Lowering the journal from where he sat in the corner of the clinic, it was hard to not watch her over the rim of the reading glasses. Yet again, Tanya gave a wide girth around the back corner hospital bed as she went into the clinic storage room. It was the spot farthest from the house—perhaps it's how she correctly guessed that's where the hysteria treatment had occurred.
When she came out, her eyes sidled to the bed but wouldn't look at it straight on. Again she kept far from it. Then her eyes returned to the items in hand as she walked over.
"Mark, these..." She looked up and stilled. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Her shoulders squared and eyes darted away, seeming to know exactly what he referenced. "There's nothing else to talk about."
Setting down the journal, he pulled off the reading glasses. It was hard to watch her struggle with this. "You think about it every time you pass the bed. Maybe it'd be good for you to just stay home with the children today and tomorrow."
Those sad brown eyes fell to the medicine jars in her hands. Her mouth opened and then closed, as if second guessing her words. Then she looked up and spoke so softly that her voice didn't break through the silence.
Does it bother you? I don't know how to just get over it.
Standing up, he walked around the desk, set the jars down, and then took her hands. "It does bother me and I don't want to think about it, but I also know that just shoving it away isn't the same as getting past it. Neither of us will just 'get over it.' I imagine it's only natural for you wonder if I left any details out, or if she might've looked at me a certain way for a split instant, or if I had a fleeting sexual thought or instinctual reaction. The answer is no to all of it, and it's alright if you need me to reassure you of it."
Her head bowed and she swallowed hard. Slim hands tightened in his. "I know it's a legitimate 'treatment' and you did it because there were no other good options and he would've hurt her...I just...I thought that last night would help make it all go away." Holding a hand to her forehead, she looked up as her face crumpled. "I trust you, I just...there are moments when I'm angry with you and I don't understand why. I know I told you to do it, and I'd probably say the same thing again because you're a good man and try to do whatever you can to help people. But...there are moments when it feels like you weren't faithful, but I know it's not true. It makes no sense and I'm so confused." Silent tears of pain slipped down her face as her head sank to rest her forehead against his chest and she clutched firstfuls of his shirt.
Protectiveness surged. The fact that she sought comfort from him, being her source of pain—pain that she didn't even understand, made it the more important to help her through this.
His arms wrapped around to cocoon her. "I'm confused too because I feel guilty like I betrayed you. After you fell asleep last night, I just held you and wept."
Her head tilted up and eyes brimmed with concern. "Why?"
"Because I'm ashamed that I did it and that it hurt you. Tanya, there was so much guilt during the treatment that I almost left several times." Tears blurred her. "When I was wed to Anna and had to do it for that woman who had depression, it didn't bother me because it seemed so black and white. It was a last-ditch attempt because she was becoming so severely depressed and nothing else worked. And I didn't feel as strongly for Anna as I do for you. Seeing how much it's tearing you apart is so hard, but I want you to let me help you through it."
"You said beforehand that you were uncomfortable doing it. Did you feel like you had to?"
"I could've sent her away," he said quietly, but it was impossible to look her in the eye and tell a lie. "I couldn't let her go be butchered, but yet it wasn't safe for you to do it with him near. I didn't put you first, Tanya..."
She set her hands on his chest in a way that made the need to protect her be his sole purpose in life.
"But I didn't want you to not do it, Mark. You're about honor and equality and strength. I will get through this with you, but she would've been sent away for him to... You wouldn't have forgiven yourself because you're a good man. That is putting me first—to be the man who does what is right rather than easy. That's what builds my trust in you to be able to fall into a situation like this and know in my heart that you were faithful. I wouldn't have walked out of here if I didn't trust you. I just...I don't know why I'm upset." She laid her head against his chest.
"I think because it's something that we normally view as an act of intimacy and making love. It meant none of that, sweetheart. Logically, we both know there was a treatment and nothing more, but emotionally we're both still trying to work through it. I love you and only you, and I would never be unfaithful."
"I know."
"I know that you know, but it's good for you to hear me say it, my Tanya."
