I apologized for the excessive amount of jumping back and forth between 1921 and April 17th, 2023 that is bound to happen over the next few chapters.
June 6th, 1921
Esme's POV
Ida had quickly rushed over to the schoolhouse, with a plethora of towels and a midwife kit in tow, and found Esme trying to relax, sat up in bed as her contractions tore through her body slowly, making her whimper in pain occasionally.
"I called for the doctor to come later, and have Charlotte and Mary on their way over as well, dear," Ida comforted Esme, "You try to relax. Deep breaths. I'm going to go warm some water," she said, leaving Esme in peace for a moment. I stepped further into the room, watching my former self as she tried to relax during each contraction and let her body do what it had to.
"Charlotte and Mary?" Carlisle asked softly. I didn't take my eyes off the labouring woman.
"Two of my student's mothers. One is a nurse. Good friends," I explained quietly. He nodded and both of us turned to Esme, who shifted from sitting up with her legs out, to cross leg and leaning back on her hands, trying to ease the discomfort. Her head had fallen back, and she had closed her eyes, taking slow, deep breaths.
Ida made her way back into the tiny bedroom, sitting down by Esme, who's face was slowly turning from one of discomfort to one of moderate pain.
"Good heavens dearie, I've only been here a half hour and you've made a lot of progress. At this rate I bet you have that little one suckling by dinner time," she told Esme, who smiled the best she could through the pain of another contraction.
"Why at home?" my husband asked, his voice low and soft, but I understood his reason for asking. Hospital births were becoming the normal thing back then. Home births were becoming few and far between. I looked back at him for a moment, before turning back to the labouring me.
"The twilight sleep that was used," I told him, and then let out a heavy sigh, "Everyone was so worried about the pain that they didn't care what was done... But I did care… I didn't want my child born into the world surrounded by doctors and then taken off by these strangers…" I explained to him, "I didn't want people hushing me, restraining me, giving me medicine because of 'hysteria'," I said, rolling my eyes. To think that a woman becomes a complete cow the second she goes into labor disgusted me back then, and still did to this day even to think that it was a thing once. Labouring mothers weren't 'hysterical'; they were in pain, worried about their baby, and overwhelmed by other people in the room.
"I can understand that," Carlisle said caringly, touching my hair softly.
"I wanted something different… something special. I wanted to remember my baby's first cry, not be off in dreamland… I wanted him in my arms the moment he left my body. To feel his warmth, and that smell. I wanted him to open his eyes and see only me," I said, feeling an emotional lump forming in my throat. Carlisle held me a little tighter and pressed his lips to the top of my head.
"And I'm sure he got just that," he assured me, and I tried to smile even slightly. Carlisle and I stepped out of the room and sat down on the couch, next to little Annabelle who has come over with her grandmother. She was doodling on some paper at the coffee table.
"How long were you in labour?" Carlisle asked, as I settled into my spot and snuggled up to him.
"Only 4 hours," I told him, "It was oddly quick, especially for a first," I added. Carlisle placed a soft kiss against my hair, touching the waves absent mindedly.
I heard footsteps approaching outside, and coming through the schoolhouse, before a soft knock alerted Ida to the arrival of her helpers.
"How is she doing?" Mary asked, as Ida let the two women in. Ida sighed softly.
"She's a strong one. Hasn't said a word about pain," she told them. Mary and Charlotte followed Ida into the bedroom, leaving the door open. From where we were on the couch, we could see the head of the bed, and Ida's spot, where she had been comforting Esme through each contraction. Esme was propped up with pillows and was visibly tired from the pain.
The women exchanged pleasantries with Esme, talking about how they were so thankful for Esme's teaching, and that she had turned their boys' grades right around. Esme smiled at the compliments of her skill and Charlotte changed the subject.
"So have you decided on a name yet?" she asked, and all the women looked at her, hopeful. She smiled softly but shook her head.
"It'll come the moment I lay eyes on him," she said. Then Mary chimed in.
"You think it's a boy?" she asked, and Esme nodded confidently, touching her stomach softly.
"I still think it's a girl. You've put so much weight on your hips since you first came here," Ida said, tapping Esme's leg.
OoO
We sat there on the couch for the full four hours as Esme's labour progressed. I had pressed myself closer not my husband's side, curling into a ball with my feet up on the couch, when the cries of pain from pushing filled the air behind the half-closed door.
Charlotte had taken little Annabelle home to make her dinner and keep her little ears away from the sound. Ida was at the receiving end of the whole situation, while Mary coached Esme through each push.
My husband held me, tensely, likely trying his hardest to ignore every urge that told him to go into the room and help. My hold on him was most likely the only thing keeping him on the couch with me.
"Come on darling, one last time," Ida said, and there was silence for a moment, followed by the only agonizing cry of pain and defeat that had graced the air all afternoon. Mary wiped Esme's face with a cloth when she collapsed back against her, eyes closed. There was a long pause of silence.
Then the sharp, piercing cry of the baby.
