Michaela tapped lightly on the door to the boy's room. "Brian?" She didn't hesitate to turn the knob and poke her head into the room, a premature smile already on her face.
The scene which greeted her, was the furthest from possible expectation. Her eyes froze on the two children, their attention still held by the game they were engrossed in. Both were unaware of the intrusion.
Penelope, who was flat on her back in the middle of the bed, giggled nervously, one hand on her 'stomach', the other buried in the many layers of her skirt and petticoats.
Brian was knelt at the end of the bed, his head and shoulders slightly obscured by the edge of his cousin's skirt.
"Can't see nothin' yet. Where, what'd you do with it," he muttered, his voice accented to indicate the 'pretendness' of the game. The two ten year-olds, despite their differences, had realized very quickly in the past two days, that, differences or not, they had in each other, ideal partners, for one very realistic game of mothers and fathers.
"It's coming, can't you?" Penelope fumbled under her skirt, the small doll she'd hidden there, had become lost in the cluster of lace and cotton folds.
Michaela reacted immediately to the sight of her son under her niece's clothing, never for a moment considering the plausible explanation.
"Brian Cooper!" she fumed, her jaw dropped open, as both children glared across at her, their faces a mix of guilt, embarrassment and sheer terror.
"M-Ma! We, were, ah," Brian struggled to untangle himself, and in his panic, slipped from the edge of the bed, landing unceremoniously into a heap onto the floor.
"We were only playing," Penelope hung her head, as she delicately retrieved the china doll from underneath her pale pink skirt.
Michaela alternated her glance between each of the red-faced children for several moments, as she nodded in acceptance of their explanation.
"Ma really, swear it weren't what it looked like," Brian remained on the floor, his small head of messed up blond hair popping up against the mattress as he pulled himself to his feet.
"Honestly, Aunt Michaela," Penny tried to keep her expression serious, however she turned at exactly the wrong moment to check on Brian, and both children were sent into fits of laughter.
"All right, settle down both of you," Michaela rolled her eyes, knowing that Brian expected her to make a big deal out of their antics. "Your Mother says it's time for church." Michaela watched as Brian rose to his feet and carefully dusted himself off. Penelope did likewise, slipping from the edge of the bed and in a very lady-like manner, straightened her clothing.
"Do I gotta go to church, Ma?" Brian whispered quietly, as Penelope finished re-arranging her skirt.
"Have to go, Brian," Michaela corrected. "You don't want to?" She rested her hand on the boy's left shoulder.
"Not really," he winced, and stared down at the floor.
Michaela glanced across at the curious expression on her niece's face. "Well, I'd like you to go, I'm sure you'll find it interesting. You remember going to church last time, don't you?" Michaela realized that allowing Brian to avoid church would create a conflict of interests between Penelope and himself.
"The fancy music and, the glass windows. Will Grandma be there like last time?" Brian's face lit up eagerly, as Michaela straightened his fair hair.
"Yes, she will," Michaela sighed, and turned back towards the door.
"Can't wait to tell her what's been happening, hardly got to talk to her at the hospital." He dropped his voice, "Aunt Rebecca was kinda mean to her."
Michaela saw the defensive look play on Penelope's face, and turned towards her, "Penny, please go and tell your Mother that Brian will only be a few minutes." Michaela waited until the young girl had left the room before turning back to her son.
"Ma, I didn't mean she was 'mean' mean, just," Brian defended himself immediately.
"It's not that, Brian," Michaela closed the door once again, and gestured towards the boy's bed. They each sat down, Brian crossed his legs eagerly, and faced towards his mother.
"Sweetheart, you're not in trouble. I need to ask you to do something for me," Michaela frowned, and looked away from the boy.
"What, Ma?" He turned his head and leaned closer towards her.
"Brian, I need you to promise me, you won't tell Grandma about," she stammered, barely able to bring herself to utter the words, "the baby. Do you think you can keep it a secret?" Michaela's eyes shifted uncomfortably between the dark maroon rug under her feet, and Brian's confused expression.
"I, I guess so. Ma, I don't understand, though. Won't she be excited, happy?" He chewed lightly on his lower lip, having found his mother's behavior since they'd left home wildly unpredictable and alarming. One day she was yelling at him, the next refusing to speak and now; now she appeared perfectly normal.
"No, Brian," Michaela shook her head sadly, and narrowed her eyes as Brian took the thought one step further.
"Is it like what Penny said? Is it coz you ain't married?" Brian gestured towards the door, from where his cousin had just left.
"Yes, sweetheart. You know life is different here, don't you?" Michaela wasn't sure how to explain her reasons for the deception. However, she knew she had to.
"Yeah, like Penny's room is bigger than the homestead and Ellen calls me 'Master Brian'," he offered quickly with an amused laugh.
"I suppose," she paused, "well, other things are different also, Brian. I don't think Grandma would find it easy to understand those differences, because she lives here. Do you think you can understand that?" Michaela reached across to slowly stroke the child's arm.