Patients showed up and kept her busy the rest of the day, but her eyes said that her mind wasn't completely in the room.
A few days later, there was a knock on the clinic door. Mark finished stitching up a man's arm, so she answered.
Two women, familiar from the new group of lumberyard workers who'd arrived yesterday on the train, stood there.
"May I help you?"
One woman looked embarrassed and the other glanced around and said quietly, "We were told there's a surgeon here who treats hysteria?"
Her eyebrows rose. "No, you were misinformed."
The quiet woman whispered, "Are you certain? My physician in London prescribed it for my headaches, and it actually works."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I guess you'll have to deal with headaches like the rest of us," she said sweetly, thinly veiling the sarcasm.
"Is everything alright?" Mark came to the door.
The two women looked him up and down and blushed with knowing smiles.
She threw an arm out to lean on the doorframe and block him. "Just fine. They were leaving." Stepping back into Mark and forcing him back, she slammed the door.
"What on earth? Did you just slam the door on a patient?" He blinked.
Propping her hands on her hips, she threw him a look. "I did and you'll have to fight me to get to the damn door."
His eyebrows rose. "Um, alright. What did they need?"
"Oh, they needed treatment for hysteria," she said innocently and batted her eyes. "From a big strong man."
One black eyebrow shot to the sky. "What?"
She pointed to the door. "I'm screening your calls the rest of the week, and as your business partner, I reserve the right to slam the door on whomever I see fit. Women aren't coming to whore themselves to my husband!"
Mark's eyes went straight over her head, his expression completely professional. "Come back in two weeks for the stitches to come out, Mr. Baker," he said.
The man glanced from her to Mark and back, his face bright red. "Yes, Doc. Thank you." He quickly darted out the door.
Her jaw dropped. "You could've said he was right there!"
He burst out laughing. "Sweetheart, I think anyone within fifty yards heard you." He pressed a kiss to her brow. "You can screen my calls, but do try to refrain from slamming the door and breaking someone's nose."
She batted him away. "Oh, it's funny when it's about you, but every time the blacksmith comes around the fun and games are out the window."
A scowl marred his features. "That's entirely different. He's interested in you; women are only interested in my hand." He snorted trying not to laugh on the last part.
"You're more than welcome to warm your own bed with your hand, Dr. Johnson," she spat and started cleaning up the supplies from the suturing.
"Ooh, in a bit of a mood today, Mrs. Johnson? We talked about it that I won't do any kind of hysteria treatment again. You have nothing to be jealous of, sweetheart."
"I am in a bit of a mood today, Dr. Johnson!" she snapped and snatched up the trash and yanked one out of his hand. "Perhaps I have hysteria and should be prescribed treatment before I thrash you!"
His brow snapped together, as if completely befuddled. "Is this some kind of way of telling me I should bed you?"
"No! I don't want you to touch me!" Storming over to the trash can, she hurled everything into it. "If quacks are prescribing this for any damn ailment under the sun and rumors are flying that you treat hysteria, women from everywhere are going to come crawling like spiders! I don't want you touching anyone again!"
"Whoa! Tanya, calm down. I'm not going to touch anyone. What's going on?" He set a hand on her back.
She pushed his hand off and stepped back, the anger morphing into the worry it actually was. Her hand settled on her belly. "I'm late."
All emotion dropped right off his face. Silence. And it dragged on. He turned away and ran a hand through his hair.
Swallowing hard, she walked to the house door and softly shut it from behind.
The children ran past with screams of delight and Brigands crawled out of the library on all fours with a growl. "The bear is coming!" He looked up and his face turned red. "Mistress!" The man tried to get up.
A smile took hold. "No, don't let me interrupt. The children look like they're having fun."
"Roar!" Grandfather came crawling out on all fours too.
The children laughed and ran around the kitchen table.
Teresa poked her head out of the kitchen. "Your job was to keep them out of here! I'm going to have the oven on to make bread! Oh!" Her face reddened. "I thought I'd make myself useful. Your grandparents stopped by, so your grandmama and I are starting dinner so you don't have to work and then cook."