Carlisle held me tightly as the baby cried in the other room. I wanted so badly to cry myself. The healthy cry of my baby had been one that echoed only in my memories. I couldn't hold it in, and I let the pain in my chest find its way up into my throat and out, and I started to cry. A moment I once thought I would never see again, except in my memory, was happening in front of me. Carlisle embraced me completely as I cried. I could hear his murmurs, loving, sweet things as he attempted to calm me. The emotion of being here again and seeing my son being born was almost as emotional as it had been when I had him myself.
I sat there and cried until long after the baby had settled, the room had been cleaned, and Mary had left for the evening, leaving Esme with Ida.
Ida was now in the kitchen, making a meal for Esme, and Carlisle held my hand as I shakily stood from my spot on the couch and slowly walked into the bedroom.
Esme was relaxed in bed, partially propped up on pillows with the baby on her bare chest. Both were peaceful; the baby asleep, and Esme resting her eyes.
I was hesitant to move closer but felt my husbands hand touch my back softly.
"It's ok," her whispered quietly with encouragement. I swallowed hard and stood closer to the bed, resting an arm on the headboard. The sight of the child was making me shake slightly. Carlisle was still right there with me, never taking his hand off the small of my back. I choked back a sob, a happy one, almost out of instinct to not wake the child. My heart was aching, but so full of joy to see him again.
"Oh my god," I choked out, barely audible, "I..I almost forgot…how tiny he was," I said, looking back at my husband, who wrapped his arms around me, resting his chin on my shoulder. He stroked the back of my hand that was twined together with his.
"He's just a beautiful as your painting," he said softly in my ear. I bit my bottom lip trying to hold myself together.
I reached my hand out and ghosted my index finger carefully on the child's cheek. The lack of physical touch saddened me.
"I wish I could just touch him," I sighed, leaning back against Carlisle.
"I know love…" he said, sadness in his own voice, "I wish you could too,"
We stood there together for several long minutes, just watching the peaceful babe on his mother's chest. Moments later, he stirred and whimpered, getting his mothers attention. Esme opened her eyes and rubbed the infants back softly, trying to calm him again.
"It's ok love," she hushed the child. It only took a few seconds and then he settled, falling back asleep.
"Those first few hours... were heaven," I said sadly, knowing what was coming after this. It was just after supper hour, and before the summer sky was would fall dark, the wheezing would start. I turned in my husband's arms, hiding my face in his chest. His arms held me tightly, his free hand cradling my head.
"I know it hurts love," he whispered to me sadly.
OoO
Carlisle's POV (yes a change of view for once)
We stayed in that room the entire two days. Time passed in an agonizing way.
It was June 8th now.
I had heard the first signs of the fever before the doctor even arrived that evening. Esme had stayed in my arms as I held her tightly, trying to keep myself together. It was so much harder to see this than it was to hear from her. She was already falling to pieces, and if I lost my composure, I wasn't sure if either of us would be ok.
To watch the elderly man deliver the news to the new mother that her baby wouldn't survive, and watch every ounce of light drain from her eyes; it was more heartbreaking than anything I had seen in my own career. The kind old man was caring though and gave Esme as much comfort and advice as he could in his short time there. To keep the child as comfortable and calm for as long as possible. And enjoy every second. She could only nod tearfully as the man exited somberly and Ida came in, offering comfort and condolences to the weeping woman that cradled the sick little child in her arms.
She asked Ida politely to leave her be for a while and the older woman nodded, leaving the room.
Esme was sitting on the edge of the bed, cradling her child in a loose blanket. She hadn't slept in two days, trying desperately to get the ailing baby to drink, and cool off, as he had gotten a fever that had only increased as the lung fever to over his body, making the wheezing heavier, and his little coughs harder.
His time was running short. Tear were running down her cheeks, but no sobs escaped her lips. She had been whispering loving things to her son, her voice keeping him calm. He let out a feeble cry of discomfort, breathing heavily. Esme hushed him softly, and then she did something I had never heard my wife do.
She started singing a lullaby.
"Lay down your head and I'll sing you a lullaby
Back to the years of loo-li lai-lay
And I'll sing you to sleep and I'll sing you tomorrow
Bless you with love for the road that you go"
Esme began softly singing along with the ghost of herself, her voice just as beautiful, with the same sadness in her tone.
"May you sail far to the far fields of fortune
With diamonds and pearls at your head and your feet
And may you need never to banish misfortune
May you find kindness in all that you meet"
"May there always be angels to watch over you
To guide you each step of the way
To guard you and keep you safe from all harm
Loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay"
I held my wife in my arms, pressing my cheek to the top of her head, my eyes unable to move from the enchanting yet sad sight before me.
"May you bring love and may you bring happiness
Be loved in return to the end of your days"
"Now fall off to sleep, I'm not meaning to keep you
I'll just sit for a while and sing loo-li, lai-lay"
"It's ok," Esme said softly to her child, her finger brushing gently over her son's cheek as his breath slowly down to almost nothing. She could barely choke out the last verse, tears streaming down her cheeks, the pain in her voice was breaking my own heart.
