The first few days after pass in a new but easily assumed pattern. I rise early in the morning and attend to the livestock. When I return sweaty and tired, Cosima is up with Rose. And porridge is waiting for me in a bowl. I eat very little the first couple days. I find that the experience has entirely muted my appetite. I will hold Rose, but find I am quick to hand her back to Cosima. I find my sleep is disturbed, and while I feel little guilt, the images are reluctant to leave my mind. I will have to live with it, I resolve again and again.
"Cosima…"
"We have to eat." Cosima points out, putting a spoon into my hand. She's noticed, and she is insistent at trying to feed me. I still wonder if I will be discovered. If I will be jailed or put to death for what I've done. Or if my story will be accepted without investigation.
"What… What should we do about Rose?" I ask her. And it has been weighing on my mind. We cannot stay here, it is too remote. What about when Rose needs schooling? What about access to a doctor? Or supplies? Two widows living this remotely seems far too dangerous to my mind. And I cannot see an easy solution in front of us.
"What about her?" Cosima asks, looking at Rose who is wiggling, increasingly agitated, on a blanket on the floor. She begins to make whining sounds. And I know what Rose wants is her mother.
"We cannot stay here." I tell Cosima plainly.
"I don't want to either but…" Cosima looks at the fussing baby. "How?"
"It was hard to get here with her the first time. Yes. I understand that." I begin to think it through. If we wait until late spring or early summer, we'll be afforded good weather for the trip. We would take only minimal livestock and the cart, Cosima's belongings and Rose. We could make it to Saint John to take the train back. But then… where would we go?
"I don't want to stay." Cosima tells me, as she finally scoops up Rose and adjusts her garments, opening her blouse to feed her.
"So… we find a way to leave." I sigh. "You have the cart, two ponies - one is Henrietta - she can pull the cart?"
"Yes." Cosima nods. "It's what convinced Charlie to keep her. She is trained for that as well."
"We tether Vida to the back of the cart and bring her with us… We … sell off the rest of the livestock. We… take only minimal belongings. We… return home." I offer. Where is home? The townships? Somewhere else? Does it matter as long as we leave here?
"I could send a telegram, try to stop the sale of the house in the townships." Cosima throws out the idea. "It… it hadn't sold as of the last letter."
I hum, wondering if I could return to that house with Cosima. Even temporarily. Or if a part of me would always worry that any sound in the home would be Charlie returning. Even knowing what I do for certain. There was a chance, of course, that the farm there had sold. And Cosima simply hadn't received the news yet. But that would increase our resources, at least... I assume it would.
"I think…You should write a letter. We will… we will have to go into town. You can send a telegram at the same time."
"Tomorrow? Or today?" Cosima looks to me, and I understand that we will both have to go. I know how to hitch and drive a cart, if I must. But it isn't something I have done often.
"We… We can go today. I just need a couple hours." I agree. I will have much to do I think. It will take a good two hours to get to town, and with Cosima and Rose along, I better prepare as well as I can for the journey to run long on both ends.
I return to the work, the flock of sheep is fed, and so I leave them largely to their own devices in the pasture. I feed the horses and chickens. I find the cart, and begin setting up. Henrietta, and the other pony are easily located. As are their harnesses. And I am pleased, I find, that Cosima's pony was brought with them. It will make it easier. We must stop the sale of the other farm, I think. But selling this one could also prove difficult. Who would want to buy something so remote?
I find myself so consumed in hitching Henrietta and the gray pony to the cart that I do not notice the sound of another cart approaching. At least not at first.
"Who are you?"
I look up to find a bearded man with a cart carrying a very large and uncomfortable looking goat. He looks over at me in surprise, I note quickly he is carrying his rifle, and the goat. But not much else.
I decide to answer as quickly as possible. "I am a friend of Cosima's. Euh… Mrs. Morgan's. She wrote me a letter and when she said Charlie was sick, I came. He was dead when I arrived three days ago. I buried him, near the back of the property." I point vaguely, and hope that this man does not decide to investigate.
"Charlie Morgan is dead?" The man stands in the cart, his hands drop to his sides.
