When the day comes, p.24
When the Day Comes, page 24
“Would you mind if I visited you later? When I’m done here?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t think it’s necessary. I’ve been sick before. Surely it will pass soon enough.”
“I’d feel better, all the same.”
Edith nodded, imploring me with her eyes to accept his offer. How could I deny both of them?
“I believe you’ll be wasting your time,” I said in a lighthearted voice, “but if you would like to come, I will not turn you away.”
He smiled. “Thank you.”
Edith sent a young man to find Williams, and twenty minutes later we were on our way back to Cumberland Hall. The nausea continued, though it wasn’t nearly as bad.
“All I need,” I said to Edith as the car rumbled over the country road leading to Cumberland Hall, kicking up dust in our wake, “is a good lie down. I’ll be better once I can rest.”
She didn’t look so sure.
By the time Dr. Aiken arrived at Cumberland Hall, I was in a nightgown and under the covers of my large four-poster bed, with a fire crackling in the hearth, feeling better. I was tired and found when I lay down, the nausea subsided. It also helped with the dizziness.
“Perhaps I’m getting influenza,” I told Edith, who had appeared in my room to tell me she had seen Dr. Aiken’s automobile on the road. “Though I don’t feel feverish.”
Edith plumped up my pillow and moved a tendril of hair off my cheek. “How about we let him determine your ailment?”
I smiled at her motherliness. She had been kinder and more thoughtful to me than Mother Wells ever had.
A few minutes later, Dr. Aiken appeared at my door. “How is our patient feeling?”
“Better,” I told him. “When I lie down, the nausea and dizziness are almost gone, but as soon as I stand, they return.”
“And no other episodes?”
“Do you mean, have I retched again? No.” Thankfully. There were few other sensations as distressing.
He set his black bag on my side table. “Do you mind if I examine you and ask a few questions?”
I shrugged. “I won’t say no after you’ve come so far.”
Edith stayed in the room, watching as the doctor took my temperature, ran a candle before my eyes, looked in my mouth, my nose, and my ears, and listened to my heart and lungs.
He glanced at Edith, a question in his eyes, and I nodded. “She’s welcome to stay.”
“Very well.” He sat on a chair next to my bed and smiled. His face was so kind and gentle. “Lady Cumberland, may I ask a few, er, delicate feminine questions?”
My mouth slipped open to respond that I didn’t mind, but I suddenly knew what he was going to ask.
It had been three weeks since Reggie left Cumberland Hall. Four weeks since he had forced me to stay in the library with him after supper.
My breathing slowed until I felt like I wasn’t breathing at all, and everything came to a halt. I looked at Dr. Aiken as if he were far away and I couldn’t reach him. I swallowed as realization settled like a boulder in my gut. It was soon followed by panic like I had never known in my life.
“Lady Cumberland?” Dr. Aiken looked at me with a bit of alarm.
I couldn’t focus on anything or anyone. A strange feeling rushed up my legs and into my heart, making it pound uncontrollably. I shook my head and put my hands over my face. The sensation to run came over me, but where could I go to get away from the truth?
“No,” I said. “This can’t be.”
“Lady Cumberland.” Dr. Aiken put his hands on both of mine and pried them away from my face. He was only a few inches from me, forcing me to look him in the eyes. “What is the matter?”
“I can’t be pregnant,” I said, the panic making me feel like I might die. “I simply can’t be.”
“I don’t know for certain,” he said, “but your symptoms are consistent with pregnancy. I will need you to answer a few questions, and then I’ll perform a thorough examination to be sure.”
I nodded, hoping and praying it wasn’t true. Edith’s face had gone pale at my reaction, but she didn’t leave the room or shy away.
Patiently, I answered the doctor’s questions and then allowed him to examine me. The entire time, all I could do was pray. I couldn’t have a baby in this path—I just couldn’t. Each time I thought about the consequences, the panic returned. And then I would calm myself and try to reassure myself that it just couldn’t be true.
