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He struggled to find the words to ease her grief. ‘Ilene you cannot blame me for the loss of your child.’
‘No. I cannot blame you for that. It is God’s will, his punishment for my lies. But Murray I hurt you so very badly and I failed my baby, for I didn’t protect him as I should have.’
‘No, don’t torture yourself like this Ilene, we can...’
‘This happened to my mother you know, she lost a child. She endured it of course, but she had my father to comfort her.’ It was a reproof, an accusation, and she did not bother to soften it.
‘I would comfort you if you would let me.’
‘No…you cannot, ever.’
‘This is an awful thing that has happened to us, but all wounds heal in time Ilene.’
‘And the wound that stands between us, after what I did?’
‘Never mind that now. You will get better, we will go on and one day, god willing, there will be other children,’ he said, gently taking her hand in his.
She snatched it free. ‘I think not. For that to happen I would have to lie with you and I cannot lie with a man who despises me.’
‘Ilene, I do not despise you.’
‘Of course you do, it is in every look you ever gave me since our wedding night.’
She rose on legs so unsteady he feared the wind might blow her over.
‘This is not your fault Murray, none of it is your fault. I did this terrible thing, and I must be the one to put it right.’
With that, she stumbled back towards the cottage. He watched her go with despair in his heart. Any kindness he showed her now would only serve to strengthen her belief that he had wanted her child gone. She would think he could only forgive and love her once the child that stood between them had died. But that could not be further from the truth
Murray had come to hate Aidan Grant with a terrible ferocity. He had once felt that way about Ilene too, although that hate had been tempered with desire, his past affection for her and some pity at her predicament. But he had never hated the child that was part of both of them. Indeed, he had begun to reconcile himself to the thought of rearing another man’s child and had even indulged himself in imagining what kind of a father he would be to it. Perhaps that child would have been a way back to Ilene and her affection.
His willingness to accept it was the first time in his life when he had been prepared to love something unconditionally. It could have made him a better man. Now Ilene felt the loss was only hers, but it was not, for as he had put its tiny body into the earth he had felt it, more keenly than any of the many cruelties and sufferings which had been his life. But she would never hear him now, and he did not have the words to make her understand, so Murray sat alone on the cold beach, put his head in his hands and wept.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ilene stood at the very edge of the cliff, where it fell away into the ocean. Below, the relentless grey waves crashed into the teeth of the rocky coastline. Several days had passed, awful, bleak days of pain and misery, which she could endure no longer.
She had already put Shillinglaw behind her. She had pretended she was feeling better and smiled at Murray and seen the hope in his eyes. He still thought they could go on, but he was better off without her. She had convinced him to go and make ready the house for them to move into, and so he had left at first light, and she had taken her chance to steal away.
Staying would only hurt him more, and she didn’t want that. Ilene had begun to nurture hope for her future, something had started to bloom in her heart. It was a frightening feeling of tenderness, a longing for his affection. But the pain of losing her child had frozen those feelings, and now there was only confusion, guilt and a desperate desire not to feel anything at all. It was as if her whole body and mind was a rotten wound that would not heal. There was no way back to happiness.
Her skirts billowed in the frigid north wind. The weight of them would drag her down or her body would break on the rocks. One moment of absolute courage and it would all end, the pain, the grief for her lost child, the awful longing for love and happiness, forever just out of reach.
She took a deep breath and another, heart pounding. Courage, do it now. Forcing herself to take a few small steps forward she stood with her toes over the edge.
‘Murray I’m sorry,’ she sobbed.
Suddenly the edge of the cliff shifted and crumbled under her feet. Ilene fell down hard and, though she clutched at the grass and the earth, her weight pulled her over the edge and she was falling, her stomach leaping into her throat and the grey water coming up to meet her. Then she hit it.
The cold was like a dull knife driven into her bones, wrenching the breath out of her and her skirts were snatched up over her head with the crushing impact. As she sank into the dark depths she pulled them down frantically and she began to thrash and kick against the surging waves, pushing upwards towards the light. Slithering towers of brown kelp slid against her legs, like the tentacles of some monstrous octopus as, despite her struggles, she sank further and further towards darkness. There was a terrible pounding in her head, then came a surge in the water, pushing her upwards. Ilene managed to pull a gulp of cold air into her screaming lungs and then the sea sucked her under again.
‘No, no, I’m not ready,’ she screamed inside her head. She had planned a gentle death to end her suffering, a brief, gentle slip into oblivion, but this horror was violent, prolonged and terrifying. The huge waves sucked her down and then thrust her up, again and again, in the painfully cold water, until her lungs were screaming for air. A huge wave suddenly took her and carried her towards the rocks. There was a sickening crunch as her head hit them and she sank down in a red haze. Something terrible took her in its rough grasp, and then nothing.
***
Murray arrived back at the cottage in darkness and driving rain to find Ilene gone. He searched frantically in the stable, out along the beach, calling against the roar of the wind and the crashing waves. She wouldn’t have gone off in the night, she was always here when he came home. His shock at her absence was slowly replaced with fear and confusion as he returned to the cottage and started flinging open chests and cupboards. All was neat and clean, with no sign of a struggle. Her plaid was placed neatly over the bench where she liked to sit. The fire, untended, had faded down to its embers, and all her clothes and possession were there. Nothing of any value had gone from his home, save the thing of most value.
He put his hands to his head trying to think. There was no message, no explanation. Where had she gone? Ilene would not leave him like this. And if she had fled home to Cailleach she would have taken a horse. Why had she not taken a horse?
