Daughters of the Lake

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Daughters of the Lake Page 25

by Wendy Webb

Addie smiled. It was true this girl had the gift of gab. And a strong spirit to go with it.

  “Mrs. Connor is lucky to have you.” Addie took Ginny’s hand. “As am I. I’ve been so grateful for your help, Ginny.”

  “It’s a pleasure, ma’am, to work for someone as kind as you are,” Ginny said. “Now, you’re sure I can’t make you something to eat before I go?”

  “Truly, Ginny, I’m in need of nothing,” Addie said. “I’m dreadfully full. I couldn’t eat a bite. And later, if I want something, I’ve still got some of that wonderful bread and jam you brought for me. And I think there is some soup left over on the stove as well. That will do.”

  “If you say so,” Ginny said, nodding. “If there’s nothing else you need, I’ll be on my way. I don’t like this weather. Best to get home safely before something kicks up.” She scanned the horizon, squinting. “Let me help you back into the house now, yourself, before I go.” Ginny extended her hands to Addie. “It wouldn’t do to have you stuck out here, unable to get up off this bench, when the rain comes.”

  Addie smiled as she let Ginny pull her up. The girl was right, standing was quite a production. It might have been a problem for her to navigate it alone. “Mr. Stewart says I’m like a turtle,” she laughed.

  “Not for long, ma’am,” Ginny said. “Soon, you’ll have your own baby to hold, just like Mrs. Connor.”

  Later, Addie tried to read a book inside by the fire that Ginny had stoked before she left. But it was no use. Addie was antsy, edgy. Although she had been tired all day, she had an overwhelming urge to straighten things up and clean the house. She took the rag that Ginny had left in the sink and began cleaning the already-spotless kitchen, wiping off the stove and the table. Next, she swept the kitchen floor, moving out into the living room and then up the stairs and down the hallway toward the bedrooms. She opened the door to what would soon be the baby’s room and straightened the crib, fluffed the blanket, and dusted the dresser and chest that had only recently come from a fancy furniture store in Minneapolis. She ran her fingers over the rocking horse in the corner, remembering the winter day, months ago, when Jess had brought it home, triumphantly announcing that he had purchased his child’s first toy.

  “The rocking chair should be in here, not in our room,” Addie said to no one, imagining the countless nights she would spend by her child’s crib, rocking her to sleep. The thought of her baby coursed through Addie like a heat wave. She was anxious to feel her child’s warm body, to hold the little bundle that was so close now, so near.

  She went into her bedroom and dragged the rocking chair, in fits and spurts, first pushing, then pulling, across the hallway to the baby’s room. She positioned it next to the window, and as she did, she looked out over the lake at the coming storm. Night is falling, she thought. Time to get out of these clothes.

  With great difficulty, she waddled across the hall, changed from her dress into her nightgown, and, having expended her last bit of energy, Addie returned to her child’s room, and sat down in the rocking chair, finally, exhausted.

  Nesting, that’s what her mother called what Addie had just been doing. It was the unshakeable urge some women have to “ready the nest” for the coming baby. It meant, among the old wives who believed in such things, that the baby was readying itself to come into the world. The movement toward birth signaled the mother to ready the world for the baby. Addie remembered that, as a child, Marie and her friends would talk among themselves about such things as babies and childbirth and old wives’ tales. Now, something inside Addie longed for her mother, wishing she could feel Marie’s soft hand on her forehead, comforting her.

  She sat in the chair, rocking back and forth, looking out over the lake. The soft to-and-fro motion, along with the soothing sight of the water, lulled the exhausted Addie into such a relaxed state of mind that she fell into a light sleep. It felt good to let go and drift away from her worries.

  She did not see the fog as it rose up from the lake, born on the place where the humidity and heavy air met the cool water. She did not see it take shape and hover over the still, calm surface, breathing like a living thing would, growing and expanding with each exhalation. She did not see the fish, poking their heads out of the water, one after another after another, each hoping to get a taste of the velvety, living fog before it dissipated into the air, taking all the goodness with it.

