Elizabeth Meyette (25 page)

“Emily, are you well?” she asked.

“Joanna, I believe — ,” Emily began, interrupted by a steady flow of fluid that covered the ground and her slippers. “Oh my,” she whispered and looked at Joanna. The women began to laugh, and Emily’s eyes released tears of joy mixed with pain and fear. Joanna’s arm went around her and supported Emily’s weight.

“We must get you inside,” she insisted. Emily winced as a stronger contraction wrapped around her abdomen.

“Yes,” she managed to whisper.

As the women entered the manor, Joanna called out for Dulcie who appeared as they made their way up the curving staircase.

“Dulcie, it is Miss Emily’s time. Send someone for Dr. Anderson and get fresh water and linens quickly,” Joanna instructed. Dulcie sped to the back of the manor to get the necessary items.

Entering Emily’s room, Joanna helped her to bed, removed her saturated slippers and stockings and began to remove her frock.

“He is not here, Joanna,” Emily whispered against the tightness in her throat. “Jonathon promised he would be here when our child was born.”

“Emily, it may not be possible for him to be here. He is in grave danger right now, and to come to Brentwood Manor would surely mean his death.”

Emily closed her eyes blocking the threatening tears; the thought of her husband not at her side at such a time was unbearable. The thought of his death, insufferable. Her heart was torn between wanting Jonathon here and wanting him safe.

“I do not think I can do this alone, Joanna. I am so afraid,” Emily said.

Joanna eyes were soft and compassionate. She brushed damp curls off of her sister-in-law’s forehead and gently patted her shoulder.

“I know I am a poor substitute, Emily, but I will remain with you every minute,” Joanna said softly.

Emily smiled her gratitude and then her face contorted as a powerful contraction went through her. She gripped Joanna’s hand until the pain subsided and then released her hold. She smiled apologetically.

“I am sorry, Joanna, I did not intend to hurt you, but that pain was so severe,” Emily laughed. Joanna nodded sympathetically.

Emily’s labor continued throughout the morning, and she welcomed Joanna’s ministrations as she wiped Emily’s face and neck with wet cloths that were as cool as the summer heat would allow. Resting between contractions, Emily felt emotions that ran the gamut of excitement at the birth of her baby to despair at the absence of Jonathon. Afternoon brought suffocating temperatures and humidity, and Emily often felt faint and nauseous suffering with the heat and the pain. She vacillated between sitting, pacing and lying down, sometimes too weak to get up from the bed.

Dr. Anderson arrived in the early evening and checked Emily thoroughly, pronouncing her labor normal and reassuring them that with the exception of the August weather, everything else was suitable. The evening provided a slight breeze, but insufficient to offer effective relief of the heat and humidity. Exhaustion, intensified by the weather, threatened to overcome Emily as she strained with each contraction, almost unable to comprehend what was occurring within her body. She tried to mute the groans of agony that escaped her mouth, concerned that they would disturb the others, but Joanna held her hand and encouraged her to vocalize any discomfort that she felt. As promised, Joanna had remained beside her throughout the day, leaving the care of Will to Dulcie and her daughter. Emily’s thoughts constantly were of Jonathon, wishing he could have held true to his promise to be with her, trying to understand why he could not be. All she understood in some moments was a tremendous agony accompanied by the feeling that her body was being rent in two.

“I am breaking in half! I am breaking in half!” she screamed.

Dr. Anderson examined her once again and nodded at Joanna.

Suddenly there was a commotion in the hall, and the door swung open. A British soldier clad in his brilliant scarlet uniform entered the room where Emily was writhing on the bed, overcome with pain. All motion stopped as if captured by an artist’s brush. Emily looked across the room unable to comprehend the bizarre scene. Descending from the strongest contraction she had yet experienced, she blinked attempting to understand.

“Michael?” she whispered.

Michael Dennings stood in the doorway aghast, staring at the vision before him. Recovering his composure, he stepped aside. Jonathon rushed into the room toward Emily, scooping her into his arms and burying his face in her neck.

“My love, my love,” he murmured over and over against her throat.

“Jonathon, oh, Jonathon, you came as you promised,” she laughed and cried simultaneously. “Oh, oh, my God, my God,” she then cried out. Clutching her belly, she half sat up, unable even to cry out. Dr. Anderson moved immediately to her side.

