Martha walked the length of the house without real aim, looking around for her son. She finally found him on a couch in George's study–she should have known, really–an expression on his face that could only be described as smitten, a tiny hand gripping his finger as he bounced Ellie to keep her entertained, and the pitiful leftovers of her previous worry fell away.
She could almost hear them hit the floor and shatter into a thousand pieces, and she breathed a little easier.
Alexander looked up when he noticed her; his eyes had that little spark in them, that little light they had fought so hard to keep alive when he had first come to live with them, and Martha- Martha just stood there for a long moment, speechless with the relief that washed over her.
"I see you've finally realised the benefits of cuddling someone who can't run off," she said and cleared her throat. It had grown tight with the burn of tears behind her eyes, but she shoved it all aside.
Alex chuckled softly and shrugged, glanced back down at the baby in his arms.
"I suppose," he said, and Martha smiled so big her cheeks began to ache as she sat beside him, watched him gently trace one finger along Ellie's plump cheek.
"I think she's going to look like him," he said and pressed a kiss to her little forehead. Something in Martha melted at the sight, and she felt entirely enveloped in warmth. "Like John, I mean. She's got his eyes already, and I think his nose? Perhaps, it's still a little hard to tell, but- yeah."
"Well, I hope to meet him one day so I can see for myself," she said, and Alex turned to beam at her–it was the biggest smile she had seen on him in months, and she prayed to God that he would never lose it again.
"You would like him," he said, his eyes going soft when he shifted his hold on Ellie. She watched him from big blue eyes as if interested in his words, or just in the way his face changed with them; Martha wasn't surprised at her attentiveness. She had that from her father. "Pa doesn't. Maybe he'll come around one day."
Martha's smile slipped a little, but Alexander didn't notice, preoccupied with his daughter as he was.
No, George wouldn't like the man. He had always been protective of their children, but of Patsy and Alex in particular, and since Patsy- after her untimely passing, he'd become almost overbearing at times when it came to their youngest.
They could count themselves lucky that her husband hadn't shot that young man on sight when he'd found out Alex had fallen pregnant.
"John's going to love her," he said, quietly and with a hint of longing.
"I'm sure," Martha replied. They sat in silence for a short while, comfortable and familiar. It was shattered by Ellie softly gurgling to herself, and Alexander laughed, bowed his head to put his forehead against his daughter's for a moment before he righted himself again.
"I think- I think it finally feels like it's supposed to," he said, and Martha furrowed her brow in mild confusion. "I love her, I mean," he went on only a beat later. "I finally love her, Ma."
She didn't respond, because really, what could she have said? The important thing was that the two of them had clicked at last, and her son no longer saw this baby as a burden, but as the gift it was instead.
Alexander wasn't in his bedroom, and he wasn't in the sitting room either, so Martha headed straight for her husband's study.
To the surprise of absolutely no one, she found him there, stretched out on his back on a sofa, a book in one hand, the other covering the entire expanse of Ellie's back where she rested on his chest, fast asleep.
Her lips curled into a soft smile, and she walked over to the sofa, braced herself on the back of it and leaned over her son and granddaughter.
"I'm about to write to your father, love," she said, and he lowered the book, his other hand rubbing slow circles into his daughter's back. "Anything you'd like me to pass on?"
He bit his lip, his eyelashes fluttering as he thought it over.
"Just… the usual, I suppose. Send my love, tell him I hope everything is fine, and-" he paused, and his hand ceased its movement. "And, well, if there's any way at all to let me hear from John-"
"I'll ask after him," she promised, and her son shot her a small smile.
"Thanks, Ma."
"Of course," she said, and left them to their own devices once more.
When her husband's next letter arrived, she broke the seal without much thought–she had done this a million times before, and it had become a ritual, almost, over the years. Her sitting down by the window that faced the river, feeling the weight of the parchment in her hand, the satisfying snap of the wax, the soft crinkling when she unfolded the sheets and smoothed them out a little-
Martha froze, blinking down at the letters that sprawled over the page. Elegant, without a doubt, but she knew her husband's writing–this was not it.
Of course he had people who handled his correspondence for him, but she couldn't recall even a single instance of him having employed the services of one of his aides to write a private letter to her.
