Myra carefully placed the last chosen apple into her basket, scratching the side of her head in momentary confusion.
"You feel all right, Miss Myra?" The young, Swedish girl appeared behind her, having been watching the brunette take great care in selecting the fresh produce.
"Oh, I'm fine, Ingrid. Just tryin' to remember what else I needed for supper. Apples for the pie, potatoes, carrots. That's it, carrots," Myra flashed a satisfied smirk.
"That be what you forget?" Ingrid giggled lightly, seeing the sheer relief sweep over the expectant mother's face.
"That's it, exactly. My, I ain't been able to keep nothin' straight in my head for weeks, now, been so worried 'bout makin' sure I eat enough, sleep enough. Just startin' to feel normal again, too," The small-framed woman took several steps to arrive in front of the freshly displayed carrots, Ingrid slowly picking three potatoes from the neat selection.
"You must be scared, no?" Ingrid delicately slipped the last potato into the small basket hung over her left arm, making her way to Myra's side.
"No, I'm not scared. Couldn't be happier to tell ya the truth. Feel like for the first time in my life, everythin's where it should be. Like I'm finally on the right path, probably sounds silly," Myra dismissed her sentimental statement with a brush of her right hand.
"I do not think that. I feel same about me and Matthew. That we need wait awhile more, but then all will be as it should." Her eyes drifted off dreamily into the distance.
"That's sweet, Ingrid. Hey, Matthew spoke to you, didn't he? Before he left this mornin', I mean," Myra reached her hand forwards to clasp it around the young girl's wrist in concern.
"Oh, of course. He not do something like that without telling me I told him go,he need to be with his family," Ingrid nodded, her eyes locking squarely onto Myra's.
"He, he say why?" Myra pulled her eyes away, looking down at the dusty porch, very conscious of how prying her question had been.
"No, not say very much," Ingrid shook her head honestly, reflecting on Myra's question for a moment before continuing. "He just say that he and Colleen needed to be with Brian and Dr Mike. That because of what happen, Dr Mike be upset and need them all. I not like to ask more, is not my business," Ingrid shrugged, barely managing to convince herself of her last statement.
"I suppose. Oh, mornin' Miss Dorothy," Myra corrected herself quickly, seeing the raised eyebrow from the redhead, "sorry, Dorothy. I keep forgettin'," The brunette smiled apologetically, feeling the widow approach her; the older woman's presence soon becoming overbearing.
"Ladies," Dorothy flashed a bright, yet relatively superficial grin at both Myra and Ingrid, being distracted by the burning desire to see if anyone else was aware of her newly discovered piece of gossip.
"So, he say they only be a few weeks, not like last time," Ingrid continued the conversation, feeling uneasy as she noticed Dorothy lean in closer with intrigue.
"This about Matthew?" Dorothy cleared her throat, feeling absolutely no reservation whatsoever in broaching the sensitive subject.
"Yeah, poor Ingrid but she's been mighty understanding," Myra consoled, Dorothy's eyes glistening brightly as they continued the relevant conversation.
"Ain't got no choice really. Will be somethin' this whole town's gonna have to be mighty understandin' about. That is, if they manage to find her in time," Dorothy busied herself rearranging the heads of lettuce on display, however being fully aware of just what she was doing. She wanted to see just what the general level of knowledge was, so she could drop the bombshell at a time that would be the most effective.
"Have I, have I missed somethin'? I know I ain't been followin' much lately," Myra watched Dorothy turn back to face them, the redhead barely able to contain the eagerness running through her veins.
"Well, I possibly shouldn't be saying anything but then again, it's surely going to be something everyone'll be finding the truth out about sooner or later," Dorothy turned around, leaning her back against the wooden display crates.
"Dorothy, don't keep us in suspense like this, if we're gonna find out anyway," Myra pleaded, hating when people made a big deal out of what usually ended up being trivial.
"Myra, ain't you well, noticed Michaela actin' strangely for awhile now?" Dorothy gestured far from subtly to Myra's waistline.