"Thank you."
All heads turned when the clinic door opened.
"Tan— Oh. Everyone's here. Hello. Tanya, may I speak with you?"
She followed him into the empty clinic and waited until he shut the door. "There's nothing to talk about. We'll wait and see if—"
"How did this happen?! We've been using protection!" He shoved a hand through his hair again.
"And you know that's not a guarantee. You've been climbing on me two or three times a night sometimes, which I don't know how you're even physically capable of that much—"
"This can't happen!" he exclaimed in distress, as if not even listening.
"Mark, just forget about it. I shouldn't have said anything yet."
His hand dropped and he looked at her. "I don't mean to go crazy on you." He caught her hand. "I'm glad you told me because I don't want you trying to handle this on your own. I'm just worried. How late are you?" His eyes narrowed, as if trying to remember dates.
Slipping her hand free, she shook her head. "Not late enough to tell anything for certain. It's fine and probably nothing. I'll let you know when my time comes."
But his arm slipped around her waist and pulled her close. The fingertips of his other hand touched her cheek. "You aren't in this alone. If there is a babe, we'll figure out how to keep you both safe and well. If there's not, I'm going to be right here to wait it out with you."
Releasing a soft sigh, she searched his eyes. "We've been so busy and finally had time for us, and I lost track of the days. I'm nine days late."
His expression remained calm. "And you haven't had late months with weaning Della?"
She shook her head.
"Alright. If there is a babe, you'd be just past five weeks. We'll give it another week or two and then do an exam. You feel fine?"
A flush crept up.
He failed at suppressing a smile. "Besides wanting to slam doors in faces and throttle me?"
"It doesn't mean I'm with child. There are plenty of days when I simply want to throttle you."
"It's called marriage, sweetheart. Alright, let me know if you have pains or—"
"I know, I know. I'm wed to an obstetrics professor." She cocked an eyebrow.
The man brushed a kiss over her lips. "You were half the reason why I wanted to be there. We have enough patient load that I think it's best to resign at the end of the semester. Plus, I wouldn't leave my wife in a delicate condition home alone all day twice a week."
"My grandparents and Brigands and Teresa are here." She frowned.
"And lucky for you, you wed an obstetrics physician. I shall work at the clinic where I'm closer to you and the children."
"Deep breath. With the next contraction, push." Mark coached a lumberyard worker's wife through labor.
"I...can't...get two...out," the woman panted and held tight to her hand.
She bathed the woman's brow. "We'll do one twin at a time. Dr. Johnson will take care of everything."
Mark remained as calm as ever as he worked between the woman's legs. "Relax as best you can. The more tense your muscles are, the more you're fighting the contractions," he said in a soothing tone. "Here comes the head. Push!"
"Stop, stop, stop! Just wait a moment," he ordered and his hands flew struggling to do something.
Peeking over the sheet, her heart stilled. The babe was blue and Mark struggled to free the umbilical chord from the neck.
"Tanya, be ready to take the babe," he whispered and gave her a quick glance of concern. His fingers kept slipping. He grabbed the scissors and got it under the chord at the back of the tiny head. "Push as hard as you can when I tell you." He cut the chord and scrambled to get the babe out.
She took the babe in a towel as he quickly tied the chord on the mother's end.
"Tie that and clear the airway," he whispered, his hands flying to be ready to take the babe.
After tying the umbilical chord, she suctioned clear the airway. The babe didn't breathe. She leaned down to blow air into him.
"No!"
Mark's shout startled her as much as the laboring woman. He wiped his hands and then took the babe. "You don't need exposure to anything if you are with child," he whispered. "Keep her calm until she's ready to birth the twin. Check for a heartbeat." He took the babe to the far end of the room and set him on a dresser where he started chest compressions.
"Is the baby alright?" The woman tried to sit up.
She caught her by the shoulders. "He's taking care of the babe. You must rest until the other babe is ready to come in a few minutes."
"What's wrong? Why isn't he giving me my baby?!"