"When did you last see him?" I need to know, and I have to hope that it has been weeks. That he will believe Charlie was sick.
"Three weeks back!" The man shakes his head. "He was ill?" He takes off his hat. His hair is dark, streaked with gray. And he reminds me oddly of some of my own relatives.
"I'm sorry. Yes, he had a horrible fever according to Cosima, and he died. My name is Delphine Cormier. I'm staying with Cosima to help her…as long as she needs me."
"And Mrs. Morgan? How is she?"
"Cosima and the baby are well. They're resting." I respond. "Rose didn't get sick, Cosima neither. So… we are lucky in that respect. I think it was... some kind of meningitis that killed him. But... even Cosima, who tended him for weeks, isn't sure."
"Are you… her sister?" The man tries to place me and I shake my head. A strange assumption indeed. And yet, I dropped everything to come here to Cosima. Perhaps he can only assume we are family. As if blood is the only thing that can bind two women together.
"I was… her friend. They lived in the Eastern Townships before… I am… widowed myself." I offer, and note the man's face falling. He pities me. Pities both of us. But maybe pity is exactly what is needed.
"I am sorry, I should introduce myself. I am Thomas Landry. I live the next farm over… a morning's drive away. I… I was supposed to sell Charlie this goat. My wife told me to hurry up and deliver the goat before she has her kids. I think… I think there will be at least two." He glances back at the goat. The goat seems properly miserable, and I cannot blame her. The goat bleats as if on cue, and continues chewing on some straw.
"I do not think we will be needing the goat." I tell Thomas Landry. "Cosima's child is growing well enough on her mother's milk. And… she… as you will understand, is distraught at the loss of her husband. I am going to help her return to her family. And then I will return to my own." It is as good a story as any, one that they can accept. One more palatable to them than the truth.
"Do you have children Mrs. Cormier?" Mr. Landry shakes his head, imagining it. "A child without a father is a tragedy… One you may know well. I suppose. I have six children. And… I do not wish to imagine them growing up without me."
"None living." I answer simply, and sure enough, Mr. Landry leaves, taking his goat with him. Pity will follow us, I think. But better pity than suspicion.
I take Cosima into town that afternoon, I drive the cart and she holds Rose tightly in her arms. I bring enough food and water for both of us, and we take several stops to rest, to attend to Rose, and to steel ourselves for this endeavour. I wonder if I could take the cart to sell off some of the chickens in town. Perhaps, I will have to make several trips without Cosima as we prepare to leave. Surely someone would buy the chickens off of me. That could help us.
We arrive in town, and I see the palpable relief on Cosima's face as we see people. The remoteness of this home doesn't suit my beloved. And soon, soon I will take her out of it. We make our way to the telegraph office first. Cosima puts Rose into my hands, and I hold her, humming under my breath. The child is recently fed, and settles well enough into my arms. I find myself thinking that it seems like Rose likes my voice. The thought makes me smile, just a little. But I must maintain our fiction. I paste a suitable sympathetic expression on my face, and play the part.
They don't know who she is. I note, as Cosima introduces herself to the clerk. She sends three messages. One to Charlie's friends in the Eastern Townships. One to her in-laws in the United States and one to her own parents. The news must be sent, I think. It is necessary to inform them of Charlie's death. It is necessary for us to move forward in any direction.
I nod at her, it is important she is thorough. And she is. We deliver our letters to the post office, I send one to Joseph and Marguerite, though I am unsure of how they will take things. Or if they would even be willing to receive me back into their home after all that has transpired since. Joseph had said nothing of Cosima and I, though I am certain he heard what I said. But perhaps, he doesn't understand it either. And maybe, no one ever will. Maybe, that is another advantage.
Our final stop is the bank. Rose loses patience with being separated from her mother, and I have to turn her small body in my arms to face outward so she can look at Cosima. She can just hold up her own head, but she is strong. Her arms and legs waving, a smile forming on her face when Cosima turns to face us. I see Cosima try not to smile back, she must be solemn. But my love is not a good actor. She manages to be blunt and solemn, but does not seem saddened by the loss at all.