I had a life I wanted in 1775. I had a man I loved with all of my heart who loved me. I had a mother and sisters who relied on me. A newspaper that depended on me. I had a cause I was willing to die for. I couldn’t leave any of it behind.
When the doctor had finished, he slowly put all of his instruments back into his bag. It felt like it took forever for him to finally turn to me. I held my breath as I waited for his diagnosis.
“Lady Cumberland,” he began slowly, “everything points to pregnancy.”
A loud sound pulsed in my ears, and my stomach turned again. This time, I could not hold back the contents as Edith rushed a pan to my bedside. Sobs wracked my body as wave after wave of nausea rolled through me.
“Lady Cumberland.” Dr. Aiken’s voice sounded far away and commanding. “You must not behave this way. You’ll hurt the baby with the way you’re carrying on.”
I couldn’t stop crying. With one sentence, my entire existence was shaken to the core. All of my hopes and dreams were torn away, and everything I’d ever longed for was pulled from my grasp.
I was going to have a baby—possibly a marked baby—and she would need me, just as I had needed my mama.
Mama. Tears continued to flow as I thought of her. I knew in an instant that I had lost 1775 for good. How would I tell her? How would I live in this path without her?
And what of Henry? I wept uncontrollably at the thought of him. But I could not explain to Dr. Aiken or Edith. They tried to console me, to drag me from the abyss, but they could not.
Finally, Dr. Aiken pulled a vial from his medical bag. I was vaguely aware of him filling a syringe. But when he stabbed the needle into my arm, the sharp pain pulled me back to the present, and I lay back upon my bed, completely spent from my tears.
“Lady Cumberland,” Dr. Aiken said, standing over me, “I do not know why this pregnancy has come as such a shock. Surely you knew it was a possibility. You’re a properly married woman, and it’s only right to produce an heir for your husband. He will be pleased when he hears of this happy news. And, in time, I know you will be pleased, as well.”
My eyes began to grow heavy as my limbs relaxed into the mattress. A warm, cloudlike feeling overcame me, and my tears stopped. It almost felt like I was floating and nothing mattered anymore.
“There, now.” Dr. Aiken put a gentle hand on my shoulder. “In a moment you’ll be asleep, and when you wake up, you’ll realize that all is well. A baby is a blessing. A true miracle from God. Each child is God’s way of telling us He wants the world to go on.” He patted my shoulder. “You’ll see. Soon, you’ll come to love this baby unlike anything you’ve ever loved before, and you’ll be willing to lay down your very life for him. I promise.”
A baby. I was having a baby.
I could no longer lift my head off my pillow as my eyelids drooped closed.
21
WILLIAMSBURG, VIRGINIA
JANUARY 24, 1775
I opened my eyes to find myself in Williamsburg. Hannah and Rebecca were asleep beside me, cuddled up close to stay warm. It was still dark outside, but I could not stay in bed. I needed to speak to Mama, to get her reassurance and help. I refused to believe that it was over—that I was without a choice. My twenty-first birthday was six months away—surely we could think of something to save me from 1915 by then.
There was no time to waste on tears or panic. I dressed in the cold room and rushed across the hall to Mama’s bedchamber.
Her door creaked as I opened it, and I found her kneeling beside her bed. She was already dressed, her white cap covering her head and her black shoes peeking out from the hem of her full gown. She was praying.
I paused, not wanting to interrupt her, but I could not wait. “Mama,” I whispered.
Lifting one hand to quiet me, she continued to pray silently.
Impatience pushed me into her room. I closed the door and then stood next to her. “Mama,” I said again, desperate to speak to her.
After a moment, she finally stood and looked at me.
“I’m sorry,” I told her as I took her hands, “but I couldn’t wait.”
“I know, Libby.” She turned my hand over and pressed our palms together.
“You know?”
“I know what you’re going to tell me.”
