My heel feels like it's on fire. Well, I shouldn't be kicking it against the edge of the chair but I can't stay still. My cup of warm soup rests in my hands but I don't drink it. I feel sick again.
Ilse's words still haunt me and I can still hear her screaming and can still feel her cold tears on my dress. When I came home this evening, I cooked some beef soup on the grate fire and drank it to steady my nerves but regret it now, as I feel it may come back up at any moment. Melchior is still working, he'll be home when it's dark.
I never thought that Ilse's last conversation with Moritz was so… painful. She believes that it's all her fault and although I know it's not, I can see why she would think that. I wonder what it would be like if it was me and Melchior instead of her and Moritz and the thought of Melchior dying, me believing that it was my fault, it's too much and I break down in the sobs that I have been sitting in all day.
Melchior couldn't ever die. He's so full of life, too smart, too kind to the world. He means too much to me for me to let him ever die. No. He will never die.
I sit here, thinking these thoughts that I almost spill my soup when Melchior opens the door and walks into the room, taking off his coat as he does so. He stops when he looks at me.
"Wendla, what's wrong?" he asks, coming over kneeling on the floor by my chair. He takes a piece of cloth out of his pocket and hands it to me and I wipe my eyes gratefully. "Did something happen at the shop?"
I nod. "Ilse" I sob "She told me about her last conversation with Moritz."
Melchior's face stays still but I feel him stiffen. "She talked to him?"
"Yes" I say. "And she thinks she killed him."
Melchior stands up suddenly, looking horrified. "She killed him?" he exclaims.
"No, no!" cry, standing up and putting both hands on his face. "No. Please calm down, Melchi."
He takes a few deep breaths and then looks reasonably at peace. "Tell me what happened."
I walk over and sit him down on the bed and tell him everything. About Ilse's distance, about how Moritz acted, about their argument, about everything. At the end of it, Melchior looks shocked.
"So, she thinks that she killed him because she got angry?" Melchior asks and I nod. "But that's ridiculous! Moritz was in a bad place and no matter how much anyone tried to talk to him, he wouldn't leave!"
"I know." I say, my hands on my lap. I don't know what to do. This is a side of Melchior that I had never seen before. He was always so calm, or a tidal wave of emotions but never like this. He's pacing around the room, his hands in his face, occasionally ripping his hands through his hair. "Melchior, please sit down." I say, standing up to grab his hand.
"No!" he shouts, pulling away. I stand back, shocked.
"What's the matter with you?" I cry.
"I just!... I just…" Melchior's energy seems to have drained out and he comes back to the bed, burying his head in his hands. After a moment, he looks up and his face is apologetic. "Come here." He says holding his hand out and I take it, sitting next to him as we were just a few minutes ago. "I'm so sorry, Wendla." He whispers, burying his face in his hands. "It's just that… Oh Wendla, how did we get to this?" He raises his head and the tears from his eyes are falling steadily. "How? Moritz dead, Ilse believing that it's her fault, you with child. How?"
I have to be the strong one now that Melchior is crying. The only time I ever saw him cry like this was in the hayloft, before we did what we did.
"Melchi, listen." I say, lifting his head up and holding it between my hands. "This life, as complicated and ugly as it may be, is ours and it's our job to make it more beautiful. Think of – oh!"
I stop, clutching my stomach. Melchi stops and watches it too. I feel this strange fluttering in it, like butterflies are inside me.
"Melchi, Melchi, something's moving." I say, grabbing his hand, the other one stroking my stomach.
I look up at him worriedly but am confused to see that he is smiling, a large smile, one that reaches his eyes and makes them twinkle.
"Wendla, that's the child!" He says laughing a bit. "That's the child!"
I look down at my stomach, then back at him. "Why is it moving?"
Melchi laughs again. "It's meant to move!"
"Oh, wow." I look down again and put my hand over the part where I feel it. And then again, against my hand, a squirming feeling against my palm. I look up again at Melchior. "I want you to feel it." I say, picking up his hand and putting it on my abdomen. A little line appears across his forehead as he concentrates and disappears as quickly as it came.
"I feel it!" He whispers, looking at me. "I can feel our child, Wendla."
I smile and stroke his cheek. "You see? There might still be some hope for our lives. Our child is our hope."
