are the funniest looking things,” she said quietly, wiggling them wide. “They aren’t quite fingers, but they have knuckles like them…stubby, strange little things, they are.” Jonathan glanced at her feet, as she studied them.