  Addie was rocking back and forth slowly, in a dreamless sleep, as the fog obliterated all the light in the darkening sky. She was sleeping as the fog enveloped the house on Front Street, wrapping its body, all its hundreds of tentacles, around the wooden structure and clinging to it, cradling it. She awoke only when she heard the singing.

  It was a strange sound, one that traveled through her ears and around her heart and, finally, deep into her soul to a place that was familiar, though she could not remember how or why. She had heard this sound before, on the day of her birth, but of course she could not recall it. She only knew, as she was pulled from a deep sleep by the delicate sound, that it was calling her name.

  Addie opened her eyes in the dusky room, but could see nothing outside the window but a solid wall of white. It startled her so much that she cried out, wondering if the world itself had been obliterated while she slept. Was she dreaming? She shook her head, still groggy from sleep, and realized that it was simply the fog, a consuming fog, that was rapping at her window.

  With great difficulty, she pushed herself up from the rocking chair and walked to the window, pressing her face against the pane. There was nothing. She could not see more than an inch beyond the glass. As she pulled back a bit from the window, Addie was surprised to see her own reflection. She turned, faster than she should have, thinking someone was standing behind her in the room. But it was simply her own face reflected in the glass. Nothing menacing was there. Nothing at all.

  “I expected rain,” Addie murmured to herself, touching the windowpane, confused by the sight of the fog. Earlier in the day, it had indeed seemed as though rain was coming. The sky in the distance had been a threatening shade of green. Fog didn’t usually appear on days such as this one, but Addie was coming to realize that, in her new home in Wharton, the weather took strange and unusual turns.

  Darkness was descending upon the house, and quickly. Addie decided to make her way downstairs, where the fire was still burning in the fireplace. She lit a few candles and sat on the sofa in front of the fire. She was unnerved, looking this way and that, from one whitewashed window to another, wishing Jess was home. Why wasn’t he here? Where was he?

  Her thoughts dove into the ocean of her mind, and memories flooded forth, a whole lifetime, lived there, on the sofa in front of the fire. She thought of her childhood in Great Bay, with Jess, Polar, and Lucy. She remembered her father’s warm smile and mother’s gentle touch. She drifted to her wedding—all candlelit and resplendent, everyone singing Christmas carols. Her thoughts swirled from there to a bicycle ride, and then to a kiss on the platform in the train station, steam from the engine rising up and circling around them just as this fog now encircled the house.

  The pains began. Erratic at first, and then coming in waves, every few minutes. There was no denying it; the baby was coming. Addie knew she should leave the house to find the doctor. She stumbled to the door, but just as her mother had done on the day Addie was born, she opened her front door to find a punishing wall of white. It terrified her. She knew the way to the doctor’s house, it was just a short walk down the street. Surely she could find it, even in this fog. Surely. The length of one city block to the intersection, a left turn, and then four storefronts would lead her to the doctor. Or at least to someone who could help her get the rest of the way.

  But that one city block before the intersection was completely empty. There were no other houses between their home and the main street. It was a grassy field on both sides. When she assured Jess that she could find the doctor when the baby was on its way, she didn’t realize she would have to do it blindly
.

  “I must go or have this baby alone,” Addie said aloud. She reached for her coat that was hanging behind the door and wrapped it around her. She stood there for a good, long while, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not force herself to step beyond her own threshold. The words she had heard in her head two weeks before were still ringing in her ears. You will die on April 24. That was today’s date. Was this some sort of dark prophecy fulfilled? Would she lose her way in the fog and die giving birth? She had no wish to find out. She would not creep out into that dense, white, living thing.

  The pains were coming regularly now, and they were so intense that she doubled over with the force of it. Addie closed the door, made her way back to the sofa, and lay down. There was no choice now. It was beyond her control. She knew she would have to get through the birth of this baby completely alone. I can do this. Women have done this for generations. My mother did this. She was alone when I was born. Mama, where are you?

  Addie watched the flames dance and tickle the logs and lost herself in their power to mesmerize. If only Jess were here. He would find the doctor. He would bring him to the house. He would make sure she wasn’t alone when the baby came. Addie had heard stories, whispered among the women of Great Bay, of children who died trying to come into the world feet first, and their poor mothers, who died trying to push them free. Would such a thing happen to her? Calm down. I can do this. I am strong. I’ll get through this.

