He was often away early and home late. Weekends were precious, and so were late nights when he was awake. It pained me that in seventeen years it would all end, the he would die, then so would I, but not our son.
Yes, we knew our fates. I worried about Edwards's opinion on our sons 'death'. He thought our son would die along with us, Edward believed a person was alive if they had a soul. He didn't believe they had souls. I disagreed with him heavily; our son would always have one, even in his years of darkness, he would be different. And when he returned, even if he waited sixty years, he would still be special- above the rest.
He had to be. If this girl that we knew was to live, he would be different.
However there was a problem. Edward knew he would have a son, he just didn't know he had one.
I did.
Although he was only a couple of weeks old and growing in my still flat stomach, I needed to tell my husband. I stepped into the lounge and there he was, asleep. I walked over to him.
"Edward. Edward please wake up." I said gently tugging at my husband's shoulder. He gave a light snort before shifting. "Edward." I half moaned. Still no response.
He had fallen asleep on the chaise longue after work again, the book collapsed on the carpet. I couldn't help but sigh again as I bent over and picked it up.
He was reading Mark Twain again.
He was his favourite author. Edward would often quote him; such as one time when he had said: 'A baby is an inestimable blessing and bother'.
He didn't understand though, not really. He'd never even come into contact with children. I had an elder brother, and Edward was an only child, so how was he supposed to how often they cried or cried or....pooped. I giggled out loud.
I shouldn't have even thought of the word as I placed the book and a side table. Throughout my childhood and early and mid teens I was taught that I shouldn't think of such rude words that babies involved.
I shouldn't have thought of it, but I did anyway. Still staring at his book, I struggled to recapture my courage, unsure how to say to him the thought had occupied my mind all morning.
"What are you thinking about?" Edwards's soft voice came from behind me. I started slightly, the courage that had evaded me suddenly came into sharp focus.
"Nothing of consequence, why?" I turned and saw him smiling crookedly at me. His arm thrown up and behind his head, looking as casual as a student of law could.
"You were smiling and laughing." I sat down next to him and ran my fingers through his light brown hair. I smiled at him, and he grinned wider. I took a deep breath and let it out in a rush.
"I want to talk to you." He tensed; his usually warm eyes froze, expecting the worst.
"What is it?" He said, saying each word carefully.
"Can we talk in our room; I'd rather say it there." I was being picky, but I enjoyed making him confused.
He stared at my ambiguity, completely baffled. I laughed and pulled him of the seat and up the stairs.
"Elizabeth..." He gasped, and I laughed at him.
I dragged him into our room and he kissed me, trying to silence my laughs. I tried to concentrate, but my mind slipped out of focus when he did anything more intimate than a hug. "What's going on?" He said breathlessly. I paused for a moment, I knew this news would be bittersweet, we would have a son, I would survive the childbirth, but we would be separated permanently in 1918. I tried as hard as I could to make it what it should be, a light-hearted event.
I walked casually over to the window, stopping a meter away from the glass itself.
"You're going to need to buy strawberries, lavender and freesia."
"I'm going to need to buy them? You pulled me up to our room to tell me we need that? Get Emily to buy them. Why do you want them anyway?" He asked, eyebrows raised.
"The flowers are our favourite, you know that. The roses are dying." I said turning back to him, feigning innocence.
"What about strawberries?" I could tell his sometimes thin patience was stretching from his flat voice, so I dropped a heavy hint.
"I know they're not in season anymore, but I just really have a craving for them." I motioned towards my stomach, trying heavily to get the message across.
I don't know if my husband was just having an off day, he was usually shaper than broken glass, but he still looked as confused as he had downstairs. Maybe he was still sleepy.
"Elizabeth, do you have any idea how silly this is? You made me believe you had something important to tell me and you're asking me to find flowers and fruits which are out of season? For God's sake, it's the beginning of October!" He said hilariously exasperated.
"I really want them." I put as much emphasis on the 'really' as possible.
"Well, I really want a holiday, and with the clients that's never going to happen!" His hands were flying all over the place in his frustration. His voice broke slightly on the idea of a holiday that he couldn't have. "I'm sorry, but why did you bring me up here for that?"
I gave up, he just wasn't getting it.
"Edward I'm pregnant."
"WHAT!" He detonated, it wasn't scary- he never threatened my safety in any way- his reaction was rather funny. His eyes rolled into the back of his head slightly, as if he were about to lose consciousness. I struggled to keep a straight face. "What happened to tact?! Elizabeth-"
"I thought I was giving you a rather heavy hint. I have a craving for strawberries."
"What about the flowers?" His face was flushed red, and he looked so lost. His voice cracked several times in the sentence.
"We do actually need them." I looked at his expression and heaved a sigh. "Edward stop stewing."
"I do not stew."
"Of course you do. It runs in your family. Remember your father when Anthony fell in the wedding cake?" I smiled at the stupidest moment of my brother's. "Calm down."
He seemed to listen to me and he took a deep breath. The news sank in fully this time, and his face turned into sad smile.
There was a long pause of silence.
"A boy?" He asked simply, quietly.
"Most likely." I replied, just as silent. Edward blinked and moved slowly towards the bed, like an old man. I sat next to him and intertwined our fingers. "Are you afraid?" I stroked his hair with my other hand.
"For my life? No." He looked my straight in the eye. I adored his eyes; they couldn't be described as one colour. They were blue, with flecks of orange, gray and green staining the iris. They were full of misery, agony and fear. "I don't want you to die; I don't want him to freeze. I want more for him than a life of..." He paused, obviously knowing that our son's heart would stop, but did that mean his life would as well? What defined a living being?
"He won't always be frozen. Over a hundred years from now, she'll find him."
"I know."
"Let's give him the best we can. So when it's over, he'll be the best he can be, and he'll remember us. Forever." He gave a sad laugh and shook his head.
"How can you be so brave?"
"Well, 'Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear - not absence of fear.' As your revered Mark Twain once said. I'm terrified, but he won't know, he can't ever know." I said, urging him to understand with my emerald eyes, the ones he claimed to adore as much as my love for his. He tilted his head.
"Your right, again. I do wonder about you sometimes." He gave a bright crooked smile at me, no fear or apprehension in them. I smiled back; glad the fear was gone, or suppressed. I replied, trying to lift the mood more.
"It's called mother's intuition honey."