Margaret Harville had never considered herself a philosopher, or great observer of human nature. Ever practical, with feet planted firmly on the ground she had not much time to spare for those whose lofty thoughts kept company amongst the clouds. But it struck her, as she sat with her husband, her almost brother and their dear friend in the front parlor of her small home that here, before God, sat the three forms of love belonging to Men.
The words of her childhood Vicar whispered through memory, to the forefront of her mind-
Love comes naturally to mankind. It begins from our birth, where we are immersed in the love of the family unit. The Greeks called this love Storge. From this environment we build connections to those closest to us in likeness, we learn what our place in society is and we begin to understand the world into which we have been born. This is a love of belonging, taking only the circumstances of your birth as the requirement for membership. It is the lifelong connection shared between parents and siblings which even old age or death cannot dispel.
Then, as we grow and establish friendships with our peers, our experiences of love change. It is as much determined by our interests, as it is by our acts of loyalty to others. Philia love is perhaps the most commendable love of Man as it requires consciousness. We choose who our friends are and to whom our loyalty belongs. Philia is self-sacrificing, celebrating in acts of bravery or loyalty that results in the happiness of others.
Following this is the most dangerous type of love known to Mankind. Eros. The love established by the mutual attraction between a man and woman. Dangerous, but not to be confused with lust. I do not stand here this morning to preach to you about the temptations of the flesh and fornication outside of the laws of God. When we speak of Eros we refer to the instinctual, the primal drive within man to find his mate and cleave to her. Eros is the will of God. However, its danger lies in the cleaving for it requires the forsaking of all ties to make this new connection. It is the greatest risk, equally susceptible to both lifelong reward or heartache.
But none of these, none at all, compare to the love that God holds for his children. Agape is God's love… all-consuming, unconditional love…
Eschewing the traditional carriage, the three friends, Mr Fairchild and Dr _, chose to lead the funeral procession on foot. Margaret and the children (another break from tradition) and the Dr's wife rode in a hired chaise behind dear Fanny's funeral carriage to her final resting place. It was difficult for Margaret to entrust the wellbeing of her husband and James to that of their friend. Despite needing to look to the children and being great with child herself, her need to observe and ensure the wellbeing of John stabbed greatly at her conscience. It was too soon to walk such a distance after his injury, even with the help of a cane. She could feel Fanny scoffing at her as the chaise rolled toward the church yard. Of all their acquaintances, John had had no greater friend than Frederick Wentworth. His support of both John and James in their time of need was steadfast and unwavering. There was a doctor less than three feet away from him. The churchyard was a short walk into town. She shook her head. Tucking a child under each of her wings, Margaret prepared herself for the final farewell.
Some unknown faces appeared at the entrance to the church yard, drawn like many by natural curiosity to see who was being laid to rest; however, upon seeing the small and unassuming group they quickly left. Who were they to know the paragon whose flame had been snuffed out too soon was being laid to rest today? How were they to know that as the church bell tolled, untold sailors paused in their duties to offer a quick but heartfelt prayer that God would treat that incredible Miss Harville with the same care and compassion that she had shown to them in their hour of need?
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The sound of murmurs and movement below and the subsequent closing of the front door roused James from his ruminations. Relief and shame flooded him. He knew that it was Frederick and John leaving for their daily walk to the cobb. As per the Doctor's orders, John had been exercising his wounded leg with the hope of being able to become strong enough to move around without the support of the cane. It was a lofty goal. Flinching, an echo of Fanny's voice shot through him like a white-hot iron, when had that ever deterred John from doing anything?
Thirteen days had passed since he had laid his beloved to rest. He had survived through twelve of them by sleeping while others were awake, waking while others slept and the loving embrace of drink. He had endured the kindly enquiries of his friends. Would he care for a walk? Would he join them for a cup of tea? An ale at the tavern? He could not stand their care or concern. He could not look at John without flinching. It is not that he and Fanny had looked at all alike, but the association still bit at him. Then the hurt look on John's face at his rejection bit again. He was sure Fanny would hate him for his behavior and yet he could not break free of this cycle of resentment and shame. This was not who he was. He didn't know who he was anymore. He was abrupt. Rude. Belligerent. He could not care and yet hated himself too. He felt like a stray dog, angry at everyone and wild with fear. And to make matters worse, there was Frederick. A steadfast and true friend, Frederick would pin him down with a measured look and then lead his friend away. Why couldn't he yell at him? Rail at him for his ingratitude? He knew that Frederick had loved and lost, why couldn't he be more like him?
Things had come to a head yesterday. He had been drinking, poring over Fanny's copy of Byron. Mumbling the words to himself as though they could curse him into non-existence, when his friend had appeared at the door. He knew not what for, as soon as he saw his face he bellowed, "begone!" and marched over to slam the door in his host's face. He had not returned to his chair before his door swung off its hinges and he turned to see Margaret storming towards him, her hair a frizzy halo and her eyes burning. Marching on him until he was forced back into his chair, she grabbed him by the shirt front and shook him.