Cosima makes her way through the process, announcing that Charlie had died early that week and been buried at home, announcing her intention to list the farm for sale immediately. Checking the balance of Charlie's accounts. It is unfamiliar to her, I note. Cosima is guided through the process by the clerk. And I understand, she has never done this before. Never owned anything. As a widow, she has this odd privilege. One I recall, though François had left me almost nothing to speak of financially.
"You are aware the farm is mortgaged?" The clerk tries to ensure Cosima understands. "You do not own it outright, the bank does, Mr. Morgan made payments."
"We... we do not own it in its entirety." Cosima responds after a few attempts to educate her. "I... I will still need to sell it."
I stand back with Rose, I have nothing I can help her with here. But our agreed on story is recited, three more times in quick succession. And it is believed, I note. Cosima seems to be accepted by others as being in shock. I wonder if Cosima would act more distraught if I asked her to. But I suspect she would argue she was never particularly attached to her husband during his life.
"Mrs. Morgan?" Cosima turns to the name and finds herself being consoled by another bank clerk. Who was kind to her. They all are, Cosima's uncertainty here plays well, I think. The unfamiliarity. They will believe it, I think. They must believe it.
"Yes?"
"I am so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Morgan. Will you be returning home?"
"Yes." Cosima nods. "I will be taking my daughter and returning home. Before the snow comes again."
"Sooner." I tell Cosima. I won't let us linger here too long. The sooner we can leave, the better. In case someone decides the death must be investigated. But so far, they accept our word, and the letter Cosima sent to me is shown as well. It detailed Charlie having been sick. And that it seems is enough, at least for a stranger no one yet knew well.
"Where is home, Mrs. Morgan?"
"The United States. Philadelphia." Cosima responds after a brief silence. That would be what is expected of Cosima, I remind myself. And it is an option that remains open to her. At least, I assume her parents would take her back if she asked.
"Will your father or brothers be coming to help you?"
"No. I … I don't think so."
"I'll be taking her to Sherbrooke. She can take the train home from there." I invent things quickly. It could be true, I reason. Cosima could choose to return to her parents. Or her in-laws.
We leave easily enough, there is an undertaker, but we do not go there. There's no point. Cosima briefly goes to the church, to inform them Charlie died at home and was buried there. But a burial on your own land doesn't seem so unusual with a farm so far from town. They largely accept it. The death is recorded on the church register, and Cosima finds that an acceptable proof. One that can be referred to again.
It is nearly evening when we return to the farm, and we are all exhausted. We collapse into bed, the three of us, and sleep soundly. I wake in a panic several times during the night. Once to find Rose snuggled up between us. But perhaps this is my new normal. The guilt will subside. I tell myself. The killing was necessary. And I must live with it.
Cosima sleeps peacefully, I note, stirring only once or twice to feed Rose in the hours I lay awake in her bed. She will carry none of this, I decide. None of this will be Cosima's burden. I will make sure.
The nine days after pass in a haze. The farm is listed for sale, and Cosima and I wait at the remote farm. We maintain it, for now, but it is too much for me to maintain alone. I cannot tend the sheep all day. The sheepdogs respond to whistle commands, ones I do not know well. And that too, is a challenge.
There is money, Cosima had told me on the way home from town. Enough for train fare for both of us, and likely shipping the horses as well - back to Sherbrooke. But there isn't enough to buy a small house in town. Nor is there enough to do much with without selling at least one of the farms. But this one is not worth as much as the first.
Cosima pulls out a paper and pen and we run the numbers, the farm here has been listed to sell as quickly as possible. The mortgage notwithstanding, there was some value in it. And I think, if we throw in the sheep, maybe some of the equipment into the sale… As well as Charlie's workhorse, we may make a little more money to be getting on with.
"It's enough." I tell Cosima one slow evening. "We… we will make do." I know we await a letter, or some other news. I wonder if we should simply begin packing. If I should take Cosima and Rose away, slowly making our way back. We could live at the Morgan farm, even temporarily. We could try to find a new home elsewhere, if that was best.
