AUTHOR'S NOTE: I noticed that I forgot to post chapter 5 when I updated this story on AO3, so now to catch up I'm posting chapters 5 and 6 at the same time. If you haven't yet read chapter 5, go back :)
He has always been a light sleeper and spending years in places where he had to be alert for his own safety only honed this habit, so when he hears that familiar, hated gasp of pain his eyes instantly flow open.
Usually, he is able to put the thoughts of Valancy's impending death firmly out of his mind. Her illness is not like Cissy's, marking her in undeniable, terrible ways – in fact, the longer she spends here, with him and out of the overbearing presence of her stifling relatives the better she looks. Most of the time, there are no visible reminders and it's easy, all too easy, to pretend that she is a woman in perfect health.
It makes the attacks all the more startling.
They usually come in the evenings or at night, although there was this one occasion when it happened during the walk in the woods. It's always sudden – she is completely fine one moment and then she goes pale, makes a small, horrible gasp of pain and then her breathing becomes fast and shallow as she struggles through it. She interrupts whatever she's been doing with a quick apology – or gets out of bed if it's woken her up in the middle of the night – and hurries to take her medication. She spends the next minutes lying quietly and so very still until it starts working its magic and her whole body relaxes at the release from the grip of pain. It never lasts long but it feels like ages.
He never says anything – he promised not to and he keeps his promises – but his own body is as tense as hers, his fists clenched tight, until he hears that sigh of relief from her when the pain starts to dissipate and he can breathe again. He's not going to lose her today. Not yet.
His hands clench into fists, as always, when he watches her get up and reach for the bedside drawer where she keeps a bottle of her drops and a little spoon. He doesn't say anything – pretends to be asleep even and observes her only through his eyelashes, to make things easier for her, as he promised – but then she utters another little gasp, her hand flying to her mouth in alarm and he can't keep silent anymore.
Not when she sounds so scared.
"What is it, Moonlight?" he asks, trying to keep his tone casual despite his rising concern as she turns towards him and he sees in the dim light that he was not imagining it, that she is truly scared.
"I ran out of my medication," she whispers, her lips bloodless and her breath getting increasingly short and fast. "Oh, Barney, I'm so sorry, but it's going to be bad."
She gasps again, clutching at the nightgown over her heart and his mouth goes dry.
"Maybe you should go to the other room," she suggests uncertainly and he looks at her incredulously.
"Do you want me to go?" he asks, hoping desperately that she denies it, because he is sure he would go mad sitting there and knowing she was suffering in here, but unable to even see her.
She visibly hesitates, but to his great relief shakes her head.
"I don't want you to go," she admits quietly and winces at another wave of pain hitting her. "But it's going to be very unpleasant to witness."
"I don't care," states Barney firmly, his hands encouraging her gently to lie against his chest. "If that's your only concern, you have nothing to worry about. Besides, it can't be worse than helping Cissy through labour."
Her eyes fly to his in shock.
"You were there?!"
"Oh, yes," he says, glad that he's managed to distract her from her pain, if even for a moment. "And let me tell you, this was one experience I am in no hurry to repeat."
He tells her the whole story, keeping his tone light and making fun of his own panic and uncharitable thoughts regarding Mrs Thompson, Abel and the doctor who all had seemingly conspired to leave the job to him, wholly unqualified as he had been, and he feels triumphant when he succeeds in making her laugh. Soon though she is not able to concentrate on his words anymore, incapacitated by one of the worst pains he has ever seen anyone suffer through.
"You've been through it without medication before, haven't you?" he asks.
She nods.
"Before I went to doctor Trent," she says quietly. "And once after, when I was too late to take the medication before it started for good and then the pain was too strong for me to get up and fetch it."
"So you know you are strong enough to get through it," points out Barney evenly, stroking her hair, his other hand clasped tightly in hers. "I know it's dreadful now, but it will pass soon. You will get through it, just like you did before."
"It makes all the difference," she whispers, squeezing his hand as another wave of pain makes her shudder, "to have someone with me – to not deal with it alone."
He squeezes her hand in return, his own heart clenching painfully at her words. It's all too easy to imagine her like that, caught in the same kind of excruciating pain and the very real fear of impending death, and left utterly alone to deal with it. He feels useless and helpless – there's nothing he can do to make it better or to ensure she's not going to be taken from him yet – but her words and the visions in his mind give him purpose for his presence by her side. He can't do anything, no, but at least she is not alone. He has to trust her that it does make a difference.
It gets worse, so much worse, before it gets better. There are long minutes when Valancy's eyes are squeezed shut, her whole body wound tightly and her face locked in expression of agony – her breath shallow and fast, just little gasps and moans escaping her bloodless lips – and he's terrified then, truly terrified that it's going to be it, that he's losing her mere short weeks after Cissy, after just a glimpse of happiness they could have together – but then her breath slows down and deepens, her muscles gradually loosen and the painful grimace on her face morphs into relief – and he exhales deeply himself, glad, so very glad, that she's been spared, that the Grim Reaper did not come to claim her quite yet.
