by Nella Tyler
“Baby Jesus?”
Cole laughed. “Well, he was born in one many years ago and a long way from here, but yes he was. In our stable, however, live horses. There’s one in particular, a small pony, who will be your very own.”
Carson shrieked in excitement. “Really? Does he bite?”
“No, no, son, he doesn’t bite. You can feed him apples, though. He loves apples.”
“Can I, Mommy?”
“Yes, Carson, you may, if you can find the apples to feed him.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” Cole murmured and they turned the last corner so that the main house came into view.
“Oh, my,” she drew in her breath with awe. “That’s where we’re going to live?”
“Yes, ma’am, it surely is.”
Her eyes were suddenly spilling tears down her cheeks. “Honey, what’s wrong?” he asked, completely baffled.
“I don’t belong here, Cole. This is your side of the world. It’s not where I came from, and I don’t even belong in the kitchen here.”
“Stop that. We’ve already been through this conversation. You belong here as much as I do because you’re my wife. All the other wives came from other places, you know. None of them were born here.”
“Were you born here?” Carson piped up from the back.
“Yes, I was, Carson — in that room at the end with the arched window on top.”
Carson’s head was extended upward, craning to see the room indicated. “Wow…” he uttered as though seeing a historic site.
Cole pulled the car to a stop and the massive double front doors opened and a man in a suit emerged hurriedly to open Gilda’s door. “Ma’am,” he nodded and offered his hand to help her out.
She stepped outside the car, and the doorman was quick to close her door and open the rear for Carson, but he had already pushed his own handle on Cole’s side and hopped out. Without a backward look, he took off onto the green lawn and began running and twirling.
Cole looked at Gilda, whose eyes teared up as they realized he’d not had the opportunity to run free before. Someone had always held his hand. They stood there a few minutes and let him run before she called him so they could go inside. She badly needed to lie down and use the bathroom; she was feeling quite green.
Once they entered the foyer, Gilda realized it would be some time before she could feel at home there. In fact, it would take time for her to even be able to navigate the many halls that led to various wings.
The primary portion of the house was built in a U-shape, a pool, patios, and gardens filling the courtyard the walls created. Here again, peacocks strolled and fountains with landscaped flowers and bushes were symmetrically placed, causing the eye to follow through the courtyard to the opened forests beyond.
In the distance, Gilda could see fenced green pasture with horses grazing. The effect was at once palatial and timeless, making her feel as though she should remove her shoes and carry them with her.
Cole was giving quiet orders to various staff who appeared and their luggage began entering, carried by what she supposed were footmen. They disappeared up one side of the sweeping double staircase. A man whom Cole addressed as Herbert was busily waving people about and then led Cole and Gilda through a pair of pocket doors into an enormous living room with fireplaces at either end. Although it was a warm day, they glowed cheerily.
Gilda went to remove her sweater, but Herbert was instantly at her elbow, helping her off with it and laying it gently over his arm. Carson was agog and particularly so when Herbert tried to remove his light jacket.
There was noise in the entryway, and Gilda looked up to see Mrs. Crutcher being ushered in, clutching her hat and handbag as one of the footmen tried to relieve her of them.
“Off with you!” she chided him, looking around herself as she came into the living room. “My God.”
Gilda laughed. “What’s wrong, Mrs. Crutcher? You don’t like it here?” she teased the older woman.
“It’s like a castle!”
“I’ll admit, I’m a little overwhelmed myself, Cole,” she told him.
“You’ll get used to it, sweetheart. In the meantime, there is a woman coming tomorrow who will act as your personal assistant, maid, companion…whatever you need her to do. She’s been here before and can help you get the hang of things.
“You are the lady of the house now and that comes with a set of responsibilities, I’m afraid. I hope you’re good at ordering people around?”
“Oh, Cole, no way, honey. I’ve never done that before!” Gilda swayed on her feet and Cole’s face drained of color as he moved quickly to catch her.
“Herbert!” he barked, and the butler was immediately beside her. Between the two of them, they carried Gilda upstairs to the master bedroom.
“Carson!” she worried aloud.
“Sweetheart, don’t worry. There are plenty of people here to look after him now, including Mrs. Crutcher. Let’s get you upstairs to lie down.
“I’ve got her, Herbert. Bring up some tea and small sandwiches or something.” Cole scooped her up and easily strode up the remaining stairs and down one hall until he came to a pair of double doors. He turned the handle and kicked the door with one foot.
Gilda was woozy, but looked around them as Cole carried her toward the bed. She caught glimpses of a four-poster bed, rich tapestries on the walls, sconces, and a set of floor-to-ceiling mullioned doors opening out onto a balcony.
The room was filled with servants then, turning down the heavy satin comforter on the bed and carrying trays with tea and other tempting foods.
Gilda could feel her head swimming. “Cole, I’m going to be sick,” she uttered. Magically, a basin appeared beneath her chin and she took advantage of it. Cole felt her forehead.
“She’s hot. Call the doctor and get him here now!” he growled to Herbert beneath his breath.
She closed her eyes and felt the marvelous cool of a wet cloth being laid across her forehead. The basin was needed again, and it was followed by a glass of cool, but not overly cold, water.