“How?” I hadn’t told her about Reggie’s behavior the first night he’d returned to Cumberland Hall.
She put her hand on my cheek, her face filled with sadness. It was dark, but I could still see her. “Christmas morning I knew something had happened with Reggie.” She wiped a tear from my cheek that I hadn’t even realized was there. “You’re going to have a baby, aren’t you?”
A sinking sensation filled my stomach, and all I could do was nod.
“I’ve known from the moment you told me that Mother Wells had chosen Reggie to be your husband.” Her voice was heavy when she lowered her hand as if she had no strength to hold it up. “I hoped and prayed ’twould not happen, but I had a feeling. ’Twas much the same for me.”
“But I can’t have a baby,” I told her, desperation weighing down my words. “I don’t want to stay in 1915. I want to stay here with you.”
“I know.” She stood and put some space between us. “But I also know that our hopes and dreams are not always God’s. Sometimes He has a plan that looks much different from ours.”
“But how can that be?” My voice was filled with anger and despair. “Why would He allow me to want this life when He didn’t intend for me to keep it?”
“I won’t pretend to have all the answers. God is concerned with the state of your heart more than where you live or what time you occupy. He wants to know that He has your heart, Libby. All of it. He wants to know that you trust Him no matter what happens.” She came back to me and took my hands again. “You’ve long had your path all planned out. You knew exactly what you wanted and how to go about achieving it. But just because you want something doesn’t mean God does. You are here, and in 1915, because He chose to send you. It’s not just about what you want but how you can best serve God for His purposes.”
“Are you saying I don’t have a choice?”
“You have a choice—you always have a choice. You could leave 1915 and stay here—but think of the consequences. The baby will be due after your twenty-first birthday, correct?”
I nodded.
“Then if you left 1915, your body would die and your baby along with you.” She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I cannot tell you how much I want you to stay. The thought of never seeing you again, knowing that you are alive in a time and place I will never see, tears my heart in two. But, darling, our days are never guaranteed. Our paths are never certain. I know that full well.” She looked down at our hands, her voice filled with a sadness so deep and penetrating that it made my heart clench. “I gave up the man I loved and the parents I loved to stay here with you. And though I mourned in ways that you could not imagine, I have never once regretted giving everything up for you. I would do it all again. Someday I promise you will feel the same way about your child.”
Tears flowed freely as Mama took me into her embrace and held me close.
“Mayhap there is still time,” I told her, trying to grasp onto hope. “I could still lose the baby.”
She pulled back from me. “Libby.” Her voice was hushed. “You do not want that.”
I swallowed the blackness in my soul, knowing I should not want such a thing, yet feeling desperate and afraid. I could not consciously allow my baby to die along with my 1915 body, but if something should happen to prevent the pregnancy from proceeding, I wasn’t certain I would mourn the loss.
“I promise you will love your baby,” she said, “and you will do anything within your power to protect and shelter her, to keep her safe and healthy. You will move heaven and earth to see to her well-being. And one day you will wonder how you ever lived without her—or how you will go on once she is no longer a part of your daily life.”
“Oh, Mama.” I hugged her again.
“It will be fine, my darling,” she said, running her hand over my back. “We still have some time together, and we will cherish every single moment. How many people know the day and hour of their parting? We are blessed, Libby. Blessed beyond measure.”
I did not feel blessed. I felt wretched and dejected.
But Mama’s words planted a seed of hope, small and deep. I clung to that hope, knowing that if I did not hold on tight, I would be lost in a sea of sorrow and melancholy. We still had six months until my birthday, and anything might happen.
And if I could not be spared, then Mama was right. As hard as it was to face the truth, my life was not my own. It never had been. Being in the center of God’s will was where I wanted to remain. If that meant living in 1915 and leaving Williamsburg behind for good, then I had to trust that God had a better plan.
And yet . . .