Grabbing the woman's hands, she held her eyes. "The chord was around the neck during birth, and Dr. Johnson is helping him recover. It's a boy."
Tears fell down the woman's face. "A boy? My Harry wanted a son. He'll be alright?"
She glanced back at Mark, who administered an injection into the heart as a desperate attempt. The babe likely wasn't going to be alright. Shoving down the tears, she turned to the woman and grabbed the stethoscope. "Are the labor pains coming yet?" A strong heartbeat from the twin.
The woman started to weep. "He's dead, isn't he? He killed him!"
She blinked at the woman's sudden outburst.
A bang against the wall.
Spinning around, her feet anchored in shock as the husband burst into the room and threw a fist into Mark's face in the middle of compressions.
Mark slammed against the far wall and shook his head, as if dazed.
"You killed our son?!" The man charged at Mark.
"No! He might still be able to be saved! Y—" she called in a panic.
The husband grabbed Mark by the throat and pinned him against the wall.
Shooting over, she took over compressions on the tiny body. "Stop! Your wife is still birthing and she and your children desperately need a surgeon! The babe came out blue already!"
"Get out! I'm sending for Price's doctor! Get out!" The large man had no trouble throwing Mark to the floor.
A tiny cry filled the air.
Everyone stilled.
The babe sucked in another breath and let out a weak cry.
Picking up the babe, she angled him downward to drain out fluid and rubbed his back as Mark had taught to stimulate respirations.
Mark climbed to his feet and held up his hands. "It's a common problem during childbirth. He'll be alright if we can make sure he's getting enough air. Your wife should deliver the next babe any minute—"
He grabbed Mark's neck collar. "You don't touch them. That woman saved him, and she brings out the next one," he hissed, pointing right at her.
Her eyebrows rose. "Sir, he did all the work, the babe was almost breathing already."
The wife let out a cry of pain.
"My wife—" Mark was silenced with a hand around the throat.
"Stop! Alright, I'll deliver the babe, but I need him to help me." She slowly stepped closer.
The man released Mark but took the babe himself.
Another cry from the woman, and she slowly backed away from the husband toward the wife. "I need you to let him help so we can help her. He doesn't have to touch anyone. Can you help me and go keep the babe warm in the other room? I can't hear this babe's heartbeat with that one crying," she said calmly. The man was a loose cannon and needed to get out of the room.
"I'll stay here and watch." The man stood near the doorway. When the babe continued to wail, he gave Mark another look in warning and left.
She got tools ready as Mark approached.
"It's not safe here," he breathed. "You need to get out."
"I'm the one keeping you from getting your head bashed in," she mouthed to him.
"Touch as little as possible to avoid catching anything," he whispered.
Thankfully the labor was fast and easy.
She wrapped the newborn girl and handed her to the mother.
Stepping out of the house minutes later, she sank onto the neighbor's porch.
"Are you alright?" Mark hurried over with his bag.
"Yes, I think it's just nerves. I'm a bit dizzy."
He snorted. "I wonder why. I thought he was going to murder us." His fingertips touched the pulse in her neck. "Your heart is beating a bit slow. Lie down." He eased her back and sat on the steps himself. "Any shortness of breath?"
She shook her head. "Nerves." She held up a shaking hand.
His hands wrapped around it and brought it to his lips for a kiss. "It's alright. Thank you for rescuing me, by the way."
A smile tugged. "You're going to have quite the black eye by morning."
He shrugged. "He's not the first husband who has punched me for seeing his wife or thinking I did something wrong. Are you feeling better? Your color is still off."
She nodded and pushed herself up. "Let's get..." Except spots monopolized everything. Mark's voice sounded so very far away. Everything went black.
Gentle jostling. A steady thud under her ear.
Her eyes fluttered open. She was in Mark's arms as he walked toward home, his heartbeat strong and steady against her cheek.
"Oh, thank God," he sighed with relief. "I couldn't find anything wrong, but I'm doing a full exam at the clinic. Do you feel alright?"
"Yes, just a bit shaky."
