About 1797: Hartfield, England
The earlier moans had died, and there was now nothing but the deafening silence as the gaunt figure lay, still and silent in her sickbed. Her husband slumped in a chair by her bedside – a picture of utter despair – as the doctor began to collect the bottles etc, which he had been so desperately using in a final attempt to save his patient.
Downstairs, a young girl sat dejectedly in an armchair as the evening sun washed over her weary face. She was gazing absentmindedly out the back window, lost in memories of a vibrant mother laughing in the gardens with her 'angel girl'. An unbidden tear rolled down her cheek as she thought of how the past few months of illness had now all but killed that joyful creature. Then, her thoughts wandered to the small toddler asleep in the nursery – now almost certain to grow up without a mother to cherish her, or even anything more than a few distant memories of a declining woman to prepare her in her future life. She could see in her mind's eye how her little sister would grow up with a terrible feeling of loss in her heart and how the strain isolation from their mother's strength would slowly crush the whole family. Overwhelmed by the bleak prospect this presented, her tears continued to flow.
Back in the sickroom, the husband slowly opened his eyes, as though hoping that when he did all the fear and pain of the last few months would turn out to have been nothing but a hideous dream. Seeing the doctor about to leave he pulled himself to his feet to thank him for "all that you have done for her and have tried to do" before sinking back into his chair and turning to face the failing woman. Alone with his wife he began to talk wildly into her ear, in a frenzied attempt to restore some life to the weary body. As a knock on the door pierced the murmurings and he cried out "enter", he glanced down at the unchanged face in despair.
Looking up as his eldest daughter nervously entered the room he was startled by the look of resignation in her face and the realisation that they were all waiting for only one outcome – the release from pain into the obliviousness of death. She came forward, hesitantly, and leaned over him to gaze into the wan face as though to imprint it forever in her mind.
As they watched, the figure in the bed sighed as if to show her utter exhaustion and complete willingness for the tortured soul to be released from the body. She then gave a small breath, and was silent.
Her daughter gave a little gulp as tears began to flood from her eyes, blurring her vision as her father bent over his wife and gently kissed the pale forehead as a last goodbye. Then, he began to usher his weeping daughter out of the room and back to her sister and their nurse, away from the chamber of illness and despair. Soon, having seen her safely to the comforting embrace of Nurse – and the distraction of her frolicsome younger sister – he returned, to judge whether or not it was time for the undertaker to be summoned.
Upon re-entering the room, he noticed that something appeared to mar the absolute silence of the room. He listened – there it was again. A small, shallow breath from the sick woman. A sign of life.
The miracle they had hoped for.