"Enough, James Benwick!" Her shrill voice filled the room. "Enough! You think we don't see what you're doing? Enough! You can't shut us out like this any longer. I know you're hurting but so are we! I know you love her, we love her too." She grabbed at her heart and cried, " I have a permanent hole, right here in my heart where Fanny lived but is now gone. We will never be whole again. But you!" she shoved at his shoulder, "You live here," and she moved her fist a little over to the center of her chest, "and the longer this carries on, the more- the more", she broke down in sobs, falling at his knee.
James looked down at Margaret, astounded by the outburst of emotion from his friend. Shame flooded his cheeks but he could not find his voice. He watched, frozen, as John moved into the room and coaxed Margaret out the door. Frederick closed the door and came to settle on the bed across from him. His gray eyes pierced through him, "She's not wrong, Benwick." He sighed, "Fanny Harville was a singular woman. I cannot imagine the grief you must feel. I pray to God I never know it. But consider, for all that you feel for her, there is a brother and sister who knew her longer and loved her longest." Standing, he reached over and grasped James' shoulder, "you're needed here, my friend."
A night of introspection had followed, the weight of guilt and judgment pressing down upon him. He was heartily ashamed of himself. Not for grieving Fanny, his chest constricted and he felt as though he were drowning when considering what his life would look like now without her by his side. But he had forgotten about John and Margaret and the pain they must feel at her loss. He resolved to do better. To honor Fanny's memory by being ready to support his friends. He felt, rather than heard, a gentle good from within his soul.
This morning, James had steeled himself to make an effort. In equal measures prepared and nervous about being approached; the sounds of his friends leaving for their walk without trying to persuade him to come was conflicting. He could only presume this was an attempt to give him the space he required. A part of him felt as though this was Fanny challenging him from beyond the grave. He had been given a call to action of sorts. Was he brave enough to step forward? He stood inside his room, staring at the door to his bedchamber, considering the options. In his room he was alone and free to wallow as he saw fit. Not required to make nice in any way. Frederick and John had left, who was he even going downstairs for? The image of Margaret, grasping at his knees while she sobbed came into his mind. He felt there was a bridge to be mended there. He knew Margaret would be below, close enough to her time that she would be unlikely to leave the house. With a deep breath he turned the handle and stepped out into the hall.
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To his surprise, a quiet moan traveled up the stairwell and into the hall where James stood.
"Mrs Harville?" He called, hoping he had misheard.
"A minute, if you will," was the reply, gentle footsteps making their way toward him. They stopped in time for another moan, this time ending with a little more volume and force.
Despite being a third son and having been at sea since he was 14, a childhood spent on a farm prepared him well for this sound. He moved quickly into the stairwell, calling to Margaret again. He rushed forward when he spied her, perched upon a step, halfway up the stairs.
"Margaret, are you well?" James asked as he knelt before her, "shall I fetch the doctor?"
"No," she breathed, reaching out to grasp his arm. "I've sent young John to find his father and the doctor. If you would help me up the stairs, that would be much appreciated."
"Is it safe for you to move?" James worried about her.
"Much safer than giving birth to the babe on this stair," Margaret huffed, "although I own to this being surprisingly comfortable. If you're willing to catch, I'm willing to push".
James laughed a little at her effort to be humorous, "let us attempt the stairs then, I cannot account for my catching skills when it is not a rope or a sail that I am trying to catch!"
Grasping Margaret under the elbow, James took her weight as she eased herself off the stair, moaning at the weight and pressure of the babe beginning it's descent from her womb. Through gritted teeth Margaret tried to keep her breathing measured and calm as they climbed the stairs together. They were to the top of the stairwell before another wave of pain swept over her. Pausing, Margaret grasped James' forearm in an attempt to steady herself. He found himself talking her through the pain in a quiet voice, encouraging her and reminding her of her skill and that it would pass and wrapped his arm around her back, as she leaned into his strength.
"Where are we going, Margaret?" James asked, as he wiped the sheen of sweat that had appeared on her brow.
"To our chambers, I have a birthing stool set up in the dressing room."
Taking most of her weight, James quickly steered Margaret along the hall and into the rooms she shared with John. A sea breeze wafted through the open window of the light and airy space. "Hallo," he called out the door, "Mrs Harville requires some assistance".
"There's no one here, Benwick. I sent Poppy out with little Harold. Lord knows I didn't need a two year old calling for me during this. When she returns, she will keep him in the rear courtyard until one of us calls for her."
"Oh!" James replied, the surprise evident on his face. He dare not mention the issue of propriety to a woman in labor, particularly not Margaret Harville.