"I suspect it's pregnancy wreaking havoc on you, but we'll double check." He walked up the ramp to the front door of the house and turned to go to the clinic.
"No, Mark, I just need to rest—"
"My other set of clean OB tools are in the clinic. There aren't any other patients, so I'll simply check you quick there."
Once he pulled together several dividers for complete privacy, he pushed her skirts aside and laid a sheet over. But he stilled for a split instant.
"What's wrong?"
He eased onto the bed and softly palpated her belly. "Do you have any pain or odd sensation in your belly?"
"A full feeling like when with Della and Charles. Why?"
"It can be completely normal early in pregnancy. There's a little bit of pink bleeding. Either you're time is getting ready, or it's simply a light version of menses during pregnancy."
"But, I've never had pink bleeding, with or without child." She rose onto her elbows in a panic. "Is it a miscarriage?"
"Lie back and relax. Let me examine you and see if we can tell if there's any sign of pregnancy."
Taking a deep breath, she laid down. "You know that you shouldn't tell women to relax. You're either jamming something in us or we're shoving something out when you say it. A woman is going to slap you one day," she snapped.
He cracked a smile. "Alright, I'll remember that. Does it hurt when I press?"
"It's uncomfortable. Dammit, Mark, just tell me if there's a babe!"
The clinic door burst open. "Doc! There's something wrong with him! Doc!"
"I'll be right back." Mark darted out from behind the dividers.
There was a lot of banging and choking sounds. Pulling down her dress, she got up.
"Tanya!"
A man helped Mark get Theodore to the table. Something dark and awful smelling covered his shirtfront.
"Tanya, prep for volvulus," he ordered and shoved a basin at Theodore just in time for more vomiting—of feces.
Intestinal torsion. And it had a high mortality rate.
"Open a window and stand outside while I sedate him," Mark ordered seconds later. "We have to do surgery. Where exactly is the pain?"
The blacksmith pointed to his upper stomach, his body bathed in perspiration as he panted through the agony.
With a frown of confusion, she stepped outside into the cold while Mark sedated the man. She'd never had to wait outside before.
He stumbled to the door and threw out the rag. "Dear god, he's so huge that we need to let the room air out." He held the doorframe.
She slipped under his arm. "We don't need the surgeon unconscious. Come into the fresh air more."
Mark held tight and drew deep breaths. "If he starts to wake up, you put the rag on his face and leave." His legs started to firm up. Then he met her eyes. "We don't need you and any babe exposed to chloroform."
Even though it wasn't a surprise, it took a moment to sink in.
A soft smile touched his lips. "It's a bit early to tell, but your womb is slightly swollen."
"Della was supposed to have a twin. Tanya was in tears from pain because I had to hack her open, and then she nearly needed a hysterectomy after surgery for the hemorrhaging." Mark's voice traveled from the kitchen.
Rolling over in bed, she glanced at the clock. Midnight.
"She's strong and you'll look after her closely. You must stop blaming yourself for the tumor because we don't know what caused it." Brigands's voice carried in.
"That's right. This could very well be a smooth pregnancy," Grandfather answered.
She frowned. Mark had left bed to bring both of them over and announce the babe in the middle of the night? He must be quite distressed. Slipping on a shawl, she then toed on slippers to ward off the winter night chill.
"If I may, sir, I think she'll be very upset to hear after the fact that you had surgery," Brigands said.
"I agree. It's an experimental surgery that affects both of you. She isn't automatically in mortal danger because of a pregnancy." Grandfather spoke rather sternly.
She opened the door and stepped into the kitchen where they sat in nightclothes at the table with a lantern.
They all stood, but it was Mark who looked the least pleased to see her.
"Good evening, gentlemen. I see my husband has dragged everyone from their beds to announce the babe and hold a meeting."
Brigands bit back a smile at her sarcasm, Grandfather frowned, and Mark scowled.
Folding her hands, she met their gazes. "Let me sum it up so we can get to bed. This pregnancy, if that's even what it is, has yet to cause morning sickness, which I take a sign that maybe this one will go as it should; Mark needs to stop blaming himself for Della's pregnancy complications; and he will not be having any surgery. Did I miss anything?"
