Chapter 6
Mary August 1918
Mary sat and watched Matthew sleeping, watching his chest slowly rise and fall. Since he had arrived at the hospital she had spent a great many hours at his bedside watching, and praying. Even when Lavinia had been here she couldn't tear herself away; she had to be with him, to care for him.
The swelling on his face had begun to go down so he was looking more like her darling Matthew, but, when he was awake, he was nothing like the Matthew she knew. He was dark and melancholic and repeatedly told her he wished he was dead. She stroked his hand gently so as not to wake him. His melancholia had started when he had found out about his legs and the implications for his ability to have children, and she couldn't blame him, but such a blackness had clouded his eyes that Mary had wept many times as she'd prayed for them to regain their beautiful blue.
Lavinia was gone. Sent away by Matthew who felt himself too damaged for any woman despite the fact that two woman loved him more than anyone else in the world. She supposed she should've felt a triumph as Lavinia left but she only felt an utter sadness and grief for Matthew who felt himself so unloveable.
The whole situation made her feel like her life was on pause. She'd had to tell Richard about Pamuk which had, in turn, forced a formal announcement of their engagement, but she couldn't think or plan for a wedding or their life together. All she could think of was Matthew and how wretchedly unfair it all was.
Matthew stirred in his sleep and she quickly removed her hand, suddenly conscious of how long she'd been holding it. She closed her eyes and prayed again for Matthew.
Matthew August 1918
Matthew knew he should feel grateful at having been spared, but he couldn't manage it. He felt like his injuries had stripped him of everything that made life worth living and now he was nothing; just a shell. The world and everything in it seemed to have turned to ashes and slipped through his fingers.
He'd sent Lavinia away; he'd had to. His life now was no life for her and, whatever she said now, she would end up hating him, how could she not. He was damaged beyond repair and couldn't even consummate their marriage let alone provide her with children. His life now was no life for any woman, not Lavinia, and not Mary either.
Mary! Oh god, Mary. How relieved she must be to have escaped being married to him and facing life as his nurse. He saw the pity and the revulsion in her eyes as she sat with him and it made him feel sick. He could be nothing to her now.
He felt the hot tears burn as they spilled out from his eyes again. He was truly pathetic.