"Like how Aunt Rebecca didn't know the difference between the Indians and the dog soldiers," he nodded keenly in comprehension, missing Michaela's flinch.
"What?" Michaela felt her breath rise in her chest, looking incessantly between each of Brian's blue eyes.
"When you got kidnapped by the dog soldiers. When ya got hurt," Brian's voice dropped as he looked down at the ground.
Michaela brought her hands to her face, breathing through a sea of flashbacks, feeling both terrified and furious at the same time.
"Brian, what did you tell her?" Michaela pleaded, wishing he hadn't given her sister that particular piece of information.
"Aunt Rebecca didn't understand why you were upset. I told her the truth Ma, honest," Brian looked up, not understanding why he was in trouble.
Michaela stayed silent, looking desperately back towards the door.
"I promise, Ma. Won't say nothin' to Grandma about the baby," Brian reassured her confidently as he uncrossed his legs and prepared to slip off the edge of the bed.
"Sweetheart, do you like it here?" Michaela glanced slowly around the room, before eventually letting her eyes come to rest on his small form.
"Guess so." He dropped his head. "Kinda miss Colleen and Matthew though. And Sully."
"So do I," Michaela reflected back to the last time she'd seen Sully, that evening in the alleyway after the play.
"But Ma, don't want you to be sad no more. So, if you wanna stay here and be happy, then, that's all right," he spoke tenderly, each word having been deliberately considered.
"Oh, Brian. Come here," Michaela extended her left arm to the boy, as he crawled across the small distance between them and clung to her side.
Michaela moved her left hand slowly up and down the child's arm and shoulder, feeling his head bury against her chest, and his ribcage move with each breath he took. "Sweetheart, I love you. Everything's going to be all right." She squeezed him tighter against her side, before letting her grasp weaken, looking down at him just as he looked up.
"I know, Ma, Sully said so," Brian reassured as he slipped from the edge of the bed.
"He did?" Michaela frowned lightly, noticing the seriousness with which Brian had made the statement.
"Uh-huh. He said that when we're sad, we think we don't love people no more, but we do. Like when my real Ma died, and we had to come live with you. I," he hesitated slightly, "didn't like ya at first, coz I was sad that Ma died but, then when I stopped bein' sad, I really did like ya." He stood closely beside her, and reached for her hands.
"I'm sorry everything has been so frightening for you. I'm sorry you've had to see me sad but being with you and watching you have fun, makes me less sad. Brian, do you think you can make me another promise?" Michaela clasped the boy's hands firmly. He tilted his head and leaned closer, so that his knees pressed in between hers against the mattress. "I want you to promise me, that if my being sad, ever makes you sad, that you'll tell me," she whispered, feeling unbidden tears collect in her eyes once again.
"Promise, Ma." He looked deeply at her for what seemed like a long time, before pulling his hands from hers and throwing them around her back. "After church, Penny was gonna make me sit and listen to her do her piano practice. Maybe you could sit with us? Make it less boring?" He felt her arms lock around his back.
"We'll see, You'd better be going, don't want to hold everyone up," Michaela released the child from her affectionate grasp, as he planted a soft kiss on her cheek, and jogged towards the doorway.
"Bye, Ma," he shrugged lightly, aware of the tinge of nervousness at his eminent departure.
Michaela wrapped her arms across her chest, gripping her upper arms with her hands, as she heard the child's footsteps fade along the corridor.
Michaela found herself unable to identify the strange sense of assurance that had begun to creep over her; she just knew she felt differently. From the warmth of Brian's hands interlocked with her own, to the sensation of his small lips upon her cheek for a spontaneous kiss, Michaela allowed the calmness to spread along her arms, and throughout the rest of her body.
As she walked silently along the corridor to the top of the landing, she could hear the commotion as the family departed through the front door below, oblivious to her presence.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
"Really, Robert E., now if that soup burns," Grace threatened as they crossed the main street and he led her towards their new home.
"Here, just wanna show ya what I been workin' on," They arrived only yards from their front porch, as Grace noticed the large object on the verandah, an old blanket thrown over it. "Made it for ya. Know we been so busy savin' for the house and all, but still wanted to give ya something special, for today," he whispered, as a smile grew across his face.
"Oh, Robert E., you didn't have to do nothin' special. Just havin' our house and havin' you," The couple arrived on the edge of the porch.
Robert E. cleared his throat and triumphantly pulled the blanket away.
"Oh!" Grace gasped, both hands drawing to her mouth as her eyes rested on the hand-carved, polished rocking chair.
He lowered his eyes, slightly embarrassed by her startled response; but in a good way. "Well?" he pulled the cap from his head, "Thought then you could sit out here when the weather's nice, sew, or," he knew what he really meant, and by the far away, slightly dreamy look in her eyes, so did Grace.
"I know, we just gotta keep hopin'. It's only been a year," she reassured herself, as she felt her husband's arm around her shoulders.
"That's right, only been a year and we got a lot a years left to keep tryin'. This way, well, always have something to hope for." Robert E. embraced her lightly against his chest, as Grace turned to kiss him softly.