She opens her eyes and he sees the same joy and disbelief mixed there.
"It's over," she says, relief permeating every word. "Thank God, it's over."
She looks up at him.
"Thank you," she says. "And I'm sorry that you were forced to witness that. I promise you I will never run out of medication again."
He tightens his grip on her.
"You'd better make sure of that," he forces himself to speak lightly. "I don't have many equally distracting stories to tell."
xxx
It's probably no wonder that after a real life scare like that his sleep is not peaceful either.
In the dream, he refuses Valancy's proposal. He doesn't love her, after all, and anyway, he swore he's done with the whole institution of marriage. She accepts it and assures him it's alright, she never expected him to agree in the first place.
He sees her a few weeks later, led through the Anglican church to Edward Beck, waiting for her at the altar, with all her clan in attendance, looking on with satisfied smiles.
Valancy's eyes are dead, her posture hunched, resigned. He wants to run there, drag her away from the altar, but it's as if his legs are trapped within the tiles of the church's floor.
Then it is spring again and he's repairing Lady Jane on an overcast May afternoon. When he crawls out from under her, he looks straight into Valancy's eyes as she leaves the library. She is visibly pregnant, her face gaunt and pale, and her eyes even more desperate than when he saw her like that last time, on what he now knows was the day she saw Dr Trent about her heart.
Before he can say anything – ask her if she's alright maybe although he can see with painful clarity that she isn't – the scene changes and he's standing in the cemetery, in the middle of a funeral. With sudden horror, he realises that it's Valancy they are burying in the grave right next to Cissy's, Valancy and her stillborn child.
"Her heart wasn't strong enough for her to survive childbirth," says Cissy's ghost, standing next to him. "She told her husband that it wouldn't be, but he didn't care."
She turns towards him as he keeps staring at the freshly dug grave in horrified stupor and glares at him accusingly.
"You could have helped her, Barney. You could have protected her."
Barney wakes up with a gasp and looks at Valancy with wide eyes. She's sleeping peacefully next to him, breathing evenly and perfectly alright and he closes his eyes briefly in thanks. She's alive, she's with him, she's safe.
Except she isn't, of course. She might not be forcefully married to that man, but there is still the death sentence over her head, just as it was hanging over Cissy's, as last night showed all too clearly.
He covers his face with his arm, clenching his teeth and doing his hardest to calm his breathing. He can't fall apart now, it would be sure to wake up Valancy and she needs to rest after that ghastly attack. Besides, he promised her he won't ever mention her heart or her upcoming death. He promised he would put it out of his mind. That he will forget.
If only it was so easy.
The thoughts come unbidden sometimes, of course, and it's harder to push them away when he's alone, either traipsing through the woods on one of his solitary walks or locked in the Bluebeard's Chamber or, like right now, lying awake at night, counting her every breath or touching her wrist delicately and reassuring himself with her steady pulse.
He remembers the terrible details of his dream – her swollen belly and Cissy's accusing words – and he frowns with concern. He's always careful with her when they enjoy their marital bed, very careful. He never forgets that he holds Valancy's life in his hands. Often they simply enjoy each other's bodies without fully joining them in a way which might result in a child, and when they do, he's always careful to withdraw in time. But the dream and the cause of Valancy's death sit heavily on his mind and make him uneasy. Especially since recently it got harder for him to keep his focus and full control of himself when they are intimate.
He doesn't read too much into it. Both he and Valancy are getting better in the act now that they had several weeks to get to know each other in that way and learn what the other likes best. It's only natural that their bodies respond to stimulation with overwhelming pleasure; this is what bodies are supposed to do, after all, when two people are attracted to each other and care enough to ensure everybody is enjoying the act equally. Pure biology, really, and if there is one thing Barney understands it's how nature works. But the side effect is that he finds it harder and harder not to lose himself in Valancy to the detriment of any necessary caution. He's deadly afraid that he will slip one day and not only hastens her death, but causes her unimaginable anguish by giving her a child which has no chance to be born.
It's another thing he absolutely refuses to dwell upon, but he has a flashing thought that such a turn of events would devastate him too. He can't imagine losing another child, this time truly his own in every way.
Anyway, the undisputable conclusion is that he needs to exercise more caution and since he is not sure he physically will be always able to do it, he either must cease to make love to her in that way or they have to use other means.
He crosses his arms under his head and frowns thoughtfully. He's never researched that topic – there never was any need – but he read in passing that there were new developments in controlling family size, although they remained completely illegal in Canada. But there were people lobbying for the law to change and there were doctors advising their patients discreetly using the most current medical knowledge; it was very probable that some of the new devices found their way to Canada from England or France. Question was of course how to obtain such an object and advice. Obviously not in Deerwood or Port Lawrence, but he has a trip to Toronto coming up…
With sudden determination, Barney gets up from the bed, careful not to disturb Valancy, and goes to the Bluebeard's Chamber to write some letters. He doesn't have many connections in the outside world, but he has some and he's going to use all of them.
