A/N – There is a section in this chapter that involves complications involved with birth. I know most of you probably won't care, but I thought I should mention it anyway. I'll put asterisks around it again. I can't afford to lose any of my readers! ;)
Elena wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her flour-covered hand. This was the tenth day that Mama had been gone. Mme. Blanchard's birth had been a difficult one. Twins were always hard, especially when it was the mother's first time, but this was the worst case that Mama had ever seen.
From the short note that she had managed to get to her daughter by way of the Blanchard's hired man, Elena gathered that Mme. Blanchard was in a critical condition. The twins were both large, heavy boys and the second one had become stuck during the delivery. Mme. Dassin had been forced to do an emergency intervention that was extremely painful for the poor delivering mother and she had lost a very large amount of blood afterwards. Mme. Blanchard was a delicate woman to begin with, and this ordeal had left her very weak. It was perhaps a result of this that she had developed a serious infection.
Mme. Dassin was fighting for the life of the new mother, but she seemed to be fighting a losing battle. Mme. Blanchard's body didn't have much to give. She had been slipping back and forth on the edge of unconsciousness for nearly forty-eight hours and her poor husband was nearly distracted with worry. The twins seemed to be the only thing that was keeping him sane.
Fortunately, both babies were doing well. As Mme. Blanchard obviously couldn't feed or care for them in her condition, M. Blanchard had been charged with this important task. A neighbor was helping him learn the ropes of caring for babies while four others were assisting Mme. Dassin in the care of the mother. The doctor was also there, doing what he could. It was all heartbreaking, and Elena felt another tear slip down her cheek. She prayed that all would be well, but it was impossible to know for sure.
To make things harder for Elena, her father and her brothers Henri and Jean where not at home. Her father had gone to a larger city to try and find another doctor for poor Mme. Blanchard. The boys had gone to help a family friend who desperately needed to castrate his bull calves before they got too big. The friend in question lived several hours outside of the town, so M. Dassin had decided that they should stay the night so they would be able to start the process early in the next morning.
The boys were originally not going to leave, but Elena had insisted, trying to keep up a brave face and do as her mother would. She was now deeply regretting her decision to be selfless. She still had Marianne, Vincent, and Vera, but Marianne was thirteen, Vincent was ten, and little Vera was only five. They were willing helpers, but sometimes they needed more help than they gave.
Jean was seventeen, two years younger than Elena, and usually had the position of man-of-all-work when it came to outdoor chores like cutting firewood. Henri, who was three years her senior, assisted her father at the bar, helped as a server, and aided Jean whenever he could. With both of them gone, Marianne had been forced to run the bar all on her own and Vincent had charge of all the outside chores with the help of Jacques, their one hired man. Elena and Vera were left to run the cooking and cleaning, though Marianne tried to help whenever she could.
The clock chimed eleven. Elena was all alone in the kitchen now, setting the bread sponges for the next day. Running the inn had more or less settled in to a rhythm, but she was still absolutely exhausted at the end of the day. Tonight, she barely had the energy to finish her last few evening tasks.
When all the sponges had been set, Elena checked the doors, made sure that the fire in the stove was properly banked, and the damper had been put in the right position. Slowly, she climbed the stairs to her room and undressed in a daze. Slipping on her nightgown, she fell into bed, too tired to bother with her hair.
-xxxx-
Gleb started suddenly out of a deep sleep. For a moment his drowsy head refused to recognize what it was that had woken him. Had he been dreaming again? Then his ingrained military training exerted itself. It came to him in an instant: he had been woken by the sound of glass shattering. Someone was breaking in. Gleb sat up quickly without really knowing what he was doing, throwing the blankets off and setting his feet on the ground when a sudden pain in his ankle brought him up short. He looked down at his foot in frustration, wondering what to do.
Coming to a decision, he stood up, carefully balancing on one foot, and hopped. He bent his knee as he came down, both to deaden the sound of his jump and to soften the landing for his ankle. The results were that, while his landing was nearly soundless, the jar to his ankle caused him to hiss a curse through his clenched teeth. It wasn't as bad as it had been when he had first broken it, but it still hurt. Two more jumps and he was at his door. Trying to ignore his foot, he cautiously opened the door a crack and stood listening. For a moment there was nothing and then he heard the slight crunch as bits of broken glass were stepped on and then the tinkling sound of some loose pieces being pushed aside. Gleb strained his ears and made out two sets of hushed footfalls.
Carefully, he opened the door and hopped out into the hall. He paused for a moment after each hop, but whoever was below apparently hadn't heard him. As he approached the stairs, he heard a man's voice mutter something he couldn't make out and then another voice replied in the same muted tone. At the stair-head he paused. Did the stairs squeak? He was sure they did. How on earth could he get down quietly enough to be unnoticed by the intruders? His eyes lighted on the banister, but he quickly dismissed the idea of using it. He was simply too heavy. A sudden thought occurred to him and he looked back down the way he had come. Midway down the hall, an oil lamp with a tin reflector shed some small illumination into the hallway. It was dim at best, but Gleb was able to see that there another hall which opened at right angles to the end of the one he was standing in. Quietly, he hopped towards it.
When he reached the door, he stopped and looked both ways. One disappeared off to the left and the other ended in another door after a short ways. Gleb chose the side with the door. To his great relief, the nob turned easily, but with a slight squeak. To Gleb's adrenaline-heightened senses it positively screeched. Wincing, he eased it open and slipped though.
He found himself standing on a little second-floor porch which was lit by the three-quarter moon. It seemed that the porch also served as a trellis for some kind of ivy because the low railing and the wall of the house was completely covered in trailing vines. Gleb hopped to the edge and looked down. He frowned. This wasn't going to be easy.
Carefully, Gleb pushed on the railing and was relieved to see that it was strong. He swung his bad leg over one of the railings that was close to the house wall, wincing and swearing under his breath as the motion hurt him. Then he reached out, tugging on the vines to see if they would come loose. One or two did, but he was pleased to see that most stayed firm, anchored into the cracks between the stones of the wall. Carefully, and with a few more mutterings, Gleb slipped off the railing working his way down the vines to the ground level.