"I dare say I shall manage from here, thank you. I have delivered many a babe in my time and the doctor shall be present before we know it." Margaret gave James a small smile, which quickly turned into a grimace as she braced for another contraction.
Stay
The hair on the back James' neck stood on end, as the undoubtable voice of his dear Fanny echoed through his mind. Margaret looked sharply at James, pale and clammy. "Did you hear that?" she asked.
Stay
The command came again, stronger and more urgent. Margaret's eyes widened.
"If it's all the same Margaret, perhaps I should stay."
Margaret nodded and while she moved into the dressing room to strip down to her chemise, she spoke to him. "I truly should be fine," she grunted as a longer and what seemed to be a fiercer contraction arrived. "If the doctor hasn't arrived before the baby, I will need you to take it and swaddle it while I deliver the afterbirth."
James' reply was drowned out by the sounds of Margaret's laboring, as it seemed the final stages had arrived. James wondered at the quickness of this labor. It felt like a matter of minutes since he had found her on the stairs. And yet where was the blasted doctor? Where was John? Running his hands through his hair, he stepped to the hall to see if he could hear any movement below but the sounds of Margaret's cries drowned anything else out.
"James," she called from within the dressing room.
"Yes, Margaret?" he called back as he crossed the room to her doorway.
"Quickly, help, the babe's head is out but I think the cord might be wrapped around it's head and I cannot reach," she wailed.
James knew what this could mean, propriety no longer a concern he raced into the room to find Margaret perched over the stool. "Ok my dear, stay calm," James soothed as he rolled up his sleeves and knelt on the floor, "slow, calm breathing. Now, let me see." The babe's head was a tangled mess, the cord being wrapped around it's head three times.
"You are correct, Margaret. Now try not to push, while I untangle the cord." Carefully, loop by loop, James ease the cord past the baby's ears and over the top of it's head, while Margaret cried and gritted her teeth in an effort to avoid pushing. "Ok, it's free. Push dear. I will stay here to make sure the rest goes smoothly. Tell me how to help."
Margaret ground out instructions as the following contraction began, "turn the babe sideways, so that it's nose is facing my leg. Right now help ease it's shoulders out, the rest of its body should follow quickly. It will be slippery, so be prepared." It was exactly as she had said and as the baby slipped into his arms, James grabbed the soft towel from where Margaret indicated and wrapped it around the babe. He thought he had been quick, but evidently not quick enough as the cold air hit it's little body, it startled and began to wail and cry as though enraged at the terrible shock it had just had. "Sh, sh, sh, little one. I know, how terribly rude of us," James murmured as he clutched the child to his chest.
Eyes welling up with emotion, he looked over at Margaret to check she was okay. Eyes shining back at him, she smiled the smile of the tired and victorious. The smile mothers everywhere would immediately recognise. She gestured for him to pass her the babe and he watched with wonder as she lowered it to her breast and helped it to attach for it's first suckle. Overcome by the incredible turn of events the day had taken, James allowed the tears to fall. He was no fool. Despite being a sailor he wasn't even remotely superstitious. But something had prompted him to leave his room today. Something, or someone, had prompted him to stay with Margaret. He couldn't bear to imagine what would have happened had he ignored the call. In his heart, he knew who was responsible. He did not know whether it was to God or Fanny he prayed but pray he did, giving thanks for the little life that came into the world this day.
"Margaret!" James turned his head to hear a call from the stairwell, just as a look of pain crossed her face.
"James, take the babe down to John and keep an ear out for me. Send the doctor up as soon as he comes." Margaret commanded as she began to wince and bear down again.
Taking the baby from her arms, James pushed the hair back off Margaret's brow and impulsively kissed her on the top of her head. "Congratulations," he murmured and with a parting smile, he made his way out the door and down the stairs.
Rounding the corner of the stairwell, he encountered John endeavoring to make his way up the stairs, with Frederick assisting at his elbow.
"Steady on there, Lieutenant, I carry precious cargo here." James smiled down at his friend. Walking down the stairs, a look of surprise and wonder spread across John's face at the sight of the tiny bundle in James' arms. Sighing, he said, "it never gets old. Seeing your child for the first time. Wondrous. Wait, is it a boy or girl, Benwick?"
James looked surprised and laughed, "I don't know! I didn't think to look."
"Didn't think to look?" John and Frederick looked at each other and laughed. "Well, we'd best head up these stairs so that Margaret and I can find out together."
Though it took some time for Harville to ascend the stairs with Frederick's help, it was worth the effort. The Doctor arrived with young John in tow and while he attended to Margaret and assisted her out of the dressing room and into bed, the Harville men gathered around the new addition.
Frederick and James slipped out of the room as little Harold bolted in, allowing the little family their time together and some time later, Harville returned to them with the little bundle in his arms.
"Gentleman, allow me the pleasure of properly introducing you to Francis Marguerite Harville, my daughter."