"You were not invited to this and will return to bed," Mark growled.
"Mm. Shall we transplant the babe into your body? Oh, we can't, so this does involve me. I can't stop you from having surgery, but I don't have to help you recover from your own idiocy or share the marriage bed ever again."
Brigands and Grandfather blushed, but approval shined in their eyes.
"Woman," Mark warned.
"Your growls do not faze me, husband. I may be smaller in size, but it is the only area in which I cannot match you. If you shall insist on this idiocy, you'll have to handle any fallout on your own." She stood there with a haughty look that dared him to challenge.
"Go to bed," he ground out.
She stepped toward Grandfather and Brigands with her hands out to usher them. "Your wives no doubt will worry if they wake up to you missing. We shall see you in the morning."
They each gave her a kiss on the cheek at the door, with knowing smiles on their lips.
"Do take him to task a bit, Granddaughter. Get these notions out of his head," he whispered.
"Oh, I intend to give him a thorough tongue lashing."
She closed the door and returned to the kitchen where Mark appeared ready to burst with anger. "Before you shout, may I remind you that it's the middle of the night and two children are sleeping?"
"Don't you act condescending!" He hissed and thrust a finger toward the floor. "Pardon me for being worried that my wife's life could be in danger!"
Rolling her eyes, she herded him toward the bedchamber. "Stop being melodramatic. I am perfectly fine. You're the one at risk for a heart attack from your nerves. Most every complication from Della was due to the tumor—"
He whirled around and planted his foot and the crutches so she couldn't push him forward. "And how do you know there won't be another tumor?! That there isn't something wrong with my seed that will cause it every time!" he roared.
For a split instant, fear clawed. There had been so much pain from surgery and then the next day so much blood had soaked the sheets before fighting unconsciousness from the blood loss, not knowing if she'd wake up again and Mark's face so white and fear stricken as he'd begged her to stay awake. And then more pain from a second emergency surgery.
Della's wail broke into the memories.
He swallowed hard, as if regretting the words. "I'm sorry, I don't want you to be afraid—"
"But secretly you do so I'll agree to the surgery." Spinning on her heel, she marched out and to the stairs.
"Dammit, Tanya, don't take the stairs," he snapped, following her out.
"I'm so angry with you that I damn well am taking the stairs to get away," she barked and started climbing.
"Mama!" Charles called.
Mark cursed.
Picking up Della, she sat on the edge of Charles's bed. "Loves, it's alright. Go back to sleep." She stroked Charles's hair and held Della against her shoulder.
"Mama boom."
It was her way of saying Mark shouted.
"I know, love. Papa was mad and didn't mean to wake you."
The dumbwaiter bell rang and Mark appeared in the doorway a moment later. He came over and sat next to her near the foot of the bed. "Do you want me to take her?" he asked quietly.
She shook her head.
An odd twinge in her belly. Mark said something to Charles. Her lower back ached. Shifting, she moved Della to the other arm.
Mark set a hand on her back.
Another moment passed and that full feeling in her belly didn't feel quite as prominent.
"Tanya? I asked if you're alright?" Mark's voice cut into the thoughts.
Something didn't feel right.
"Take Della." She gave a kiss and handed the babe over and then kissed Charles.
Mark looked confused but took Della.
The children finally fell asleep, but Tanya didn't return.
Taking the dumbwaitor downstairs didn't reveal her in the bedchamber, kitchen, or library. That left the washroom.
Soft sniffles came from insight. A feeling of dread hit. "Sweetheart? Are you alright?"
The door slowly opened. The moment she looked up with a tear stained face, the grief hit. There was no baby anymore, if there ever had been.
It took no more encouragement than holding out a hand for her to throw herself into his arms. "It's alright, my Tanya." Turning to lean against the wall for balance and set aside the crutches to hold her closer was the only thing to offer as she wept.
"It felt different like a babe. Then it suddenly felt empty," she wept against his chest.