She tried to shrug it off, but the worry gnawing at the edge of her consciousness quickly grew. Had he been hurt? Badly enough that he couldn't even hold a quill?
The queasy feeling in her stomach subsided with every new breath she forced into her struggling lungs, and in no time she had calmed enough to actually read the letter.
It was… normal. There was nothing out of place, no mention of any injury, not even a minor mishap.
It took her until a particular line near the end of the last page to realise what this was.
We send our love–to you, my dear son, and the baby.
The operative being we.
Martha stood and went over into the next room, where her son was tinkering with some old puzzle contraption he had recovered from the depths of his room recently.
He looked up upon her entrance, and she shot him a small smile, held the stack of papers out to him.
"Look at this," she said, and Alex set whatever it was he was playing around with aside, hesitantly reached out to take the letter from her.
"Any particular part, or-" He abruptly fell silent as he skimmed the first few lines. There was a spark of recognition in his eyes, put out by the film of tears that covered them only an instant later.
"That- that's John's handwriting," he choked and sniffled, fighting to hold back his sobs. "I- God, I miss him so much."
"Look at the bottom of the last page, my sweet," she suggested gently, and Alex thumbed through the papers until he found the last.
The tears spilled over his cheeks when he read those words, the ones that had tipped her off, and he brought his hand up to cover his mouth and stifle a small cry.
"Can- can I keep this?" he asked, and Martha huffed a fond laugh.
"It's yours, Alexander."
"Thanks, Ma," he said, wiping at his tears and taking a deep breath. "I think I need to go cuddle Ellie for a minute or two."
"Understandable," she replied and watched him go.
She would later see a corner of that bundle of pages peek out from underneath his pillow, and she couldn't be sure if her heart wanted to swell or break at that.
The weather had been incredibly drab for the past week or so; cold and wet. Martha fully expected Alexander to come down with a cold–he usually did around this time of year, especially when it was raining almost non-stop like it had been.
What she hadn't expected was for her son to come in one afternoon as she was mending a shirt's ripped seam, his brow creased with clear worry, a visibly unhappy baby fussing in his arm.
"I can't get her to eat," he said without prelude, his words hurried, eyes darting around wildly, and Martha put her sewing aside. "I've tried anything I could think of, I- I think she's running a fever-"
She rose from her seat and joined her son where he stood by the door, gently put the backs of her fingers to Ellie's cheek. The soft skin radiated heat, and Martha pulled her hand back.
"I'll send for a doctor," she said, and Alex nodded. He gently bounced his daughter, rubbed her back, did his best to console her; to little avail.
The panic rose in his eyes, bubbled up from the depths like a forming maelstrom, and Martha briefly cupped his cheek, stroking her thumb along his cheekbone in an effort to give him some comfort, to transfer some calm.
To see one's child sick was both nerve-wrecking and heartbreaking, and she hated that he had to go through that experience so soon.
She shot him a composed smile and left, off to send for that doctor.
An hour later, Martha opened the door for Doctor Benjamin Davis, an old family friend and a paragon of professionalism. She liked him well enough, and she knew he would provide the best care possible.
"Martha," he greeted with a polite nod of his head, and she offered a smile in return. "Always a pleasure to see you, but I'm afraid I'm here for business? What's wrong?"
Martha heaved a quiet sigh and crossed her arms over her chest. "It seems my granddaughter has come down with a fever," she said and turned, lead the way down the hallway and to the sitting room where Alexander waited with Ellie.
"Granddaughter? I wasn't aware Jack and the children had come to visit," he said, adjusting the strap of his leather-satchel that slung across his chest.
"Ah, no," she said somewhat awkwardly. "It's Alexander's."
A tense beat of silence passed between them, the only sound that could be heard that of their shoes clacking on the wooden floor.
"I see," he responded–without judgement, Martha was relieved to note. "And how old is the child?"
"About two and a half months."
A shadow came over his features at that, and a cold shiver chased down her spine.
"You know there's not a lot that can be done in the way of treatment for a baby that young," he said, not unkindly, but it still felt like a punch to the gut.
"Of course I do, but-" What was she supposed to do? Just let the poor thing suffer, let her son worry himself into the ground?
"I know," he said.
The conversation ceased when they crossed the threshold into the room. Alexander looked up and stood, whining baby and all; his greeting to Davis was polite but on edge, and he handed Ellie over to him only with the utmost reluctance.