"Suppose she's been quiet, not her normal self but then, given everything that's happened, can't really expect her to be her normal self," Myra turned her head to glance at Ingrid for several moments, the young girl also having no idea.
"Well, what if it was something else. What if there was another explanation?" Dorothy clasped her hands behind her back slowly, her voice unusually crisp and stilted.
"Ain't what happened enough of a reason?" Myra dismissed Dorothy's interrogation hastily, before turning back to Ingrid, who had a far more contemplating expression on her face.
"Miss Dorothy, I not understand, you say there be something make Dr Mike be more upset? Like what Matthew say? Why she not tell people? Why she run away when all her family here?" The seriousness and concern in Ingrid's voice was enough to draw Myra's attention back to Dorothy's aloof gaze.
"I, might know and, I suppose it's not like I'm gossiping. It's not an untruth and it's not really anything unkind," Dorothy adjusted her stance nervously, waiting for nearby shoppers to move away from them. The hesitation in her voice only caused Myra further aggravation.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Dorothy. You're makin' out like there's some big reason, it'll just turn out to be nothin'," Myra shrugged the older woman off, turning back to the fresh produce to ensure she had all the required items.
"Suit yourself. Only, most people are going to think a single woman havin' a baby is a big deal," Dorothy folded her arms tightly across her chest, raising her left arm to indicate the townsfolk around them.
"Dr Mike's pregnant?!" Myra hushed herself instantly, not having realized that the shock in her voice was conveyed through her increased pitch and volume.
Glaring around nervously, Myra turned her head back to Ingrid when she heard the young girl's confused utterance.
"A baby? But how? There be no father," Ingrid raised her eyebrows in genuine bewilderment. Gradually working through her own question, she gasped, feeling a sharp pain radiate through the top of her left foot. "Oww, you, oh." She looked down to see Myra's foot dug deep into hers, immediately grasping the situation, and trailing off in a disheartened sigh.
"Now maybe you'll see that we got some work to do 'round here. Olive told me Sully, Matthew and Colleen gone to get her back, so we're gonna have to get this town used to the idea. Gonna be some people pretty against the notion," Dorothy watched Myra's face melt into a distracted mortification.
"Aww, poor Dr Mike. It's a wonder no-one figured it out sooner. She's gotta be at least a month further along than me. Musta known for ages now, keepin' it to herself all this time. All alone, ain't it just horrible," Myra's face crumpled, Dorothy clearing her throat in discomfort.
"Still don't make it right her just picking up and disappearing, separating little Brian from his brother and sister," Dorothy smoothed the edges of her dress out, remaining firm in her moral principles.
"But Dorothy, she'd be desperate. I know what that's like. Last year, workin' for Hank, thought I coulda been pregnant. Didn't know what I was gonna do and that weren't after somethin' like what Dr Mike's been through," Myra watched as Ingrid struggled to interpret the complex dialogue.
"Ain't no excuse for killin' an innocent child, I mean, really, you'd think as a Doctor, she'd a been able to stop something like this. Surely, she would have considered it from the start." Dorothy's eyes took on a slightly critical glare, as her head shook several times in disbelief.
"Probably not. You remember how sick she was. Then after all that, there was the town, people makin' a fuss a her and the children. Dr Mike probably just wanted to put it all behind her. Try and forget about it, for the children's sake." Myra sighed, dropping her head miserably.
"Yeah, that's what she said all right, and look where it got her." Dorothy glanced over her left shoulder as another interested bystander lingered behind her.
"You act like this is somehow her fault and I'm tellin' ya, I know 'bout this stuff and there ain't nothin' she coulda done to stop," Myra paused, feeling a hand lock onto her shoulder.
"Afternoon, Horace," Dorothy smiled quickly, immediately changing the subject; this issue still being one she considered women's business.
"Myra, you just about finished there, honey?" Horace rested his right hand softly on his wife's shoulder, not realizing the significance of the conversation he'd just intruded upon.
"Oh, yes. Dorothy, I really think Hank would be dreadfully disappointed if he knew you were goin' 'round talkin' 'bout him like that. Afternoon, Ingrid," Myra forced a pleasant grin to her face, Ingrid doing likewise when she realized Myra's intention was to keep this news private.
