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I groaned, tapping my foot aimlessly as six thirty became six forty-five, and then seven o'clock. When the clock sang its seven o'clock chime, I ripped the door open in desperation. The wind was fierce, snow pelleting me roughly. It was truly a blizzard outside. Hoping to see anything at all, I strained my eyes into the white.
But there was nothing. He was so late.
I resigned in defeat, shutting the door to begin my walk of shame to the parlor. When I rounded the corner, there were three distinct knocks. Short, sweet, and beckoning. A thrill ran up my spine as I rushed to the door and yanked it open, relief washing through me.
William was wrapped in his heavy winter things, his shoulders, hat, and scarf all flecked with chunks of snow. The only way I could discern it was him, was the deep green of his eyes, fringed by those long black lashes, flecked with snowflakes.
He carried just a single carpet bag, his horse nowhere to be seen. I beamed as he stepped inside, pulling me into his arms. I jerked his scarf down, slamming the door behind him, pressing my lips against his. They were chilly, but I didn't mind. I kissed him endlessly, attempting to translate every ounce of my love for him onto his mouth.
He drew back, arms still around my waist. “My, my, Miss Abbott! I feel as though you are taking advantage of me.” His lopsided smirk made my heart leap.
“Oh, my most sincere apologies, Mr. Blackwell.” I kissed him again, sucking his lower lip into my mouth. The guttural noise he’d made shivered down my spine.
“Come,” I beckoned, leading him up the stairs and down the hall toward the east wing, to his room. I felt like I might burst at the seams if I didn't tell him soon.
“Where are Michael and Mary? Shouldn't they be here doing this?” he asked when we arrived in the room, shedding his coat, scarf and gloves. I set his carpet bag on the floor in front of the dresser across from his bed where he set his winter things.
“Michael is readying my parents for the day, while Mary is off to Boston until Monday.”
“I see.” Confusion bunched his features.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked, placing my palm against his cheek. His features became immobile, his brow furrowed, eyes deep in thought. I touched his pursed lips, wanting to kiss them again. I could kiss him forever. Standing on my tiptoes, I gently pressed my lips to his but his mouth didn’t budge. “William?” I whispered against him.
“That sound... do you hear it?” he finally asked, holding me at arm's length. I held my breath for a moment, straining my ears.
Nothing.
I shook my head.
“It sounds like... a heartbeat. Very quick and faint... but... I can't make out where it's coming from.” He walked over to the window, shook his head, soon after he went for the door. Again, that did not appear to be the source. William came back over to me, eyes meeting my own. I wanted to tell him then that I was pregnant. I couldn't take it anymore; he was so engrossed by this noise...Who cares?
“William darling, there is something I want to tell you,” I said excitedly. “I can't hold it in anymore!” Finally, out of his trance, he smiled expectantly.
“By all means, please, do tell.”
How could I say it? I bit my lip, taking his hands in mine and pressing them on my skirts, where the small lump lie underneath.
“I am carrying your child,” I managed to whisper with a foolish grin.
My palms stung, eyes adjusting to find him with his back pressed against the door. He’d somehow managed to pull away from me with such force as to burn my palms and make it across the room before I could notice. I gazed down at my reddened palms, rubbing them on my skirts to help cool them.
William’s face was horror stricken, almost as if someone had murdered the person he loved in front of him. I became increasingly worried, regretting having not listened to Mary and Mother. He was practically flattened against the door.
“What's wrong?” I asked, vision blurred, chest clenching in terror. Ice washed over me as I took a step toward him, but he held his hand up as if to stop me.
“Don't you dare come any closer,” he warned, his eyes wide and face disgusted. I lost any control I’d maintained over myself, a sob escaping my tight throat. Tears flowed fast, his words slicing through my heart and womb.
“William, please. Why are you acting this way?” I asked, one hand over my mouth, the other pressed against my stomach. They were right. God, they were right. “We are supposed to wed, this was going to happen anyway. What difference does it make if it is out of order?” I felt as if everything was crumbling around me. No walls, no home, just bare despair.
“No. No, no! It wasn't going to happen, I can't have children, Rose,” he spoke, his hands still raised and his face full of bitter vehement. I wasn't sure what he was implying, but the tears slowed. What did he mean?
“Yes, you can; I'm proof. I have your child growing inside of me. Look, I can show you,” I began to undo the buttons of my top, fighting them with trembling fingers.
“Keep your clothes on, Rosemary.” Venomous words. I stilled, a few buttons undone at the top. “I cannot have children. I have come to terms with that a long time ago. Whose is it?” He moved then, taking long strides toward me, grabbing my jaw roughly, a few centimeters away from my face. I couldn’t tear my eyes from him, quivering under his touch. He squeezed, fingers digging into the bone.
“Tell me!” he shouted. My eyes fluttered shut, unable to bear the look in his. “Stop crying and tell me the bastard that you went to bed with!”
“It's yours, William!” I cried, snatching his wrist, trying with all my might to remove his hand from my face. “It is your child! Why won't you believe me?”
