Page 47
She squeezes my hand once more. “Thank you. For everything. You saved my life, and now perhaps you’ll save my niece’s life too. I think there was a reason God brought you to us. Maybe this is it.”
God didn’t bring me, I think. I brought myself. And I’d be better off if I hadn’t.
21
SARAH
Cecelia is a sweet baby. Taking care of her is lovely and painful at the same time. No matter what Marie believes, I’m not going to be a permanent part of this child’s life. She’s another thing I will love and let go of, like the infants in 1918, like my sister, like Henri.
She eats and sleeps and does little else her first day of life, but she wants to be held. Always. The second we lay her in the crib Henri built she wails, and none of us—not Henri, not Marie, not myself—has the stomach for it. Yvette, similarly, also sleeps all day, and when she’s awake and not being showered with attention, she too wails. She wants praise and coddling. She wants food and wet washcloths. She does not seem to want much to do with her daughter, as far as I can tell, but who am I to judge? I’m not the one who just shoved an entire human out of a small hole.
The next afternoon I get the apple and cheese Yvette has requested, and force myself to say the polite words that feel like grit in my mouth as they exit. “Congratulations. She’s beautiful.”
She smiles at me with eyes that remain cruel and distant. “That’s kind of you to say. It must be so hard for you.”
I plant my feet to the floor, bracing myself. “What must be hard for me?”
“Seeing how Henri has moved on.”
My stomach sours. I grab the door frame for dear life. I could end you in moments, I think. Just give me a reason.
But then I think of Cecelia. Of how she looks at me and how I feel when I hold her, as if all that is good and right exists in her, and also in me. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you do. It’s obvious you were in love with him. Do you think I missed those calf eyes you make each time he walks through the room? And your visit here was all for nothing, wasn’t it? Because he chose his child over you.”
“What you’re saying,” I reply, my voice deceptively soft, like the hiss of a snake, “is that you aren’t even a part of the equation. He didn’t choose me. But he didn’t choose you either.”
Her smug smile grows more strained. “Well, he’s mine either way, and you’re alone and pathetic.”
I laugh. “That may be true, but when a man marries me, it won’t be out of pity and obligation. So don’t assume you’re any less pathetic than I am.”
I turn and walk out the door, certain my words hurt. We both know they’re true.
“I won’t wait on her again,” I tell Marie as I walk through the kitchen and return to Cecelia’s crib.
22
SARAH
Every day with Cece makes it harder to leave. I change her diaper, thinking I’d be so much better off if I’d left before she was born—before I realized what it was like to care for Henri’s child—when I’m suddenly pulled from my selfish thoughts. Cece’s chest rises and falls in a way I don’t think it did before. Is she breathing faster than she was? Why am I noticing it so much more now?
I continue to change the diaper, distracted now. My thumb stings as the safety pin jabs into my skin, but better me than her. And the more I watch, the more certain I am that something is wrong. I call for Marie and she comes, looking as exhausted as I feel. Neither of has had more than a few hours of sleep in days.
“Look at her,” I say, my jaw set hard.
Marie glances at Cecelia, then me. She is gray with fatigue and her face doesn’t change. “I don’t understand,” says Marie. “She looks fine.”
“No,” I breathe. In the span of five seconds I’ve gone from uncertain to convinced. “Her chest is sinking in when she breathes. It’s concave. It wasn’t concave before.”
Marie bites her lip. “Perhaps it’s just that she’s taking bigger breaths as she gets stronger?”
The hair on my arms goes on end. No. It’s not right. I know nothing about babies but this isn’t right. “Think of the strongest person you know. Henri, for instance. Does his chest sink in when he breathes?”
She looks at me, her green eyes pale and frightened. “I’ll get the pump.”
She runs from the room and returns seconds later, but it seems to make no difference. Cecelia still struggles. “We’ll need to take her to Reims. One of us should go with Henri…” She hesitates. “It should probably be you. Yvette…”
Hates me and won’t want me here to help. She also won’t want me with Henri, but her preferences matter little to me.