“You both had best leave,” he said. Michael needed no further encouragement, and hastened out.

“I shall stay,” Jonathon said.

“That is highly unusual,” Dr. Anderson replied.

“I shall stay,” Jonathon insisted.

Emily interrupted their brief discussion with a long, low moan. Again Dr. Anderson checked her and saw the baby’s head crowning.

“The baby is coming now, Emily,” he said softly, looking reassuringly into her eyes. “It is time.”

Emily’s eyes focused within, her entire being absorbed in the enduring human activity of participating in new life. She felt her body instinctively respond, all systems, organs, functions concentrated on this one goal: birth. Pushing, she felt the baby move lower, sundering her body, a life force beyond her control. And suddenly release, a wet, flopping sound and a hearty wail announcing the arrival of the newest Brentwood. She saw Dr. Anderson take the baby and tie the umbilical cord, attending to the remainder of the birthing process. Joanna took the infant and gently washed and swaddled the baby. Hovering like a mother hen, Jonathon beamed as befits a first-time father. He returned to Emily’s side.

“Emily, Emily, we have daughter. A beautiful daughter,” he smiled through his tears.

Joanna handed the baby to Emily. Feeling her tears of relief and joy spill over, Emily beheld her daughter, so petite, so perfect. She kissed her forehead and tucked a finger within the infant’s tiny grip. Slowly guiding the child, she held her against her breast. The baby looked up at her, rooted, and found the nipple, latching on with a healthy sucking. Emily’s eyes met Jonathon’s and the depth of love she felt for him shocked her in its profoundness.

“Grace,” she said. “We shall call her Grace.”

• • •

British soldiers surrounded Brentwood Manor lounging in the shade of oaks or walking into the cool of the woods. At last they had captured their quarry, but many were puzzled at their captain’s generosity in bringing him to his home before returning him to Norfolk. Captain Dennings was a fair and effective officer who had won the respect of his men, so they did not question his orders; they merely complied. This arrest would bring them honors, for they had been one of two contingents sent on a specific mission to capture Jonathon Brentwood. Why not enjoy his food and the comfort of his home before traveling the road again? It was with this self-assurance they relaxed attempting to exert as little energy as possible in the sweltering heat. They would billet here tonight and travel to Norfolk in the morning.

• • •

Jonathon and Michael sat in the parlor smoking celebratory cigars. Exhausted after the delivery, Emily was upstairs sleeping peacefully, Grace in the cradle beside her bed. When Jonathon had exited the bedroom, he brought Grace for Michael’s inspection, and then Michael escorted him downstairs.

“She is a beautiful baby, Jonathon,” Michael said, blowing smoke rings above his head.

“She is indeed.” Jonathon’s grin covered his face. He took a deep pull on the cigar. “Thank you, Michael. This is twice your kindness has touched my family. You did not have to allow me to return for Grace’s birth.”

Michael stared into the smoke that surrounded him. His youthful face had changed since Jonathon had met him in London and disrupted his marriage proposal to Emily, a proposal she had refused in order to sail to Virginia with Jonathon.

“You still love her, do you not, Michael?”

He did not answer. The men continued to smoke in silence, the only sound the ticking of the clock.

“I have to return you to Norfolk, Jonathon,” Michael said.

“Yes, I know.”

“It is not because … ” he began.

“No, I know that, Michael. We are at war now; it is your duty. You are an honorable man,” Jonathon said.

Silence enveloped them as each man reflected on his situation.

• • •

Subtle shades of dawn fell across the bed where Emily and Jonathon lay entwined in each other’s arms. Stillness suffused the house, and a slight breeze stirred the curtains as Jonathon sleepily nuzzled Emily’s neck eliciting a contented sigh. Both were exhausted from a night spent quieting Grace who seemed to awaken just as they were falling asleep. Emily had nursed her several times after which Jonathon would walk the floor gently bouncing her in attempt to quiet her crying. At first wary of holding such a tiny, frail being, Jonathon had barely moved while Grace was in his arms. Smiling, Emily then showed him how to prop her in his arms and support her head. He had never felt so clumsy in his life as he did the first time he held his daughter, but a smile spread across his face as he looked down at her tucked against his chest. Now she slept soundly as the two of them awakened.