He hovered the entire time Davis looked her over, and his nervous energy only subsided when Ellie was safely back in his arms. Under less serious circumstances, Martha would have found it sweet, endearing even, how protective her boy was of his baby, but right at that moment, it just put a heavy weight around her heart.
A weight that doubled, tripled, when Davis told them that she was too young for any medicine, that the only thing they could do was to administer cold compresses and to keep trying to make her eat. Alexander's mouth pinched at the corners and he swallowed, pressed a kiss to Ellie's head as he rocked her.
Martha walked Davis back to the door, thanked him for coming over, agreed to his suggestion that he come by again in two days to check up on the baby, opened the door for him.
He didn't leave at once, but hesitated in the doorway and spoke, his head bowed, "Look after your son, Martha. One doesn't need to be as clever as he is to know he has had an… eventful life. This- I worry for him."
Martha closed her eyes for a moment, felt the ice spread farther through her veins with every pump of her heart. "I will," she said, her voice thin.
"Good," he responded and turned to leave. "But take care of yourself as well."
She watched him retreat in silence for a few slow moments before she closed the door and headed to the kitchen to prepare the first compress.
She knew how Alexander's mother had found her end, of course. She knew just how close Alex had gotten to following after her–it was no wonder that the boy was a nightmare to deal with when he was ill.
It quickly became obvious that his usual antics when he was sick–the whining, the bursts of anger, the crying, the clinginess–were nothing compared to how he was when it was his child who was sick.
In the beginning, it had been things she herself had done. Just… being there. Sitting with her, changing the compresses in a desperate attempt to break the fever, trying to get Ellie to eat a bit, and rubbing her belly to ease the ache that came with her ceaseless crying. Normal things a parent did.
The first two check-ups with Davis had come and gone, and Alexander's behaviour took a turn. Martha hadn't noticed at first, but he began staying up with Ellie through the whole night and only ever slept when she did, which was not a lot and came in irregular, unpredictable intervals.
Then, he stopped eating, and Martha noticed that at once.
"I'm not hungry," he would claim every time she tried to get him to eat, but he had been claiming that for the past two days, and- and Martha just didn't know what to do.
She had raised a child with a chronic illness, so she knew the worry. The echoes of the apprehension and concern and sheer helplessness still rang clear in her bones years later, but this- what Alex was doing, it wasn't healthy. It was detrimental, to both him and his daughter.
A week. It had been a week since Ellie had fallen ill and everything had begun crumbling down around them, and Martha was afraid. Afraid for her son, for her granddaughter, afraid that this was another situation as they'd had with their sweet Patsy–there had been nothing they could have done, no treatment had ever worked, and they'd had to watch her get worse and worse until-
When everything became too much, Martha wrote to her husband. Soon enough, he would find himself overwhelmed by letters arriving by the day, and she couldn't help but smile a little at the thought.
George was busy, always so busy, but he would read every last one of them, she was certain.
Her smile slipped when she remembered the contents of one of those letters–she had informed him of their granddaughter's illness, and that she wasn't getting better, and that their son seemed determined to suffer with her.
Ah, well. She didn't know how to make any of this better, she couldn't cure Ellie and she couldn't force Alex into a healthy sleeping-pattern, but she would be there for both of them, and she would bear it all with a smile.
Davis flashed them a careful smile, and Martha returned it, squeezed Alexander's shoulder encouragingly. He sat on an armchair with Martha behind him, his back hunched and fingers twisted together. She couldn't see his face like this, but she knew he looked like death incarnate.
He ate too little. Slept too little. Worried too much.
He had that from his father.
"The fever's gone down a bit at last," the doctor said, gently tapping one of Ellie's tiny fists. "I'm hesitant to say the worst is over, but… it's a good sign. Don't stop with the compresses, and I will see you again tomorrow?" he said and straightened up with Ellie in his arms, the little one calm and unbothered for a change.
Perhaps Martha could coax Alex into sleeping a bit without her constant screaming.
Davis stepped closer and handed the baby back to Alexander with care, but he didn't retreat; instead, he stood in front of him for a few heartbeats, seeming a bit indecisive, his lips curled with concern.