"I do not think..." Cosima begins. "I do not think anyone will guess what we are to each other."
I sit with that thought in silence briefly. "I... I think you are right."
Cosima nods at me, and changes Rose's soiled diaper and garments. She wipes her off, and I glance over, admiring the small rolls that have formed on the baby's arms and thighs. Cosima has done well, I think.
We bathe Rose together, in warm water and then we quickly dry her off. I do find that I feel love for Rose, that it comes easily, even if she is not my child. And perhaps… perhaps that can be enough.
Cosima fastens up another diaper and dresses Rose in clean garments. A gown and a knit sweater, little booties on her tiny feet. Things the child will outgrow in a matter of weeks at this rate.
"She looks perfect." I tell Cosima, a hand to her back. "She is growing beautifully."
"I… I try my best. I feed her, I keep her cleaned up more or less." Cosima shrugs off my praise. "She… she was almost all I had left." I hear her voice break just a little, the life she didn't want to lose, was her stolen moments with me. But Rose... Rose did not come from me. But she is Cosima's. I think. And that, that is enough to endear her to Cosima, and to me.
"She isn't. You have me." I tell her plainly. I clean up that night and go up to bed. I throw on a nightgown and settle myself for sleep. I lay in bed next to Cosima as she leans over and rocks Rose in her cradle, her berceau . I listen to her singing, the words of the lullabies growing increasingly familiar to me. They seem to work better on me than Rose, who insists on being fed to sleep. As my own babies had. I find myself bone-tired at the end of most days, and I could easily fall asleep listening to Cosima sing.
I let my eyes close, not quite knowing what comes next. The baby sleeps, and Cosima collapses next to me in the bed. Maybe it will get easier, the longer Charlie lies buried in the ground. Maybe the memories will taunt me less. Cosima, for her part, despite exhaustion has accepted it.
"Delphine?" My lover's voice rings out in the darkness. A question, one that I must figure out an answer to.
"Yes?" I open my eyes and sit up to find Cosima looking at me. Looking at me like she used to.
In response, Cosima reaches for me in bed and I do not resist. I let Cosima bring our mouths together. I let her undress my body. The thin cotton of my nightgown is removed. And she removes her own. Her body is soft against me, and I cling excitedly to her. I don't remember the last time we were skin on skin like this, able to press this closely.
"Delphine…" Cosima murmurs to me again, and I let her have me. And she is eager, I find. Her mouth to my neck, to my breasts, to my sex. My exhaustion slips away from me, replaced by something else. I cry out, clinging to Cosima's dark hair as her mouth coaxes pleasure from my body. I climax and settle under her. And she enters me with her fingers, and I find I am content to let Cosima have whatever she wants. I muffle my sounds with my own wrist in my mouth. I will not wake Rose, I think. I cannot wake Rose.
"I missed you." Cosima breathes into my ear. And I smile.
"I have you. But... I missed you as well." I nuzzle her nose with mine, and decide to try. But to be as gentle as I can. I do not expect much. Not now. Rose is barely four months old.
"I think… I think I can have you." Cosima tells me after moving her body up against mine. Her breasts are heavy, and her belly still rounded but I find I am just as enthralled as ever.
"I will try." I tell her, and I bring my hand to touch her. I intend to touch her only gently, but find she is aroused. She can take me in, she wraps her arms around me. She rubs herself against me, and I take her over the edge in minutes. It is wrong I think, I should have pleasured her first. Should have offered to use my mouth. To be as gentle and thorough as possible. But Cosima has no such criticisms. She is delighted with me. And I her.
Cosima moans, her fingers digging in sharply to my skin. Then she stills.
"Ma colombe." I call to her, waiting for Cosima to settle after orgasm. Waiting to see what will be looking back at me.
Cosima only leans in to clutch me to her body closer. "I love you."
"Je t'aime." I respond in kind, laying soft kisses against her cheek. Her ear. But I can feel our fatigue doubled as it returns after.
We will figure out a future, I muse sleepily, as I fall asleep in Cosima's arms.