Grateful*
The bed was cold. Why was the bed always so cold? It was only late September, the leaves had only just begun to turn, autumn barely begun. Why, then, must the bed be cold? She listened as a fire crackled to her right, but it remained in its place. Its warmth did not reach her. No warmth would reach her. Not tonight. Not after what was said today. Not after it had confirmed her deepest, and most secret, fear.
Her fingers stretched across her abdomen.
Further into the coolness of her bed she sank, and heavily she sighed. She closed her eyes. She demanded her thoughts to leave her be, to evaporate, but they would not. Instead they multiplied in number. They grew louder. They turned through dark corners and peered into even darker places, tempting her, persuading her, giving her the opportunity to cry. An open invitation, an invitation that was hard to refuse. And as her eyes began to burn behind their lids, and as her nose began to take in more air that felt heavy in her chest, she covered her brow with her empty hand.
What if it was another girl? What if all those silly women who looked down their noses at her were right? What if Robert would never have a son...what if she would never give him a son? A boy. An heir.
Words, words, everyone's words came rushing like a torrent toward her:
"Of course, you'll have another if it isn't."
"Odd, there are always so many boys in families like ours."
"They do say the third time is luckiest."
Cora had grown adept at lying. At smiling. At saying, "Oh, but we'll be pleased should it be another girl."
But it wasn't for what she silently prayed, the words pressed she pressed between her palms at church.
A son.
An heir.
A little lord.
Letters from her mother, in attempts to reassure her only said that there was still time. Violet even, in a rare act of compassion toward Cora, mentioned how fond she was of Patrick. But Cora had heard what she meant. Patrick, the heir, should Cora fail. Should Cora fail at doing her duty.
Suddenly, the weight of every month for the last three years fell heavy on her heart. Every disappointing twenty-eight days, when she'd shake her head and Robert would only nod or smile optimistically. "In time, dear. It'll happen in time." But then that look would follow. The look that said just the opposite of the words he spoke. The look that questioned and wondered, would they get a third chance?
Now Cora wondered, should this one be another failed attempt, would they get a fourth?
Then, as quickly as her thoughts had begun to spin and weave inside her mind, they stopped.
A gentle flutter quickened beneath her hand, a tiny stirring, and she opened her eyes.
Her baby.
She felt the corners of her mouth curl at the sensation. Her little baby. The little one rolling and stretching inside of her would soon be swaddled snuggly in her arms. Its little nose would be sweet and small. Its little mouth would be pink and it would smile in its sleep. Its soft little fingers would grasp at her own, and her heart would swell. It would swell, whether it be a boy, or a little girl.
Another small movement and Cora swallowed.
"Thank you," she mouthed. Tears flooded her eyes. "Thank you," she prayed to Whoever it was who listened, to Whoever it was that allowed this little miracle to happen.
"Thank you."
Thank you to lanbans (on Tumblr) for this prompt.