Emily snuggled into Jonathon burrowing into his arms. He held her closely as he came awake realizing that these would be their last moments together. He closed his eyes and breathed the scent of her hair burying his face in it. Stroking her skin, silken and radiant in the early light of dawn, he committed every curve of her body, every inch of her face, to memory. A lump rose in his throat at the thought of never seeing his wife and daughter again, and he closed his eyes against the tears that filled them. He could not make this more difficult for Emily; he had to remain strong.

Sensing her eyes on him, Jonathon looked down and saw her gazing at him. His breath caught at her beauty, violet eyes shining with unshed tears, tawny hair spread out like a halo across the pillow. Seeing one tear escape and roll down her cheek, he brushed it away with his fingertips. He kissed her forehead and drew her near.

“I love you Em, never doubt that.”

“I know, Jonathon. To my very core, I know,” she whispered.

“I must leave today.”

She nodded against his chest, shuddering with her sobs. He felt her tears, wet against his skin, and he fought back his own. Running his hands along her back, he kissed the top of her head, and then tilting her face to his, kissed her deeply. They clung to each another as if trying to absorb every part into themselves.

“We have been parted too often, Love,” he said, stroking her hair. Determination surged through him. “I will find a way to return to you. I swear to God, I will find a way.” His voice was strong; her eyes looked at him, hopeful.

“I believe you will, Jonathon.”

He heard a soft rapping on the door.

“Captain Brentwood, we will ride in an hour,” Michael Dennings’s voice was quiet.

“Yes, Captain Dennings,” Jonathon replied.

A sob escaped Emily’s lips, and she buried her face in his chest.

“Oh, Jonathon, how can I let you leave?”

He held her as she cried, his own tears finally releasing to join hers. Sitting up, he cradled her in his lap and stroked her back, kissing her shoulder. His heart felt as though a knife had been plunged into it and twisted. No amount of British torture would compare with the agony he felt as he held his wife for the last time.

Slowly he slid Emily onto the bed and rose. Stepping to the cradle, he stared down at Grace who slept peacefully, and he ached at the realization that he would never know his own daughter. He placed his hand on her tiny back and she whimpered.

“Do not cry, Grace. Your father loves you.” His voice felt strangled as he spoke through the tightness in his throat. Her swaddled shape shimmered through his tears, which dropped onto her blanket.

“Oh, Jonathon.” Emily’s strangled voice carried all the anguish he felt. She rose from the bed and stood beside him as together they gazed at Grace. How had he attained all a man could dream of only to lose it so quickly? Had he been captured before he had ever known Emily, he would have suffered, yes, but now to lose his beloved wife and daughter? This was beyond any enduring, beyond any torture.

Slowly, he began to dress pulling on his breeches and linen shirt. He drew up his stockings and donned his shoes, each movement heavy and slow, like slogging through mud. Emily watched him from the bed, silent tears running down her cheeks. He had no words of comfort for her; he had no promise he could make.

“I will return to say good-bye,” he said, brushing away her tears and kissing her eyes. He turned and walked out their bedroom door.

• • •

Andrew leaned his arm against the window sill staring out at the scarlet jackets moving about on the lawn below. He felt helpless, unable to stop them from taking Jonathon to Norfolk. They had confiscated all of the firearms upon their arrival, so there were no weapons with which to fight. He slapped the frame of the window in frustration. What kind of man was he to stand here and do nothing? Riding for help was impossible as well since they had stationed men at the stables. David had traveled to Williamsburg for a gathering of the Virginia leaders to discuss their plan of action against the British now that all-out war was ahead. He was not expected back for a week or more. They were stranded.

He paced the room trying to find a solution, but nothing came. He had grown close to Jonathon, admiring him even before they left London over two years earlier. Jonathon had allowed him to work the ship alongside his crewmen, teaching him the ways of sailing with patience and good humor. And Jonathon had saved his life when he fell into the sea during a great storm, diving into the roiling waves not thinking of his own safety. Certainly Andrew had returned the favor when he aided Jonathon after escaping the British in Norfolk, probably saving his brother-in-law’s life as well. And now, here Jonathon was again, captured and preparing for departure for Norfolk and a British prison. Exasperated, Andrew grabbed a pewter mug and threw it across the room, slamming it against the hearth.