"May there always be angels to watch over you
To guide you each step of the way
To guard you and keep you safe from all harm
Loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay, loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay"
Before she finished, the child was gone. His heavy breaths had ceased, his chest no longer rose. She cried, her head falling to kiss the tiny baby's forehead, and her tears falling on the child's cheek.
She sat there and cried until Ida had let herself back into the room, finding the poor girl clutching her baby to her chest, agony in her eyes, sadness, grief. The old woman sat with her, holding her in an embrace of comfort, of consolation.
I turned my attention to my wife when she let a soft sob escape her own lips. I held her tighter than I already was.
"It's ok love," I whispered close to her ear. I didn't know what else I could say. I couldn't say it wasn't real, because it was; it had happened. "He's at peace with God," I said, offering her even the slightest comfort. She bit her lip in pain and nodded.
"Yeah… you're right," she said quietly, and turned in my arms. Her sad eyes met mine, "Let's go back,".
I nodded as she lifted our hands and held the pendant between us. She took on last glance at the scene around us before looking down and turning us back to our own time…
OoO
April 17th, 2023
We were back, standing in the sad, abandoned bedroom in the present.
The first thing Esme did was unwrap her hand from the chain, leaving it to dangle half wrapped around my own. She threw both arms around my neck, pulling me down to her level, and buried her face in the crook of my neck. I embraced her fully as her fingers clutched my hair.
"You're ok," I whispered to her. Her body was shaking slightly.
"Why did I come here?" she sobbed sadly into my shoulder. I could tell how deeply the pain of watching one of the worst moments of her life had affected her.
"We can go home, sweetheart," I told her softly, knowing it was likely that she was done with this trip. She was still for a moment, but then shook her head softly, and lifting it from my shoulder. She wiped her eyes of phantom tears; a human habit she had never abandoned.
"I wanna go see my baby," she whispered. My arms were still around her loosely as I leaned in and pressed my lips to her forehead, keeping them there for a moment.
"Ok," I whispered softly, taking my hand in hers as we left the old building.
I tucked the little necklace safely in my own pocket as I took Esme to the car and got her settled before going back to lock the school and placing the key and plaque back in their places
When I climbed into the driver's seat, Esme was relaxed in her seat, eyes closed, just taking a moment to herself. Buckled myself in, started the car, and turned us around, heading back down the road. I reached over and gently took one of Esme's hands in mine. She opened her eyes and looked over at me, giving me a sad smile, but stayed silent.
I took us south bound further down Sanborn Ave, in the direction of Mount Hope and Saint Agnes cemetery. The highway that ran through the middle of the two cemeteries had a turn off in both directions that let you drive in between the rectangular blocks of graves. Esme sat up slightly as we drove slowly through the area, and I turned the car into St. Agnes and drove towards the back, where the older plots were.
I pulled up beside a row of older headstones that were made of cement and covered in dirt or moss. The years had taken their toll on them. I parked and shut the car off, unbuckling and climbing out. Esme followed slowly, climbing out and rounding the car to take my hand in hers. We somberly crossed the grass across the space between the headstones and end of the graves.
I remembered where the grave was from the first time Esme had brought me here, just around a decade after her change. It had also been the last time we were here. We hadn't lived on this side of the U.S. since Emmett joined the family when we were living in Tennessee in the 30's.
The little grave was about halfway down the row. We came to a stop at the foot of it. The cement cross was weathered, the etching was filled with dirt, and moss was crawling up where the base met the ground. It was leaning slightly to the side. It was a sad sight, but it fit in with all the other headstones around it.
Esme knelt down in the grass at the foot of the grave, her fingers running through the new spring grass that was coming up. She was quiet for a moment, before reaching out and touching the headstone.
"Hi baby," she said softly, sweetly, but sadness in her voice. I crouched down and rested a hand on her back gently. She brushed the dirt off the words.
Joseph Henry
06/06/1921 – 06/08/1921
That was all it said. Esme had told me years ago that she had not put a last name, not feeling right to put her ex-husbands last name, or her fake last name on the stone, and unable to reveal her real last name to these people who had no idea who she really was.
"I'm sorry it's been so long," she told him, "Things have been…crazy,".
I smiled softly, rubbing slowly circles on her back. She sighed heavily and leaned back on one of my knees.
"I wish he wasn't here of all places. I really don't care for coming to Ashland," she said to me, "I wish I could just have him with me all the time,".
I looked down at the grave again, a thought coming to my mind.
"Well… I was going to ask if you'd like to get a new headstone made," I began and she looked up at me curiously, "But here's a thought…." I paused for a moment, "If you'd like to…we could get the paperwork to…exhume what's left…and cremate it," I suggested. She looked back down at the grave. "We could put him in an urn, or a necklace for you,".
Esme was quiet. I was unsure if she was contemplating the ideas or ignoring me. After a few minutes she looked back up at me.
"I'd like that," she said softly as I tucked a strand of hair away from her face, "To take him with us. He's been here so long by himself," she added. I nodded.
"Ok…we can look into it when we get home," I assured her with a light kiss to her hair.
