Chapter 4 – Threnody, Part 2
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Warning: The preceding story talks a little graphically about childbirth and the birth of a stillborn child. If you cannot mentally or emotionally handle this subject – PLEASE, do not read further. It is in no way meant to be offensive to anyone.
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My life closed twice before its close;
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
A third event to me,
So huge, so hopeless to conceive,
As these that twice befell.
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.
- Emily Dickinson (1830-86)
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Tuesday, April 30th, 1982, The Eve of Beltane
"I love you, Bev." Those had been the last words Roderick Fitzgerald Keating had said to his beloved wife, the mother of their two little boys, before a gray-haired Midwife had shepherded him out of the operating room. Rick had reluctantly let go of his wife's bloodstained hand as he whispered those words into her ear. Had she heard him?
They were an ocean away from home. The International Association for the Rights of Magical Beings had organized a gala dinner to honor Rick and his colleagues for their legal work advocating for the property rights of sentient and corporal beings. The association's planning committee had decided on London for the awards ceremony to accommodate their keynote speaker, Chiron, a venerable centaur, who would not set one hoof off the British Isles.
They should have followed the centaur's example and never left the continent, Rick thought. Or he should have attended the dinner alone. But Bev had seized upon the opportunity as a chance to view the new installation of Sofonisba Anguissola's portraits at the British Museum. And Rick had to admit that he wanted his incredibly witty and beautiful wife to accompany him on what promised to a bore fest. Most of all, Rick couldn't sleep comfortably without her lying next to him. The absence of her soft skin touching his as they slept made overnight business trips unbearable. Over the years, Rick had become adept at long distance Apparition so he could go home after grueling day abroad. Besides, Bev had argued, the law firm was covering all the expenses. Why waste the chance to travel first-class on a Muggle airplane, since she couldn't very well Apparate while pregnant? And Bev had teasingly added, 'I know how you love those honey roasted peanuts.' Her mischievous smile melted any reservations he had. So, the Keatings had decided to make a romantic getaway of it. Rick's mother volunteered to watch their rambunctious boys.
The day after the banquet, they spent the day visiting the places Bev had traversed during her wild Bohemian college days. They dined on fish and chips on the grassy lawn of Hyde Park watching the preparations for Beltaine. Bev her head back to remind Rick of the time his pants had caught on fire from his attempt to jump a bonfire, when they had been dating. Rick's mouth gaped in horror. He dropped the greasy food onto the checkered picnic blanket.
Blood had started to trickle out of Bev's right nostril. Suddenly, she clutched her chest. Her lovely face was contorted in an expression of anguish. He caught her before she fell down onto the hard ground. Then her water broke. "NO!" she screamed in pain. "NO! It's too soon." "Rick," she moaned his name, "It's too soon." It was the last thing she said before losing consciousness.
Rick started to pace around the waiting room. It was painted in the same shade of lime-green as the robes worn by the hospital staff of St. Mungo's. From the dingy window he could see the first rays of sunlight dawning.
A solemn faced witch approached him.
"Mr. Keating," she said.
"Yes," he acknowledged immediately. "How is my wife? The baby?"
"Please, have a seat Mr. Keating," she gestured at one of the many ugly puce colored chairs. He read her name off the tag above the hospital's emblem of a wand crossed with a bone, Healer Thalia Moreau. She sat down across from him.
"Oh, Merlin," he said running his hands over his face. It was never a good thing when people asked you to sit down as a prelude to delivering bad news. "Bev," he said.
"Your wife is in recovery," Moreau informed him.
He breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness. And the baby?" he asked anxiously.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Keating. Your wife suffered a severe type of preeclampsia. There was too much damage to the placenta and the baby … did not survive. If it's any consolation to you, sir, she didn't suffer."
Rick's heart contract painfully. Tears streamed down his face. "A girl," he said dumbly. They had been hoping for a daughter. "Can I see my wife now? D-does she know?"
"Yes," Moreau answered. Rick followed the tall blonde down the silent hallway to his wife's room.
The lights had been dimmed. Beverly was holding a tiny bundle in her arms wrapped in white cloth like a shroud. He sat down on the bed beside her. He kissed her on the temple and the top of baby's head.
"I want to name her Sara Phoebe," she told him with a weak smile. "What do you think?"
"Sounds beautiful," he replied. Sara was the name of Bev's mother, whom he had never met. Sara Rothschild had committed suicide a month after the murder of her eldest daughter, Phoebe.
Beverly had dealt with so much tragedy. She knew all too well the cruelties of life. It was what allowed her to love unconditionally and appreciate all the good things.
"Sara Phoebe Keating," he said.
She knew he thought it morbid of her to give their daughter such a name. It was more than a memorial to her mother and sister, it was her faith that their baby would join them in the Next World. This was goodbye, but not the end of the journey.
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Author's Note: Much gratitude to Lady Alexandra, my second Reviewer and I'll of course Dayz-n-Passions-luvr will always be my first. Your reviews keep me writing.
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