She felt cold inside; not the kind of cold that blankets could remedy, but the cold that seemed to originate in her bones. She shivered, despite the warmth of the comforter, and Cole ordered everyone from the room as he undressed her and pulled one of her cotton nightgowns from the dresser where it had been moved from her suitcase.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he cooed to her, hiding the concern in his voice. “Just a little virus. You get some sleep and you’ll be yourself by tomorrow.”
Gilda drifted off then and didn’t wake up when the doctor arrived. She didn’t see or feel him take her temperature, take her pulse, and press on her tender abdomen. She didn’t hear him mutter with concern and then call for an ambulance.
Gilda could only hear the voice in her head, and it screamed, “Why isn’t dinner ready? What the hell have you done all day? You know I want my dinner when I come home!”
Then came the kicks; hard in her side as the pain shot through her. She tried to shield herself and the unborn baby, but Scott continued to rain kicks into her side and the small of her back as she crouched to protect the baby.
There was a commotion and voices in the room, and then Gilda’s world went black.
Chapter 35
Gilda felt herself propelled toward a light and emerged from silence into a confusion of noise and pain. “Mrs. Stephens? Gilda?” a voice called to her from her side. She tried to turn and follow it, but her head hurt too badly. She fought to go back to the dark, painless place from which she had emerged.
“We’ve lowered the morphine,” said a disembodied voice she didn’t recognize.
“How long will she be like this?” asked a voice she did recognize — it was that of her husband, Cole.
“We’ll let her rest today. Tomorrow, we’ll lower it some more. She should be able to stay awake for longer periods, then. For now, let her rest. That’s the best medicine.”
; Gilda felt Cole’s strong grip on her hand and then went back into the darkness where the pain couldn’t reach her.
* * *
“Gilda?” Cole was calling her name. She opened her eyes and found his face hanging just inches from hers. “Hello, sweetheart,” he said in a soft voice as if not to awaken her any further. “You’ve been away,” he added.
She drifted in and out, not fighting the drowsiness, but her curious mind was seeking an explanation. She could sense something was wrong — and there was the pain. That ever-present, numbing pain.
“We’re going to turn down the morphine and give her a spinal,” said a voice, and before long, Gilda felt herself turned onto her side and forced into a fetal position. She felt pressure and a sharp poke into the skin of her lower back, and then there was blessed relief. As a nurse, she realized what they’d done and wasn’t frightened when she couldn’t feel the midsection of her body.
“She’s been through a lot. Let her rest, poor thing,” said the voice again, and Gilda did as requested and closed her eyes.
* * *
When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Cole, sitting in a hospital recliner, a thin blanket haphazardly tucked up to his neck. He was sound asleep, his posture worn and uncomfortable looking. He sat framed by the nighttime window and she could tell they weren’t on the ground floor.
From her experience, she guessed it might be a surgical floor, above the level where surgeries were conducted, but not as high as the less serious cases. She tested her limbs and realized she was numb in her torso, a catheter tub draped from beneath her blanks to the side of her bed.
She was terribly, terribly thirsty. She moved the blankets until she discovered the nurses’ call button and pressed it. A friendly nurse in casual scrubs came almost immediately.
“Hey, look who woke up?” She smiled and approached the bed, checking the various monitoring devices.
“Could I have some water?” Gilda asked.
“Ice chips, dear, just ice chips,” the nurse answered, handing her a shallow cone with an ounce or so of crushed ice. “Take it slow.”
“Gilda?” Their voices awakened Cole, and he sprang from the chair, the blanket sliding to the floor. He came to the side of her bed and kissed her forehead. She could see the shadows beneath his eyes when he drew closer.
“You look tired, Cole. Why am I here? What’s going on?”
He looked up at the nurse, and she left the room, closing the door gently behind herself. Cole leaned over the railing of the bed and put his hand on Gilda’s.
“Sweetheart, you’ve been sick; very sick. The reason you’ve been feeling sick is that your gall bladder had become infected. The doctors were surprised that you’d not collapsed before this; they pulled five stones the size of golf balls from your duct. It was a very serious infection, honey — they’ve been piping in antibiotics since you arrived. It was touch and go for a while.”
Gilda listened, and then her eyes flew open. “The baby?” she burst out, her hand flying to her abdomen.
Cole shook his head, kissing her forehead. “We’ll try again, darling. There was too much trauma and infection…the meds were too strong.”
“Oh! Oh, no! Cole! You mean the baby is gone?” She began to cry.
“Honey, don’t cry; it’s not good for you. You’re filled with staples, and you’re still so weak.
“These things happen, sweetheart. You were so early along — there was nothing that could be done, and they don’t even know whether it was a boy or girl. It’s part of life, honey. We’ll have another baby when you’re better.”
“Oh, Cole… I should have been more vigilant. When I started feeling sick, I knew it wasn’t just a bug. This is my fault, Cole; it’s my fault I’ve lost our baby,” she sobbed outright now.
Cole looked up to see the nurse watching them from the desk in the hall. He nodded and she came in, a syringe in her hand, which she added to the IV drip flowing into Gilda’s arm.