Dorothy waited until Myra and Horace had made their way back inside to pay for their groceries, before she turned to the young girl. "Now, you understand it's best to keep this between us ladies. Right, Ingrid?" Dorothy kept her voice lowered, and suitably manipulative.
"I think so but not it be better to not tell persons in first place? Not our business to talk behind back. Matthew not tell me, then maybe wants no-one to know of this." Her eyes blinked several times, trying to phrase her point in the best way she could.
"Maybe Matthew doesn't know, dear. I'm sure we'll know more once Sully and the children bring her home," Dorothy worded her reply curtly, not liking one bit Ingrid's questioning of her actions.
"Yes, we know more then," Ingrid turned to leave, but not before giving Dorothy a mild look of resentment, this going undetected by the older woman.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
Michaela hastily paid the buggy driver, turning to locate Brian who'd quickly disappeared into the crowded street.
"Brian? Brian?" She saw the boy's small blond head of hair several yards away, bobbing in and out of view between the sea of faces.
Having no choice but to pursue through the busy street after him, Michaela arrived behind him, gripping his right wrist tightly, and pulling him back in her intended direction.
"Ma, wanted to go, oww! Ya hurtin' me!" He squirmed in a desperate attempt to free himself from her firm grasp.
"Just be quiet, Brian. Please," Michaela felt her chest tighten, as she struggled to catch her breath after chasing the young boy.
"But wanted to go see to the confectionary, Ma. I remember, it's." He turned back quickly, trying to discern his location amongst the unfamiliar streets.
"Brian, I mean it. If you mention candy one more time, you'll be going home on your own," Michaela felt the child's weight pull against her, as she continued back up the street.
"But Ma," Brian hung his head momentarily lost for words. Quickly recovering, however, he saw a solution to the problem, "well, why can't I go see Grandma? Why can't ya just leave me with Grandma. If ya don't want me 'round, and gonna be so mean all the time." Brian managed to free his right arm, having no intention of giving into the injustice he felt was being forced upon him.
"Because I said so!" Michaela ran the palms of her hands down her face in exasperation. Brian looked down to his wrist, rubbing it soothingly, as he waited for further instruction.
"Sorry Ma," he whispered, letting his arms fall by his sides, and giving her his full, resigned, attention.
"Sweetheart, for the next few days, you're just going to have to do things you don't like. You're going to have to wait around and be quiet and do what you're told. I'm sorry it has to be like that but I promise, once this next week is over, we'll be going home and everything will be all right. Please, just trust me," Michaela brought her right hand to the back of the child's head, pulling him to her side as he warmly wrapped an arm around her waist, his small fingers clutching to the waistband of her skirt.
There was something in the weariness and softness of her voice that convinced the young boy of her sincerity. He had no understanding of her position, however knew when he'd pushed her far enough. "I'll be good, Ma," The child reached for her hand, and took several steps back in their original direction.
Michaela barely had time to comprehend the boy's compliance before she realized he was leading her back in the direction they'd previously come from.
"Which way, Ma?" Brian stopped, suddenly realizing he didn't even know where they were going.
"This way, Brian," Michaela attempted to shrug off the clouded daze of confusion, and brought herself to her senses, reaching for her purse so as to check the address.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
The young brunette looked up with a warm smile, seeing the woman and small boy enter the room from the door opposite her desk.
"Good afternoon?" She glanced down briefly at the schedule of appointments, before smiling as the young child sat obediently on the dark green velvet chair by the far wall.
"Yes," Michaela approached the desk, as her surroundings began to take on a somewhat surrealistic quality. This was it. Finally. The moment she'd been planning for and worrying about for over a month, now. She was standing in the very doctor's room. Glancing in distraction to her right, Michaela saw Brian, his attention absorbed in a nearby medical journal, before she turned back towards the woman seated at the desk, choosing her words tentatively. "I wish to, that is, might I make an appointment to see Dr Storer, please," Michaela felt her voice echo around her, nervousness at her impending actions weighing down on her shoulders.