  Despite the calming thoughts she kept replaying in her mind, Addie knew she was at the mercy of nature, at the mercy of her own body. She could not stop this baby from coming. She could not stop these pains long enough for the fog to lift. She could not summon the doctor with the sheer force of her will. Her life, and her baby’s life, were now out of her hands.

  The pain became so intense that Addie felt herself begin to hover above her own body. As she lay on her back, she took note of her belly, her legs, and her arms, but it was in a detached sort of way, as though she was watching it all occur from elsewhere. The only thing that was real was the pain, the incredible flood of intensity that began in her belly and radiated out into every cell of her body; every inch of her being was pulsing and vibrating with a pain so enormous that it engulfed the whole world.

  She felt a coolness between her legs. Water, a flood of it. Somewhere deep inside, beneath all that pain, Addie’s mind was screaming that the baby was coming, it was very near. But Addie didn’t hear it. She wasn’t a thinking being at that moment, she was only the pain. Pain was all there was. It was as though Addie herself were an infant, she was the baby being born, unable to think or reason or articulate her wants, needs, and desires. She was simply a mass of pain that existed for one thing—relief. An end to this suffering.

  A song, then, an ancient, familiar song, calling her name, beckoning her near.

  Addie summoned all her strength, rose from the sofa, and stumbled toward the kitchen door. Relief. She opened the door. A warm hand, comforting me. A soothing embrace. Relief. An end to the pain. I’m coming. Water.

  In the firm grasp of childbirth, Addie had no way of knowing that three people were, at that very moment, on the way toward her house. One was worried about her, so near her due date, with fog shrouding the city. One was drawn there by something unknown. The third was coming to kill her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Kate stumbled down a foggy path toward the lake, doubled over in pain. Childbirth. This is what it must feel like. She could not stand upright, the pain was so great. Kate turned and looked up the hill behind her—she could make out a house hovering there, in the fog. Addie’s house. She could see no other houses anywhere in the distance. She was alone, in the fog, at the water’s edge.

  Kate watched herself dunk her feet in the water, which she expected to be freezing cold. She braced for the chill but didn’t feel it. To Kate, it felt like scented, oiled bath water, warm, almost velvety to the touch. It felt so wonderful, in contrast to the pain that was raging through her body, that Kate wanted nothing more than to submerge herself in that comforting, soothing bath and float away.

  She felt it then, a sharp pain in her back, then another, then another. Addie turned to look into the face of her murderer. This should hurt more than it does were the first words that went through Kate’s mind when she realized what had occurred. Addie had been stabbed. Kate was witnessing the last moments of Addie’s life.

  No, not the baby. Save the baby. I’ve got to save the baby.

  She slumped into the water and felt a delicate warmth, like feathers massaging her legs. Somewhere, outside of herself now, she felt the baby was coming, but Kate didn’t care, she only knew that she needed to lie back. She turned and stretched out onto the surface of the water, as though she were reclining onto a bed. Its warmth overtook her and held her, suspended, on the surface of the lake. This is what it feels like to die. This really isn’t so bad.

  Kate felt her eyelids, heavy, so heavy, closing, then opening again with every twinge of pain. She wasn’t thinking clearly, but she was present enough to know that Addie was vacillating between consciousness and sleep, or what seemed to be sleep. The baby is coming.

  Kate was roused, for a moment, from this vague stupor when she realized that Addie was wearing the white, billowing gown that Kate had seen before, in her dreams, and on the beach that horrible day. She’s dying! She’ll die if I don’t do something! Kate tried to wake Addie up, screaming inside of her head, Wake up! Wake up! Your baby is coming! You’re both going to die if you don’t get up! But the heaviness of her eyelids was too great, the warmth and comfort of the water was too soothing, the soft motion of her body undulating up and down on the waves was too calming. Kate gave in and was immersed in darkness.

