Preface
It started in my neck, the simple dull ache no more than that of a wasp sting. The catalyst for what then became what seemed like an eternity of charring flames licking every part of my body. Of course I had no way of knowing if the burning had lasted a day or a century, I had no concept of time. I was a child of flames, born of the fiery burn that ran through my veins.
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Diary of Margaret Brandon 4th January 1901
Such wonderful news I can barely keep my hand steady to write it down! The day began in a typical fashion, I got up with Peter and made him his breakfast. Although again this morning I was excessively tired, and retired back to bed soon after seeing Peter safely out the door. I must have fallen asleep because the peculiarity of dreams is the only thing which I could use to describe what I knew next.
Hard as I try to put my dream into writing I cannot remember a single defining feature to note down. It is strange to feel such uneasiness about something which one cannot remember, but it disturbs me greatly that I do not have even the faintest of memories about what I dreamed. Though for some reason that feeling of uneasiness extends to Peter and I wonder if my dream was somehow concerning him?
'Margaret? Margaret? Are you alright?' I was woken up by Peter, he had drawn back the curtains letting the light beam into the bedroom. I stared up at him with disbelieving eyes, surely I hadn't slept all day?
'Peter? What time is it?'
'Not yet 1 o clock, the bank gave me the afternoon off after I expressed a concern regarding your health my dear'. He smiled at me and my strange dream was all but forgotten, yet behind the smile his eyes looked worried. And no wonder! For I shocked myself as I looked in the mirror at my appearance. Dishevelled from sleep and not yet brushed, my long auburn hair hung in knots around my pale face. My green eyes had none of their usual spark and were masked by heavy bags underneath, of a deep purple colour. In truth despite my lie in it looked as if I had not slept for a week.
'Let me take you to see a doctor my love' soothed Peter. And had I not just glimpsed myself in the mirror I should have disagreed with him, but shocked into action I agreed to attend the appointment he had thought to make for me on his way home from the bank.
Later whist sitting in the surgery with Peter gripping my hand I tried for the life of me to remember the dreams which had disturbed me so greatly earlier. Alas it was no good the dream was lost to me, and I resigned myself to spend no more time dwelling in such silliness. I glanced instead over at Peter, although he tried to hide it I knew he was worried about the constant tiredness I was feeling. Peter's handsome face was wrinkled, deep in thought and I knew from his concerned expression that he was thinking about me. The sudden feeling of sickness which had come over me just before we left the house of course had done nothing to limit his unease, although had we known then what we know now such unease would have been unwarranted! Peter and I had met at an event at our local church when we were sixteen, me a regular member of the congregation and Peter having just moved into the area. And in some ways Peter remains unchanged from the day I met him, he still has the same kind blue eyes, the same mischievous grin when he's telling his latest joke. Admittedly his face has more worry lines than the day I met him, though he would still be considered by most people, and most especially by me to be a handsome man. We had married young, I was a bride of just seventeen years old. You can imagine what some people thought, the rumours that went round as to the motives behind our hurried engagement. However eight years we'd been married, eight years and not even the hint of a baby on the way – that had soon put paid to the rumours, we'd almost started to think it impossible.
'Mrs Brandon?' Called a surly looking receptionist.
'Yes that's me' I got up, letting go of Peter's hand.
'Doctor Drearson is ready to see you now, second door on the left.'
Giving Peter a reassuring smile I left the waiting room and tentatively knocked on the second door on the left, after all it is rude to enter a room without giving the person inside due notice.
'Come in' called a weary sounding voice from within.
I entered the room and greeted the doctor with a swift handshake, before sitting in a chair he directed me to in front of his desk.
'So Mrs Brandon' he started.
'Please call me Margaret' I interrupted, before apologising.
'As you wish, so Margaret what appears to be the matter?'
'Well my husband recommended I come as I have been feeling excessively tired for about a month' I explained.
'Quite right, your husband is quite right – it is best we get you check out. Have you any other symptoms at all?'
For a moment inexplicably my mind fixed itself on the troubling dreams I had been trying with no avail to remember.
'No, oh apart from a sudden feeling of sickness which came upon me shortly before setting off for the surgery today'.
The bitter taste in my mouth reminded me of this particular symptom of this mystery illness.
'In order to rule out the obvious may I ask you are you up to date with your monthly cycle?' enquired the doctor politely.
'Wha- you mean? Oh' mentally I counted back the days…wait the months, was it possible I was more than a few weeks late?