He has Valancy's life and happiness to consider, after all.
xxx
They don't mention any of it the next morning. Valancy determinedly pretends that last night didn't happen and Barney's promise to her binds him to silence. He can't silence his own morbid thoughts though, even if he doesn't allow himself to express them in any other way than a concerned look or two when Valancy is not looking. He wonders grimly if that's how death will look like – her twisting and tensing in waves of debilitating pain, with him helpless to offer her any relief until her eyes close for good. He bites viciously on his pipe, scowling and trying to push such thoughts out of his head. She is fine now and hopefully will remain fine for months yet – maybe the whole year Dr Trent gave her – maybe even longer – after all the doctors gave Cissy six months to live and she lived for two years instead – who knows, maybe he won't lose Valancy so very soon either. Anyway, if he learnt anything from Cissy's illness it's that there is no point in pondering the inevitable and spoiling the enjoyment of the present. Time for grief will come in its own time, there is no good in inviting it sooner.
He looks at Valancy instead. She is visibly tired, even if she would deny it if he asked, and is lying on the sofa reading one of John Foster's books – her comfort, he knows, which baffles and touches him in equal measure. He notices how she winces and rubs her forehead.
"Do you want me to read it to you?"
He's not sure who's more surprised by his spontaneous offer, him or her.
"Is John Foster growing on you?" she asks playfully and he scoffs.
"Hardly. But it looks like you have a headache and I don't mind reading it to you for a bit until you feel better. I even solemnly promise not to make too much fun of his more pretentious paragraphs."
She frowns at him warningly, clearly on the verge of reminding him of his other promise to her, so he hastens to add in a deliberately gentle voice.
"You read to me when my head was aching, Moonlight. I just would like to return the favour."
Her expression softens and she hands the book over to him. He moves from the armchair to the sofa and allows her to lay her head on his chest, his arm around her. Yes, this is nice. She is warm and alive in his embrace and it feels so right to hold her close that his feelings, so much disturbed by the events of last night, finally calm into quiet contentment. For this moment, everything is alright with his world.
He starts reading and it's one of the most bizarre experiences of his life. He's never read any of his works aloud – there never was any reason to – and it feels strange to do so now. On the other hand, the thoughts and feelings he had while writing down those passages come back to him and bring some fond, beautiful memories with them – the stunning, awe-inspiring sunrises on early morning hikes, the sight of birches with their white trunks and fresh bright green leaves touched with kisses of the golden light of a late spring sun, the excited chattering of birds as they were building their nests in the boughs above him. He is seeing it all again as he is reading about it to Valancy and he feels her contented sigh against his chest.
"You read it so beautifully," she says. "It's exactly how I hear it in my head, you do such justice to his words. I can't understand how you can not like it. You two sound so alike sometimes."
"Hush," he says, tapping her playfully on the nose. "Keep offending me like that and you will have to do your own reading."
She laughs softly and snuggles against his chest, her eyes closing.
"Then I will be silent like a mouse," she mutters. "No way I'm going to deny myself such a treat."
He smiles and strokes her soft, short hair as he goes back to the book.
xxx
In the evening, Barney lights a bonfire of their own on a narrow strip of sand and rocks on the shore of their island from where it joins the other bonfires lighted all around the lake in throwing great, blood-red ribbons over the waters. Music drifts to them alluringly from boats here and there, or from the verandahs on the big house of the millionaire on the biggest island and Valancy's eyes shine like dark jewels in the light of the fire as she listens to it with a dreamy smile.
"Would you like a house like that, Moonlight?" Barney asks, waving his hand at Gossard's so called 'cottage'. He thinks she is happy enough in his shack, but well, she used to dream of living in an actual castle her whole life.
"No," says Valancy immediately, shaking her shapely head. "No. It's too elegant. I would have to carry it with me everywhere I went. On my back like a snail. It would own me—possess me, body and soul. I like a house I can love and cuddle and boss. Just like ours here. I don't envy Hamilton Gossard 'the finest summer residence in Canada.' It is magnificent, but it isn't my Blue Castle."
She looks up at him, smiling, and takes his hand in hers, and he knows without her saying it that he is the big part of the charm their little house holds for her, because it's his, and theirs, and she loves it because she loves him.
He can't answer her unspoken confession with an equal one of his own – they promised each other not to lie or pretend – but he can kiss her in gratitude for everything she feels and does for him and so he does. Valancy's lips are unbelievably soft and the kiss gentle and nearly unbearably sweet. Barney's heart is hammering when they finally separate.
"Would you like a house like that?" she asks curiously and he laughs.
"Not on my life," he answers, putting her hair behind her ear and admiring the play of light and shadows from the fire on her face and in her eyes. "I have everything I want right here."