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Shrieking, I ran to Michael, urging him to ensure that all is ready for William’s arrival in the morning. Mother caught me in my rage to prepare the guest room, her arms crossed over her chest, brows pinched.
“Are you going to tell him? Or urge that we move the wedding to, say next week?” she asked. I finished dusting the mirror across from the wide, red bed. Moving to fluff the pillows as Mary entered the room, opening the windows to air it out.
“I am not entirely sure, myself. I believe I may tell him, because I feel he should know now, before it becomes too obvious. He is quick witted; I am not sure deceiving him would work.” I smacked the last pillow into place.
Mother fixed a picture hanging crookedly on the wall, her face colored in indifference, “You think he will take it well?”
“I do,”
“Then I wish you the best of luck, dear. It is not as if you are married. He is merely engaged to you, and that can be broken with the sound of a word.”
“Mother, you don’t know him!” I told her, my nails dug into my palms, stinging the skin. “And anyway, Leslie and Mr. George were engaged and with child, they married just fine! Franklin knew!”
Mother gasped, the news a shock to her and Mary. I cursed under my breath, having remembered I’d promised not to tell a soul, even though they’d been married a few weeks.
“My God,” Mother’s disturbance rippled throughout the room, her skirts swishing as she left.
The subject was not brought up again for the rest of the evening. I picked at my dinner, my appetite for anything offered nonexistent. Whatever the rich, coppery smell was which floated around the room in a tantalizing swirl… that was what I wanted. But nothing on my plate came remotely close to it.
Laying in bed, in the dim firelight with my hands over my stomach, I prayed to whatever deity would hear me for the first time since Adam. I prayed that the child would be healthy, and that William would accept it happily. I prayed he would be pleased to hear the news, and that we could love each other forever, as we do now. Perhaps, foolish prayers.
Sleep soon fell upon me.
When the wind blew harshly on my window, tree branches scratching their spindly nails against the glass, I woke with a start. A most vicious sound, it turned my blood to slush and the fright drove me from the warmth of my bed to close the curtains. As I gripped the muslin fabric in my hands, the window swung open, whacking my arm in the process. I cried out, bombarded with a smack of frigid wind and fluffy cotton snow.
A blizzard.
The house groaned under the pressure of the wind.
Grabbing the two windows, I tried my best to close and lock them. After much trial and error, my arm aching where it’d been struck, I finally managed to close the latch tight. Pulling the curtains to, I threw on my robe, grabbing the oil lamp from my nightstand.
Out in the hallway, the entire house seemed to shake with the blasts of wind. I tiptoed across the cool hardwood floor toward my parents' room, intercepted by Rebecca.
“Why are you up so early?” she asked, her midwestern accent thick.
“My windows were blown open; what time is it?” I tugged my robe tighter around me.
“Five in the morning, Miss, too early for ladies, that's for sure.” Rebecca tried to usher me back to my room, but I refused.
“Do you know it is a blizzard out there? I am to have Mr. Blackwell come, I don't think I can go back to sleep and would like you to make me something to eat.”
We made our way to the kitchen, the howling of the wind eerie and ghostly. The room was quite modern for the time. The humongous hearth-turned-stove and oven, cabinets with counters scattered in baskets and pots, a huge table in the center as a workspace.
Rebecca moved about the room with the same grace and familiarity as Mary, grabbing me some bread from a basket and buttering it heartily. She placed a handful of small fruits on the plate, and sat me down in the rocking chair Mary would read to me in as a girl.
“Thank you,” I said, nibbling the bread. Yeasty, warm.
“Aunt Mary told me of your condition since she's gone to Boston for the weekend. Something about seeing her mother, I'm not sure, I try not to listen sometimes. But she says you like to eat bland things and need your good foods.” Rebecca stood to my right, gazing out at the blistering cold weather from the small window over the sink.
There, just a foot away, I could smell the sweetness of something that seemed to move under her skin. It pulsated and brushed along in a uniform pattern, and I could feel it pull me in. I chewed my bread slowly, staring at her arm. The warmth that radiated off of her was intoxicating…
She moved away before I could decide what it was that smelled so good and began cleaning her mess. I went back to my room an hour later to prepare for William's arrival. Dressed in my midnight blue gown, I realized how well it hugged my upper half, showing off the new additions to my figure while hiding the other one. I felt both stunning and deceptive.
I pulled my dark curls into a bun on the back of my head, exposing the skin of my neck in anticipation for the kisses he might place there. By six, I was downstairs, pacing the foyer.
Would he be here? Would he be lost in the snow? I wrung my hands in stress, worrying my lip. Would he choose not to come after all? Oh, how the seconds and minutes passed like months and years on the grandfather clock by the parlor entrance.