"Why, of course, Ma'am. Any particular day?" The young nurse flipped the appointment books in her hands, as she reached for a pencil in front of her.
"As soon as possible," Michaela interlocked her hands loosely in front of her, feeling off-balance without the weight and security of her medical bag in her right hand.
"Well, he's not seeing anyone at the moment. I'll check if it's convenient," The woman rose to her feet, and, with a warm smile, departed swiftly into the adjoining room.
Michaela let the gracious smile fall from her face the moment the woman had turned away from her. She swallowed and took several steps across the room to Brian's side, seeing the confused interest with which he was studying the material in his hands.
"Ma, what's a tri, trimester?" He pointed to the unfamiliar word within the paragraph he had been reading.
Michaela frowned momentarily, before suddenly realizing the material her son would be reading. Taking a seat next to him, she cleared her throat, a clinical detachment coming automatically to her voice.
"Trimester, Brian, is from the Latin, meaning a period of three months. However, I suspect you are referring to it in the gestational sense of the word. A pregnancy is divided into three trimesters, each of which last for approximately twelve weeks," Michaela welcomed the professional distraction, paying no attention to her subconscious thoughts.
"Ah, ok, coz there's this table that shows, hey Ma? Which one is our baby in?" Brian turned the journal towards her, as Michaela heard the assertive male voice from across the room.
"Madam?" Michaela looked up, dismissing Brian's query in a heartbeat. As she rose to her feet, Michaela felt a hand grip her wrist.
"Can't I come, Ma?" Brian closed the book, his eyes bright and hopeful.
"No. Brian, you need to stay here. Don't move, and just, read," Michaela tapped the top of the book, before quickly being ushered into the immaculately furnished examination room.
"Do take a seat. I had a cancellation, so I was able to fit you in," The dark-haired physician beckoned, as he gestured to the leather chair in front of his desk. Michaela glanced back at him once again, determining him to be perhaps only several years older than herself, and of extreme competence and pride.
"Thank-you, I," Michaela glanced down at the large oak desk in front of her, as he took his seat opposite her, realizing she hardly knew where to begin. "I understand you're one of the most respected obstetrician's on the East coast and," Michaela saw him turn away, his right hand moving to dismiss her.
"Please, I appreciate your flattery, however, it is unnecessary. It is you I wish to discuss. Now, let's just get a few details shall we?" Dr Storer opened the crisp new patient folder, before dipping his pen in the ink well beside him.
"Name?" Michaela let her eyes drift from the edge of the oak desk, knowing that a complete history taking was inevitable, and wishing with every ounce of her being, that she'd prepared for it earlier.
"Michaela." She waited until he commenced writing, several possible alternatives flashing through her mind. "Cooper," she drew a breath, ensuring her reply was not overly suspicious.
"Date of birth?" Michaela turned her head to glance around the spotlessly tidy room, seeing for the first time, the array of specialization-specific equipment and charts.
"February fifteenth, eighteen thirty-three," The physician remained consumed by the precisely printed form in front of him. Michaela again returned her focus to the gestational chart that hung over the precisely made-up examination table.
"Now, what brings you here this afternoon?" He placed the writing instrument back in the gold-plated quiver.
"I, need your help, with respect to a pregnancy," Michaela forced herself to meet the Doctor's eyes, aware of the enormity of her impending request.
"I see." He rested back further in his chair, hands folding against his chest, slightly intrigued as to the phrasing of the woman's response.
"Well, perhaps I shouldn't put it quite," Michaela saw his moustache twitch, stopping herself abruptly as his stern, yet compassionate voice continued.
"Let's just, start at the beginning, shall we? You believe yourself to be pregnant?" He saw the physical anguish appear on the woman's face, however maintained a suitable professionalism.
"I know, I mean, yes," Michaela felt the tedium of having to play medical incompetence gnaw on her patience.
"And this has not been verified medically up until this point?" He pulled his arms further across his chest, seeing the awkwardness in his patient's eyes.
"Yes. I mean, not really," Michaela felt the deception conveyed through the uncertainty of her words.