I closed my eyes as visions of Henry filled my heart and mind. It was one thing to say good-bye to Mama, for she understood completely. We would mourn each other for the rest of our lives, but at least she knew where I was going.
’Twas another thing to say good-bye to the man I loved more than the very air I breathed.
I didn’t think I could do it.
It was cold later that day as I walked out the back door to help Mariah get our midday meal on the table. The temperatures had fluctuated since Christmas, causing most of the snow to melt, but there were still piles of it in the corners of the buildings and along the pathways.
A strange sight caught my eye as soon as I closed the back door. Lieutenant Addison and Louis stood near the woodpile beside the kitchen, speaking in hushed voices. They did not notice me at first, but then James caught sight of me, and they both straightened their shoulders and nodded an acknowledgment.
I should not have cared what they were discussing, but I was not pleased to see them speaking in such a manner. Louis was our employee, and James was a guest, if an uninvited one. Were they conspiring against us?
Louis left James and walked past me, only meeting my eyes briefly as he returned to the printing room. James removed his tricorne and came toward me. His red coat and white trousers gleamed fresh and bright under the January sun. We had not spoken since Christmas Eve, though we saw each other in passing from time to time.
“Libby.” He bowed. “’Tis a pleasure to see you again.”
I glanced over my shoulder toward the printing room, unable to contain my anger. “I was not aware that you and Louis had become friends.”
James shrugged. “When you live as neighbors, you’re bound to get to know one another.”
“Yet you and I have not become friends.”
“Haven’t we?” He frowned. “I hoped we were more than acquaintances.”
“One trusts one’s friends.” I was feeling bold and mayhap a little reckless today. The knowledge of my pregnancy in 1915 made me feel impervious to any more threats.
He studied me. “You don’t trust me?”
“There are very few people I trust these days.” I started to walk away, but his words stopped me.
“Do you trust Henry Montgomery?”
I paused and looked back at him but did not respond.
“You do know he’s working against Governor Dunmore, do you not?” He took a step closer to me. “And treason is punishable by death.”
Words failed me as I realized what he was saying.
“I like you, Libby. And because I like you, I will tell you something I should not.” He looked around and then lowered his voice. “If you want Montgomery to live a long and prosperous life, you should tell him to quit his activities immediately and swear fealty to the king. ’Tis his only hope.”
I did not want to implicate Henry by asking questions, but I desperately wanted to know if Governor Dunmore was aware of his activities. How much evidence did they have against him? Was it enough to convict him of treason?
“And keep an eye on Louis,” James continued. “He has told me some bizarre things about you and your mother that are too preposterous to believe. From what I’ve gathered, I’m not the only one he’s told.”
“What has he told you?”
“’Tis not worth repeating.” His brown eyes were kind and gentle. “He believes that he and I are friends, and so he confides in me, but I suspect he would like nothing more than to run you out of business and take over your printing press.”
I swallowed the words that wanted to be spoken. Harsh, angry words. Papa had taken Louis under his wing as a child, and we had provided him with a home and a job for the last nine years.
James took another step closer to me, and I was forced to look up into his face. “He, like many others, is aware of your work in aiding the Patriots’ cause.” His voice was low as he studied me. “Believe it or not, I understand your heart, Libby. This is your home, and you want the freedom to live as you choose. I would feel the same about Cumberland Hall.” His voice was serious. “But Louis does not see things that way. You would be wise to let him go as soon as possible.”
Would Louis really try to get rid of us? I did not think him capable, but I had no reason to believe that James was lying.
“Thank you,” I said, truly grateful.
“I do hope you’ll consider me a friend, Libby.” He smiled, and I could see the genuine request in his eyes. “You are the first person I’ve met in America who has spoken to me of Whitby, and I do not want to lose that connection.”
“You’ve told me all of this because of Whitby?”
His cheeks took on a bit of color. “That, and I think you’re pretty.”
It was my turn to blush. “Thank you.”