Then, he reached out, settled a light hand on Alex's head and smoothed his hair back from his face, which finally prompted her son to lift his eyes and meet the man's gaze.
Davis was lucky Alexander had known him for so long and trusted him to a certain degree, or else he would have snapped his wrist like a dry twig.
He had that from his father as well.
"I know you're not my patient," he began softly and ruffled Alexander's hair a bit. "but I hereby prescribe you some sleep. You look like you need it, son."
"I'll see what I can do," he responded, and Martha's eyes widened–that was the first attempt at humour she had heard from him in almost two weeks. That- that was a good sign. Ellie was getting better, and Alex would recover with her, and then everything would be back to normal.
It was almost over, she just knew it.
That evening, Martha went by her son's room to check up on him and Ellie, as had become part of her routine these past eleven days.
She found him standing over her crib, stroking light fingers along her still too warm cheek, his eyes oddly inexpressive. He looked detached, almost like he was asleep on his feet.
Martha pressed her lips together and ventured into the room, stopped next to Alexander, and watched Ellie's little chest rise and fall in an even rhythm for a few moments. She was finally resting–she just wished her father would do the same.
"I think you should take this opportunity to get some sleep as well, love," she said, her voice low so as to not disturb Ellie.
"I can't," he replied and blinked slowly, brought up his free hand to rub at his eyes. They were bloodshot with exhaustion, and Martha's heart ached.
"You heard what Davis said, the fever is lowering-"
"It's back up," he cut in, toneless. "It went back up. I have to stay with her, just in case."
Martha paused and took a moment to just look at him. At his pale skin, the angry purple bags under his eyes, the little spot of red on his bottom lip where he had worried it to the point of bleeding.
She couldn't let this go on any longer.
"This is my fault," he said all of a sudden, choked and shaky, and Martha blinked in confusion. "My fault. It's God, I think. This is God, I- I didn't love her enough, and now He's taking her back. He's taking her because I don't deserve her, He-" he broke off with a dry sob and clapped a hand over his mouth.
Martha just stood there for a second, dumbfounded.
"Alexander, what- He's not taking anyone, just this morning she was getting better-"
"They always fucking say that!" he burst out, way too loud, loud enough she flinched back half a step–loud enough to wake the baby, who was quick to voice her displeasure with a sharp cry.
Alex froze, tears welling in his eyes, and stared down at his daughter before he gently picked her up and cradled her close. "Sorry," he muttered. "I'm sorry, darling, I didn't mean to yell."
He drew a long breath that did nothing to calm him. Martha genuinely worried he was about to collapse.
"Sorry," he repeated quietly, wet with unshed tears. "Sorry. They just, doctors, they always say-"
Ellie's crying faded first to soft whimpers, then complete silence.
Alex held her like she was the most precious thing in the world, his eyes unfocused and troubled, the upset clear in his twisted expression, and Martha sighed, stepped closer again.
"How about this: I will take her for the evening, and you lay down for a few hours," she suggested, gentle, careful not to spook him.
He blew out an unsteady breath, and whatever it was that had kept him going up to that point drained from him with it; his shoulders slumped, and his knees began to shake as the first tear fell from his lashes. "Yeah, that- yeah."
"Alright," she replied, her voice pitched low and soothing, and took her once again asleep granddaughter from his arms. "Sleep. I'll bring her back later."
Alexander nodded, completely defeated, and collapsed into bed as she turned to leave.
Martha placed Ellie back into her crib later that night, both her and Alex thankfully fast asleep.
She gently stroked her hair for a moment or two, trying to take no notice of how warm she was again, of how fitful her sleep was.
Ellie was strong, just like her father–she would pull through.
She had a bad feeling even before she entered Alexander's room that morning.
It was too quiet–her son would be up at this time, usually, pacing around the room with Ellie in his arms.
She hesitated in front of the door, laid her hand on the doorknob, knocked carefully. Not too loud, in case Alex was against all odds still asleep.
There was a faint rustling of sheets on the other side, and Martha decided to just risk a peek into the room. Alexander wouldn't wake from a door opening; he thankfully wasn't like George in that regard.
Martha inched the door open and peered into the room. To her mild confusion, her son was awake, sitting motionless with his back to the headboard, knees to his chest, arms tucked close to himself.
The curtains were only half-drawn, so enough early morning light filtered in through the windows for Martha to see that the unnatural bruise-like bags under his eyes had not been diminished.