"My dear, you don't appear terribly certain," Horatio wasted no time in standing from his chair, pacing around the side of the desk to gesture for Michaela to rise also. "Perhaps we might take this one step at a time. Come over here, settle yourself down." He crossed the room, his right hand falling to the corner of the examination table.
"Is this really necessary?" Michaela acquiesced reluctantly, allowing him to assist her awkwardly until she was sitting on the edge of the table. This was certainly not going to plan.
"Mrs. Cooper, I fail to see how you can expect me to confirm a pregnancy without a medical examination." He shook his head with a calming smile, managing to persuade Michaela further back onto the table.
"You're right, I, I'm sorry," Michaela carefully unbuttoned the clasp on the back of her satin skirt, before settling herself on her back. Her hair crushed against the soft, white pillow underneath her.
"Right, now that we've sorted that out. I take it this is your first pregnancy?" Michaela felt her breathing rise in her chest, a surge of anxiety running through her upper body the moment she felt the Doctor's hands reach the waistband of her lilac skirt.
"Yes." She felt her arms clench by her sides, sensing every minute movement of his fingertips as he delicately pulled her blouse from her skirt, undoing several buttons, and pushing her chemise away to expose her bare flesh.
"And you've not seen a doctor until now?" Dr Storer lowered his fingers gently against her protruding abdomen, delicately pushing her undergarments away, so as to carry out the necessary examination.
"N-No," Michaela felt her voice crack in her throat, turning her head so as to keep her eyes locked on the solid oak desk across the room, willing herself to ignore the sensation of his hands upon her skin.
"Well, I certainly see now why you rebuked my suggestion of confirming a pregnancy, although you've managed to conceal it quite well." He repositioned his hands over the lower portion of her pelvis, hearing Michaela's involuntary gasp of protest. "Sorry, is there any discomfort?" He reduced the applied pressure, content that the fetus was correctly positioned.
"No, it's fine. Everything's as it should be, I take it?" Michaela managed to dampen her obvious ill-ease, noticing the physician leave her side momentarily.
"Everything appears perfectly normal," Horatio crossed the room. He reached for his stethoscope with one hand, and Michaela's chart with another. "How far along do you suppose you are?" He scribbled some notes down, suspecting his patient would require some time to consider the question.
"Seventeen weeks," Michaela replied precisely, as she turned her head away sharply, knowing that she'd allowed this pregnancy to continue far too long. Chastising herself for denying the truth for so long, she let her eyes drop closed. The feel of the cold, metal implement against her skin, caused her to gasp audibly, pulling instinctively away, before she realized the harmlessness of the physician's actions.
"Nothing to be alarmed about." He continued the exam in silence for several moments. Michaela deflected her eyes once again, knowing exactly what he was doing. She couldn't deny the guilt running through her veins; she knew that this child now had a detectable heartbeat; and that fact alone proved the existence of life beyond any other.
"There, everything sounds absolutely as it should be," he nodded several times, unable to hide the emotion in his voice as he took in the regular rhythm of the child's fluttering heartbeat beneath his fingers. "Here," Horatio slipped the stethoscope from his ears, proffering it to his patient encouragingly.
"No, it's all right," Michaela dug her right hand further into her side, half of her truly wanting to hear for herself, that which she knew was an unquestionable reality; the rest of her heart knowing that if she dared, it would make the vital avoidance measures all the more reprehensible.
"There's nothing to be afraid of, I promise you," Dr Storer shrugged, as he placed the stethoscope back around his shoulders, and with all professional decency, repositioned his patient's clothing.
"I know that," Michaela retorted defiantly, beginning to feel patronized.
She quickly reminded herself however, that it was because she was being treated as a naïve housewife, and being given absolutely no credit for her vast physiological and obstetrical expertise.
"Rather a lot of first-time mothers are understandably apprehensive of what is really a routine, and natural experience." His words were soft and calming. Michaela finished tucking her blouse back neatly into her skirt, before looking up to watch as he continued making notes in her chart. One confusing thought lingered in her mind: Where have I heard those words before?