Cole held her as well as he could without disrupting the many tubes and lines connected to her fragile body. Her eyes began to flutter as the sedative in her IV began its magical release from reality. Finally, she was asleep.
Cole kissed his forehead and resumed his chair by the window. He ached for the loss of their baby, for the pain he knew Gilda was experiencing and the circumstances which had so greatly impacted her life and his own over the past year.
He didn’t like the lack of control he was feeling. This was not the disciplined, managed life to which he had long been attracted.
George Stephens had been a tyrant. He paid little attention to his wife once she had married him. It was a marriage of political manipulation; she brought with her an alliance with power and was heiress to her own fortune. The fact that Cole had ever been conceived was widely considered to be a miracle by those who knew him…which were few in number.
George was not a man with whom it was easy to become close. Dictatorial, cold, and controlling, he found little joy in Cole’s birth other than it meant a male who would carry on his legacy. He ignored the baby, became irritated by the child, and it wasn’t until Cole reached his early teens that George discovered a new inclination: dominating and toying with the son who carried his name.
He took on this new fascination with the same ardor as with which he approached his businesses. Intense and calculating, he delighted in setting milestones of accomplishments that Cole was expected to achieve. He ignored his son’s personality and individual talents, choosing instead to recreate the young boy into his own image.
Cole’s mother had been gentle and empathetic; he had inherited her characteristics. These infuriated George, and he not only set Cole on a course of emotionless calculation, but punished him each time he displayed even the slightest weakness from his innate personality.
Cole had endured his father’s maniacal manipulations until the age of eighteen, when he graduated boarding school and chose an Ivy League School before entering the military. Through association with others his age, he realized the cruelty and abuse his father had exhibited and rid himself of that programming, becoming more his natural self.
If there was one thing for which he could thank George Stephens, it was the ability to control his emotions and behavior.
Through his professional and military career, Cole distinguished himself in numerous ways, receiving honors and medals for his bravery and character. Then had finally come the day for his discharge, and he had given long and hard thought to his next move.
He’d decided he liked the discipline of the military, perhaps it was in his blood. He chose the toughest police department in the country, New York City, and although he’d grown up in the state, the city was a far cry from the wealth and snobbery of his upbringing. He had been headlong on his chosen career path and enthusiastic to apply his skills in a related field.
He never had counted on meeting Gilda or falling in love. He never had counted on his father’s hand of cloying control rising from the grave to interrupt his life once again. Yet, here he was.
Chapter 36
Cole had ordered the limo to bring Gilda home from the hospital. He sat opposite her, giving her space to lie down on the seat. She chose, instead, to lean against cushions he had included, a soft fleece throw wrapped about her. She was pale and very, very quiet.
As they pulled up to The Pillars, Carson ran out the door, Mrs. Crutcher urging him to be careful with his mother and not hug her because she was healing. He instead grabbed Gilda’s hand and with his small body, tried to support her as she gingerly walked into the foyer.
She hesitated, eyeing the stairs, but Cole was already behind her, scooping her up and taking the stairs with as smooth a stride as he could manage. Gilda still carried staples across her abdomen. Her arm was wrapped about his neck and it felt good to feel Cole’s hard body against her.
She was treated to a surprise when they entered the bedroom: Dr. Keeler awaited them.
“So? What have
you done to yourself now?” he asked her in his normal surly tone.
“Dr. Keeler, I’m so happy to see you again,” she said, although she didn’t smile and her face remained pale and emotionless. He looked over her head to Cole as he laid her onto the bed. He nodded, acknowledging the depressed state Cole had warned him of.
Carson scurried in, wanting the reassurance that his mother was, indeed, back home as she should be. Mrs. Crutcher had explained how fragile Gilda would be, so he satisfied himself with hugging her arm in lieu of her torso. Even Carson’s loving touch could not bring a smile to her face.
Cole had taken the time to break the news about the baby’s loss to Carson in the gentlest way he knew. Carson was young, however, and the young seem to accept life’s misfortunes with resignation and optimism for the future. He had been told not to bring up the topic of the baby for the time being, as his mama was still hurting in her heart about it.
“Okay, everybody scoot on out of here. I need to look at my patient,” Dr. Keeler ordered, and everyone, including Cole, vacated the room and shut the door softly behind them.
Dr. Keeler got his bag and sat down on an upholstered side chair next to the bed. Gilda looked up to him, tears pouring from the corner of her eyes.
“I know, I know,” he patted her hand. “It’s going to hurt like hell for a while, Gilda; I’m not going to lie to you about that. But, you’re young and that young stud downstairs can give you a dozen more babies if you want them. Let’s not forget that rather polite five-year-old down there with him.
“Give yourself a couple of days to get the tears out and then move on. Remember, lots of women lose babies in their first trimester. Most of them might not even know they lost it — the fetus is still so little and not fully developed.
“You are a woman of medicine. Think of what you would tell someone in your place. Take your own advice. Like it or not, you seem to have a damned fine head on your shoulders. Now, let’s take a look at that wound and see what we’re working with.”