Alex looked like he hadn't gotten a single blink of sleep that night, even though she knew for a fact that he had.
"Alexander?" she said softly and stepped into the room; he flinched when his red and swollen eyes snapped over to her, as if he hadn't expected to see her there.
"Alex, what's-" The words died on her tongue when her eyes finally adjusted to the half-darkness of the room, and she spotted the small form of Ellie in his arms, cradled protectively to his chest.
"She's fine," he said, hurried, as though he had to get the words out before she had a chance to ask the actual question. "Fine."
Martha remained where she stood, a horrible sinking feeling in her gut.
Ellie was… very quiet, even for a sleeping baby.
"What about the fever?" she asked, almost choking on the question. Her throat was too dry all of a sudden.
Alex swallowed and made an odd sound, like a sob without tears, readjusted her in his arms. "Gone."
...gone?
"Alexander-" She was interrupted by a faint knock from the main-entrance–the doctor, most likely, and Martha turned to look down the corridor for a moment, contemplating if she should just call out to the man that the door was unlocked or go let him in herself.
She glanced back at Alex, at his bloodshot eyes, the dazed expression in them, the- the child in his arms that had yet to make a single sound, or even a tiny movement-
"I'll go fetch the doctor, my sweet. We will be here at once," she said and turned to leave, forced herself to walk down the length of the corridor with calm, regular steps, even as she clasped a hand over her mouth when the first sob bubbled up her throat. Her heart contracted painfully in her chest, cramped into a tight ball of grief, and the tears she hadn't noticed form at the corners of her eyes spilled down her cheeks.
Ellie was- she was gone, wasn't she? Passed sometime in the early hours of the morning, most likely, and her son had sat there holding onto his daughter for who knew how long, knowing full well that-
Martha arrived at the door and breathed, reached for the doorknob with trembling fingers. She didn't bother to wipe her tears before she turned it and eased the door open.
The pleasant smile fell off Davis' face in an instant when he saw her expression, and he bowed his head in silent mourning.
"It's over, then?" he said, his voice low, and Martha choked on the calming breath she attempted to draw.
"I think so, I- I haven't gotten close enough to- Alexander is holding her, but she-" she broke off, covered her mouth once again with a hand and stifled her sobs.
Davis gently took her by the arm and guided her back down the hallway; his reserved, professional demeanor soothed her upset heart a small bit, even though his own sorrow shone through the layers of practised calm he had erected.
"Let's have a look, then," he said, composed but without much hope, and Martha breathed deeply and wiped her cheeks as they neared Alex's room.
"Good morning, Alexander," Davis said once they had entered.
Alex glanced up from the small bundle in his arms, watched the man come closer and settle on the edge of the mattress with suspicion, but he didn't say anything yet.
"How is-"
"Fine," he interrupted, toneless.
Davis nodded once, turned to exchange a concerned look with Martha; she was crying silently, but she doubted Alexander had noticed. His full focus was on his daughter.
"May I see her?" he said, and Alex curled further into himself, shielding the baby from view.
"No."
The doctor heaved a mournful sigh. "Son, I need to see her."
"She's fine," he insisted, a razor-sharp edge creeping into his voice. It wasn't made of anger, Martha could tell–it was desperation. Denial.
Martha thought of her first two children. Of her sweet daughter she had lost a mere few years ago.
She understood.
"I think you know she's not, Alexander," Davis said, patient, and Alex went very, very still.
He screwed his eyes shut, his brow creased as if he was in immeasurable pain, and he shook his head from side to side.
"Alexander," he began anew. "Let me see."
Alex fell still once more, and he didn't even look up to acknowledge the words directed at him.
"Martha," Davis said, halfway turned around to face her. "Could you perhaps be of some assistance?"
Martha sucked in a breath. "What do you need me to do?" she said, her voice scratchy and entirely unlike herself.
"Just… come sit with him, if you would."
Martha nodded and crossed over to the bed, tentatively sat next to her son, slung a careful arm around his shoulders.
From this new position, she could catch a glimpse of the little face hidden against Alexander's chest; she was so pale, and Martha cut her gaze away, not able to bear that image for long.