'Would you like me to fetch you a calendar?' the doctor asked kindly.
'No I erm didn't realise until now but I would guess that I'm approximately three months late.'
'Would you permit me to examine you?' said the doctor gesturing over to a couch in the fair end of the room.
As the doctor examined my stomach, I dared to hope. Eight years we had tried for a baby and I admit I'd thought it impossible. It didn't take the doctor long to confirm my suspicions and estimate that I was nearly four months gone. The rest of the appointment was simply a blur, I could barely take in anything the doctor was saying. As I walked back home with Peter I honestly don't think two more euphoric people could have been found in the whole of Mississippi.
Despite this joyous news this day has also been marked by tragedy. As we walked back through town a great crown was visible in the distance. Upon investigation we found that it was centred around Peter's bank. Apparently there had been some kind of a robbery, and although accounts were sketchy someone was rumoured to have been shot. Peter clutched at my arms for support, these were the people he worked with and more important had he not come to the doctors with me he would have been in there.
Yet as I looked around the street strewn with police cars and panicked onlookers I couldn't help but feel a most peculiar sense of déjà vu….
Diary of Margaret Brandon 10th January 1901
Today was the day of the funeral. The Bank was closed as a mark of respect and we all congregated in the church for the service. Peter was a mess, I know he feels guilty as if him being in the bank that afternoon could have in any way changed what happened.
Reggie Brown was the name of the poor soul who lost his life that day, I did not know him well. He was but a year away from retirement with a wife and grown up children. I glanced over at his widow sitting at the front of the church with two boys who must have been in their early twenties. I looked away quickly, for some reason Peter wasn't the only one feeling guilty today. I couldn't work out exactly why but that horrible sickening feeling of déjà vu that came over me at the bank disturbed me greatly. It was almost as if I was already expecting what happened at the bank, as if I had seen it happen before and then had my memory wiped.
We did not go to the gathering after the funeral, I was feeling unwell again and eager to get back home. We have not yet told people about the baby, in the wake of the bank tragedy it just hasn't seemed like the right time.
Diary of Margaret Brandon 25th March 1901
I have been feeling much better lately, I know Peter was worried before that I was going to have an uncomfortable pregnancy but I finally seem to be shaking off this awful tiredness. I also seem to be having less and less of my disturbing dreams, though I rarely remember them it is the feeling they leave me with that disturbs me most, like I know something that I should not.
Diary of Margaret Brandon 10th May 1901
My recent good health has been short lived, and I find myself confined to my bed most of the time these days. I have not the energy to write in my diary often, though it would not be an exciting read if I did – the furthest I have been from home for three weeks has been the corner shop. It appears Peter's previous worries about my difficult pregnancy were right and I spend most of the day asleep or resting.
Letter from Peter Brandon to Doctor Drearson 12th May 1901
Dear Doctor Drearson
My name is Peter Brandon and I am the husband of one of the patients in your care, Margaret Brandon. We met a few weeks ago when you came to check on the progress of the pregnancy. As you saw during your last visit my wife is not well and you told me to keep you informed about any new developments as and when they happen.
Margaret is no better since the last time you saw her, in fact she is worse she now never leaves the house. I believe she is scared since the last time she left a terrible lethargy came over her and she was almost unable to support herself and the baby.
I write to you with quite a different concern however, it is a concern which I am not entirely sure my wife is even aware of. At night when she is asleep she has the most terrible, I call them dreams for want of a better word. She thrashes about terribly and I am sure it is this which causes the awful tiredness she feels almost every day.
What concerns me most is something I saw the night before last when trying to hold Margaret back during a bout of convulsions during one of her 'dreams'. Looking down at the bump I saw that Margaret was not the only one thrashing in the night, the baby was clearly distressed and I am worried about the effect these 'dreams' may be having on the baby. Have you ever experienced anything such as this?
Hoping to hear from you soon.
Peter Brandon
Diary of Margaret Brandon 31st May 1901
I am so afraid, and I do not know why. I know this is ridiculous I am a grown woman about to have a baby, well past the age of being frightened of nightmares and monsters that lurk under the bed. But these dreams are becoming worse, however part of me knows that's not true. They have always been bad, I've just never remembered any of them before. I can only remember slight images, a large cumbersome wooden gate, heavy rain pounding off cobbled pavements, the clinking sound of keys echoing round empty corridors. There's no reason why such images should fill me with fear, but I've never been afraid of anything so much in my life as I am these three cloudy pictures.