"There wasn't a babe. If your time came this early, there couldn't have been a babe," he lied. She didn't need to know that it might be a miscarriage. The sooner a vasectomy could happen, the better for her.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Storming into the clinic at six in the morning two days later, she let the door bang against the wall.
The professor had his sleeves rolled up and scrubbed at the sink, and Mark sat up in a hospital bed with a bag of ice between his legs. Both looked up in startled surprise.
"You had better damn well not have done any chopping," she snapped and matched over. Jerking the ice from his hand and yanking up the sheet and not finding any blood calmed the anger—a fraction. Dropping the sheet, she also dropped the ice in his lap.
He yelped and snatched the ice off. "What are you doing up?" The man had the nerve to scowl.
Setting her hands on her hips, she glared. "You shut up—you've proved your idiocy." Then she spun around to the wide-eyed professor. "And you! I expect some moronic stunt like this from him, but you know better! Go!"
"Mrs. Johnson, I'm afraid only your husband has authority—"
She pointed a finger at him. "Don't you dare tell me only he can halt you because he's a man! He's clearly not of sound mind! As his next of kin, I say you're done!"
"Tanya, that's enough! You will leave!" Mark ordered.
Whirling, she snatched the ice bag from between his legs and hurled it on the floor. It burst apart, just like her heart. "No! You do not get to do this!" Tears fell. "I'm not stupid! You said my womb was swollen! I know it might be a miscarriage! You do not get to decide no more babes when I'm still bleeding from this!"
"Tanya," he said softly and reached for his pants.
The tears threatened to escalate into sobs. "No! You do not get to take blame for this and Della! You do not get to pretend you know for certain I can't have more babes!"
"You almost died several times with Della," he said quietly but didn't move to put on his pants.
He was going to have a surgery that could never be reversed.
"My job is to keep you safe, whether you like it or not," he added gently.
He was going to do it.
Bursting into gut-wrenching sobs not only over the loss but the betrayal, she hurried out.
Locking herself in the children's bedchamber and listening to their soft breathing of slumber as she wept into a pillow offered the closest possibility to solace.
Mark remained gone for a long time.
"Mama?" A little hand touched her shoulder.
Sniffling, she lifted her head from where she sat on the floor.
Charles's hair was mussed and his eyes worried. "Did you have a bad dream?" He climbed into her lap and cuddled. "I won't let the monsters get you."
It felt so good to hold him. "I argued with Papa and it made me sad," she whispered.
His head popped up with a smile. "I'll get Papa. He'll say sorry." He shot out the door in the blink of an eye.
"No, Charles!"
But the rapid patter of barefeet on the floor said he was already down the steps. "Papa! Papa!"
Della's little head arched up as she stretched and rubbed her eyes. Then she collapsed in sleep again.
Charles ran upstairs and burst in. "I can't find Papa!"
"Shhh, he's at work."
But Della rolled over in bed and whined, "Nigh-night!"
Charles darted to her bed. "Mama's crying."
"No, Charles, let her sleep."
But Della sat up and rubbed a chubby little fist to her eye. "Mama cry?"
He dropped to his knees and got her leg brace out from under the bed. Then he started trying to put it on.
"Loves, let me put it on." She got up and worked on strapping it.
"Mama cry?" Della looked up, her little brow wrinkled in concern.
"Mama's better," she said and brushed away any remaining tears. Her head pounded and eyes felt swollen, but the fib would have to be enough to placate the children.
The connecting clinic door closed downstairs.
"It's Papa!" Charles shot out, and Della wiggled out of bed and tottered after him.
A sense of dread twisted her stomach in knots. Having to face Mark would mean facing that there would never be another babe. Her hand drifted to her belly. Cruel fate had made sure she felt the cramping and pain of an empty womb at the same time Mark ensured it would never swell and fill with another kick again. If only her body could've worked right, Mark would never have done this. A wave of grief so strong hit that it was hard to breathe.
The dumbwaiter began to creek with ascent.
It was too painful to face him yet.
Getting up, she went down the stairs and out the front door.