"I am so incredibly sorry, Alex," Davis said, his eyes soft with genuine compassion, and Alexander blinked back at him, confused, before the man just reached right into the centre of the little ball he had curled into and forced his arms, weak from too little food and sleep, away from Ellie's prone form.
Alex made a choked sound and reared forward, but Martha- Martha was fully aware why Davis had asked her to sit with her son. She tightened her grip on him to hold him where he was, squeezed her eyes shut, and just pulled him closer when he struggled against her.
"Good Lord," Davis mumbled under his breath, and Martha dared crack her eyes back open. "How long- Alex, how long have you been sitting here with her? She's cold, son."
Alexander shook his head, not hearing a word he said, and strained against Martha's hold.
"Give her to me," he said and desperately held a hand out as Davis backed away from the bed. "Please. Please, just, give her back, please-"
Martha looked from the doctor, who made not a single move to come any closer, to her son; his eyes looked shattered and empty, like a broken picture-frame, and they swam with tears. She reeled him in even closer, wrapped her other arm around him as well, and held him against her chest, stroked a hand through his hair as he began to tremble.
"Please," he whispered; and then again, loud enough it startled her into flinching, almost a scream, "Please! You can't- you can't take her from me, she's mine, she's my daughter, you can't take her away, don't-" A harsh, raw sob burst from his throat. It was a horrible noise Martha was sure would haunt her in her nightmares, and it sounded like it hurt him on the way out, as though it cut into his throat like shards of broken glass.
"Don't take her away from me!"
Tears ran down his cheeks like droplets of rain that splattered against a window during a thunderstorm, and he dissolved into loud, bitter sobs. Martha let her own tears fall and gently cupped his nape, guided his face to her shoulder, and held him tight as he shook with his grief, the distinct faccette of agony that Martha herself was so familiar with, that she had never wished on anyone, but least of all her sweet boy.
"Mama," he said, muffled, and pushed away from her, peered up at her from under clumped eyelashes. "Please. Please don't let him take her, please-"
Martha looked away, unable to face her son, to listen to his begging. He had to know that there was nothing they could do, that it was over, that- that his daughter was gone.
"I'll take my leave, then," Davis said softly, and Martha nodded without looking at him.
"No! No, please, can- can I just see her? Just once? Can I just look at her before-" Alex called, some words so distorted by his sobs they were almost incomprehensible.
Martha glanced up; the doctor stood in the middle of the room, unmoving, for a long moment. Then, he sighed and took a few steps towards them, shifted the tiny body in his arms until they could see her face.
Alexander's features crumpled into a degree of sheer hurt when he laid eyes on his daughter, the emotion so heavy and palpable, she was sure even Davis could feel it pressing in around him, latching onto his heart and squeezing.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, and whatever had been left of Martha's heart shattered. "I'm so sorry, Ellie, I-" he drew a shaky breath that got lost in another burst of sobs, and he clutched at Martha's sleeve so hard his knuckles turned white. "I love you so much."
Martha bit her lips hard to keep her own cries contained and just pulled her son back into her embrace, nodded at Davis to let him know he could go, tried not to look at the pale and stiff little form carefully held in his arms, tried not to remember those blue eyes watching her with unusual interest, tried not to think about a man hundreds of miles away who would never get to meet his own daughter.
She failed, and she muffled a sob against Alexander's violently quaking shoulder, held him tighter.
He attempted to turn in her arms, to watch the doctor leave with his baby, take her to the priest for her last rites, but Martha didn't let him.
Alexander screamed into her shoulder, loud and grating, he screamed and thrashed until his voice broke and gave out, dug his fingernails into his arms until he drew blood, and Martha wished, prayed, begged for that boundless pain to transfer to her instead. She could take it, she had done it before, she could do it again, but her boy-
Alexander cried until he had no more tears left, screamed until his throat refused to make another sound, and finally collapsed against her chest, too worn out from the past two weeks to keep going.
Martha held him close. She carded her fingers through his sweat-soaked hair and rubbed his back, cried quietly until her eyes were raw, and prayed for that small, innocent soul to find rest.
Alexander jerked in her arms and whimpered, but he hadn't woken. This had already followed him into his nightmares.
Martha pressed a kiss to the top of his head and let out a long breath that left her chest hollow.
The only thing harder than bringing them into this world, she thought, was watching them leave it.