  Then, her eyes opened again. She was cold and shivering. She was out of the water now, on the beach. I want to go back in the water. Take me back to the water. Kate wanted very much to look around but found that her head did not move. Her eyes, she noticed, were barely open. She was looking through slits. She felt, too, that she was empty. The punishing pain that was ever present had ceased. What’s happening? Where is the baby? Then, a voice. Jess? Is that you?

  “I can’t imagine what you’re doing here on the lakeshore, Addie.” It was not a man’s voice.

  What’s the matter? Why isn’t she helping me? Kate tried to look at who was speaking, but could only see the hemline of a skirt. She still could not move her head. Kate tried with all her might to open her eyes but couldn’t. Where is the baby? What’s happened to the baby? Why aren’t you helping me?

  “You were lucky that I came to see you, to introduce you to my beautiful baby,” said the voice, singsongy now, like that of a child. “Your baby might have floated away on the tides if I hadn’t been here. Come, let’s get you up.”

  Kate listened, and heard a soft crying, far in the distance. Her baby. Addie’s baby. It was alive, then. Kate felt herself slipping down again, eyelids heavy.

  “What are you doing here?” A male voice boomed through the darkness, and Kate opened her eyes once again. “Thank God I found you. What are you thinking going out in this fog? Where is—” Kate felt an electricity in the air. “Oh my God. Oh my good Christ, what have you done?” Kate felt hands on her arms, saw a face come into her line of vision. Her eyes couldn’t focus.

  “My God, Addie, my God. Dear God. Is she—dead?” Kate felt a head on her chest, listening for her heart. He picked up her hand, felt for a pulse, and dropped it again. “I can’t hear anything. Her heart’s not beating. She’s dead, good God in heaven. Did you—did you kill her?”

  “Why would I kill her? That’s a stupid thing to say.”

  “Where’s the baby?” The voice was frantic. “Where’s Addie’s baby?”

  “I put it in the carriage. Over there.”

  “What?” More panic, rising. Moans, tears. “What in heaven’s name have you done? Why are you here? Why?”

  “I came down here to show Addie the baby. Hadley woul
dn’t stop crying, you know how she gets. So I went out for a walk. You know how that calms her. And I found myself here.”

  “A walk? Celeste, what are you talking about? In this fog? Slow down and tell me exactly what’s going on.”

  Celeste. Oh my God.

  “Hadley is crying all the time.”

  “Hadley? My dear—”

  Hadley. That’s Grandma. Kate remembered well her father’s mother. They’re talking about Grandma.

  “Listen, she’s crying now.”

  “Where is Hadley, Celeste?”

  “In the carriage, silly, where she always is. I put Addie’s baby in there with her. I found the poor thing in the water, floating away. She was in the water! Can you imagine?”

  Kate tried desperately to get a look at what was going on, but she couldn’t see anything from where she was lying. Addie must be near death, Kate thought. She’s drifting in and out of consciousness. Silence. What’s happening?

  “Celeste,” the voice said, with great tenderness. “You know Hadley is dead. Honey? Remember? She died a few hours ago. Look at me, Celeste.”

  But Hadley lived. Kate was confused. Hadley is Grandma.

  “Hadley isn’t dead. What are you talking about? She wouldn’t stop crying. So I put her in the carriage and went for a walk. I came down here.”

  Kate heard a gasp. She heard Celeste, in a singsong voice, cooing, “Rock-a-bye, baby, on the tree top, when the wind blows—” Crying, in the distance. Muttering.

  “Jesus Christ, Celeste. Wait here, for Christ’s sake. Don’t move.”

  Several moments later, Kate felt a tugging on her legs. And then a thudding. She was in the bottom of a rowboat now. She saw a face appear in her line of vision, Harrison’s face.

  “Addie, I’m so sorry.” Kate saw the tears flowing from his eyes. “Celeste had no idea what she was doing. She didn’t mean to hurt you. She’s not a bad person. Please forgive her. She has been insanely protective of Hadley—you know how she’s been—and when the baby passed away today, she must’ve snapped. Lost all her senses. How I wish I had been here to stop this abomination.”

 

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