Surprise, readers.

Bet you thought you'd seen the last of me.

OOO

It had been two weeks with no word from Dickon.

Mary refused to be alarmed. Nothing was amiss. She was sure of it. She'd know if something had happened to him. Well, at least she assumed she would. Wasn't that how it was with people in love? Couldn't they just sense the other person? Wasn't it like in Jane Eyre where Jane and Rochester's minds could hear each other across the world? Yes, everything was fine.

But Mary remembered when he'd been sent to the hospital. Surely, she'd had no inclining of knowing about that before it happened.

Dickon is fine. He's fine. I know he's fine.

But truly, she did not.

On the other hand, the latest news was that a truce was to be signed within the next week. The war was going to be over! Mary could scarcely believe it herself. It had seemed it would never end. So Dickon should be home within the week. Yes, he probably hadn't written because he was on his way home. It was as simple as that. Nothing was amiss.

Mary felt a lurch in her abdomen and jerked forward in her chair. The child. Oh yes, the child was certainly making itself known. She'd been sick every morning this past week. Dear Sophie was very helpful with all that, and said nothing of pregnancy. Of course, Mary was certain Sophie knew Mary's secret. There weren't many explanations as to why Mary would be sick every morning. That, or Sophie thought Mary greatly abused alcohol.

Whatever the maid's suspicions, she seemed to have said nothing to the staff. It was a nice comfort to know she could trust Sophie at least. It seemed trustworthy staff was hard to come by.

Mary's greatest fear was telling someone, but she knew she must. She was nearly three months pregnant, and she probably should've gone to see the doctor by now. But Mary didn't feel brave enough for all that. She didn't feel old enough for all that. Mary was far too young to have a child. Mary was far too unmarried to have a child.

She wished Dickon would write back.

She wished Dickon would come back.

OOO

"Mary!"

Mary tried a smile, "Hello, Martha."

Mary had never been to Martha's home, and found it to be a very cozy spot. It was small, which was not a surprise, yet felt filled to the brim with some wonderful, warm feeling. Martha led Mary inside to a rather sizeable seating area where a bright fire blazed before them. From behind the wall, Martha's husband Andrew appeared. He greeted her cordially, but seemed to have the slightest bit of shock about him. Perhaps he worried his household would appall her. If so, he couldn't be more wrong. Mary couldn't imagine a sweeter home.

"Where is baby Henry?" Mary asked as she took a seat.

Martha sighed, "He's actually visitin' with his grandmum, miss. So sorry. If you come over tomorra-"

"No," Mary raised a hand. "I actually needed to speak to you."

Martha blinked, "Oh. Of course, miss." She took a seat opposite her, then sat up as if her seat had caught a flame. "So sorry, miss. Where are my manners? Would tha like some tea or…"

"No," Mary breathed again. "I'm fine. I just want to talk."

"All right," Martha lowered herself back down, eyeing Mary inquisitively. Mary could not blame her. This whole thing was odd. Mary had turned back for Misslethwaite nearly a dozen times of her way her. Mary could not bear it. She was not brave. Mary was never brave. But Martha would understand. Mary hoped. And if Martha couldn't understand, she would still help. Mary hoped.

Andrew had left them alone, and nothing filled the air now but the occasional crackle of fire. It was rather warm in the little cottage. Mary was feeling her face flushing. Well, perhaps it wasn't entirely the fire's fault.

Martha cleared her throat, "You had somethin' to say, miss."

"Yes," Mary could scarcely breathe. Why was it so ungodly hot? "Yes. I…have you had news of Dickon?"

Martha shook her head, "No, miss." Martha looked somehow relieved at Mary's question. Did Martha suspect the truth? "None at all. I thought maybe tha had."

"No," Mary breathed. "Actually, I had something else I needed to tell you."

"Yes, miss?"

Martha's large brown eyes looked at her expectantly. Oh, Mary could not tell her. She could not tell her. Martha looked at her admirably. It was such a nice way that Martha looked at her. Mary knew the moment she said anything that that look would crumble. That nice look would be gone forever.

You have to tell someone.

"Martha," Mary cleared her throat. "I seem to be…Well, I am…I'm…I'm going to…have a baby."

Mary felt like crying. Was it strange for her to cry? Nevertheless, the tears appeared and threatened to reveal themselves. Mary couldn't look at Martha. She couldn't watch as that nice, calming air left. She could not.

Martha spoke, "I see." She hesitated, "Am I right to assume it's Dickon's?"

Mary nodded, feeling this awful feeling spread inside of her. Mary couldn't live for the shame of it. Then, she felt ever worse for being shamed at all.

Martha nodded, "All right. We'll go off to see a midwife."

Mary blinked, "What?" Martha just nodded, this very strong focus coming over her.

"She's verra good and she doesn't talk," Martha continued. "She'll help you. Tha must try to hide it until Dickon returns and wed him as soon as he does. Hopefully, no one counts the months too closely and all will be well."

"Oh," Mary swallowed. "Good, all right." Of all the things she'd been expecting, this was not one of them. She'd been expecting yelling. Or screaming. Or silence. Not a plan. "Thank you, Martha."

Martha met her eyes, "I'm still not entirely sure what to say about all this, Mary." She said. Mary nodded; here's what she'd been expecting. "It's a dangerous business, but I guess I am glad tha didn' do anythin' too rash." Mary nodded, taking a breath.

It had popped into her mind. Another wave of shame hit her as she remembered that. It would be so easy. Many people could get rid of the baby. She heard of it before. Just whispers, but Mary was certain more people did it than would admit. But Mary couldn't bring herself to that. There was this part of her that kept thinking of Dickon. Her lovely Dickon off in war. Mary kept thinking that if something were to happen to Dickon, their child was all she had.

Martha cleared her throat, "And, if somethin' has happened to Dickon…if he does not come back. Tha'll still need to be married to save thee from scandal."

Mary nodded. She'd thought of that too. In fact, she'd already picked someone out. Now Mary did not wish to drag someone else into this business, but if she needed to, she did have a plan. Mary's heart yearned only for Dickon. He was the only man she wanted to marry. He was the only man she'd happily spend every night with for the rest of her days. But if something had happened…if Dickon were gone…Mary knew she'd have to wed another man. Mary could only think of one other man who'd help her. Only one other person who she knew would always help her.

And Colin would be a good husband, she assumed. It would get him out of mourning at least.

Two unhappy souls bound together forever, Mary thought of herself and Colin.

Yes, I'd suppose we'd do just nicely in a marriage.