"Thank-you," she whispered.
"No, it's you I oughta be thankin'. You helped me start my life again, after," Robert E. felt his wife's fingers press against his lips tenderly.
"Ssh, don't gotta talk about that. Not today. We both found a future in each other and we're gonna have a good life together now. After what we've both been through, nothin's gonna stop that," Grace dropped her eyes closed as she pressed tighter against her husband's chest, the pain of the brutal attack she suffered barely six months ago still fresh in her mind.
"You're right, Grace. After what we been through, we can face anything. Long as we got each other," his voice was smooth and balanced, as he rocked his wife gently against his chest.
After several moments of uninterrupted closeness, she pulled sharply away, the mood breaking. "Robert E., the soup!" Grace's eyes widened, as she frantically grabbed the hem of her long dress and dashed back towards the café, a small chuckle passing from her husband's lips at her speed.
"Oh, shame," Robert E. dusted his worn hat in his tired hands, before he slipped it back onto his head, and strode calmly back to work.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
Michaela descended the staircase and walked slowly from the entrance hall across to the sitting room. The large house was very much like her mother's; elaborately decorated and furnished.
"Might I bring you some morning tea, Miss?" Ellen appeared in the room behind her. Michaela had not even been aware of the older woman's presence, until the chambermaid's voice pulled her out of a distant daydream.
"Oh no, that's quite all right," Michaela dismissed quickly, "Thank-you," she added politely, as she crossed the room to the fireplace, the mantel of which was cluttered with an assortment of family photographs. Although they were mostly of Rebecca's children, there was one Michaela recognized; a family portrait taken over thirty years ago. Michaela would have been no older than five, and was sat securely on her father's lap, the rest of the large family gathered around.
She fixed her eyes of the somber portrait for several minutes, before she carefully placed it back in its original position, and continued her intrigued roaming around the room. Michaela frowned with interest when she arrived at the large, chestnut piano which was in the front corner of the room.
Gingerly, she glided her hand over the piece of music which had been left open on the music stand; she immediately recognized the piece: Beethoven's Sonata number fourteen. A small smile animated her otherwise numb expression, as her fingers drifted over the printed notes, before Michaela nervously glanced around the room, ensuring she was alone.
Satisfied that she had ample privacy, Michaela returned the music to the wooden ledge, and slowly slid the heavy wooden bench out from under the instrument. As she settled herself awkwardly in front of the keyboard, her hands fell naturally against the ivory keys. Michaela took another glance between the music and her correctly positioned hands, before she slowly, and with delicate precision, began the first few bars of the work:
She squinted her eyes slightly, as she continued through the once well-rehearsed movement.
Her Uncle Teddy had given her lessons alongside her cousin when they had both been very young children.
However, her mother had soon put a stop to that: "No daughter of mine shall waste her time on such precocious and attention-seeking endeavors". Michaela chuckled lightly to herself, as she heard her mother's heartless words play out in her mind, as if they'd been said only yesterday.
Michaela shook her head as the chuckle dissolved, as if her career path, if not her entire life had not been just as precocious and attention-seeking.
Hesitantly, she increased the tempo of the music, as her confidence reignited, and she found herself swept away by the emotional journey that each note, each phrase took her on.
She felt the richness of each carefully placed note fill her mind, unaware of the complex skills being utilized in the translation on black dots on a faded piece of manuscript, to the living work of art that engulfed her, in which time itself, stood still.
Her mind drifted.
You have had a privileged life, Michaela and the people who matter will support you. Rebecca, William.
She turned the brown-edged page of the music, and continued playing. Each soothing phrase took her further into her thoughts.
Everyone's gone out of their way to take care of, damn it, it's not fair. Why should they? Why do I have to have people looking after me, treating me like some.
The speed of her playing increased slightly.
Why do I have to need them, need anyone. Why did I have to let myself end up like this.
She drew a breath, hesitating over a note momentarily.
Don't fool yourself, Michaela. You know that's not so. Why don't you listen to what people have been saying; Colleen, the doctors, even Rebecca.
She was reminded of the promise she'd made herself the night before leaving Colorado Springs: "I would rather die." She knew that wasn't true, it was only guilt.
Michaela felt her fingertips glide sleekly over the smooth keys, as she turned another page, and continued through the more familiar passages.
Her thoughts moved quickly away from the blandness of the notes on the page, once again sinking deeper into the tranquility of the music surrounding her.
You're only here because it's safe, Michaela. You can't deceive yourself, you were only running. It was utter foolishness, there's more shame here than there ever would have been had you simply stayed and admitted the truth.
To the town.
To Sully.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. Her chest tightened as her playing slowed.
He won't blame you, despite how much you believe to the contrary. Trust that he won't.
She looked down at her small hands, as they proficiently covered the length of the arpeggio. Michaela alternated her gaze swiftly between the music and her hands, as she struggled through a difficult modulation.
How could he accept, love, a child like this? A child that is not even his?
Michaela banished the thought immediately; she did not even want such a child. The very thought repulsed her just as powerfully in that instant as it had months ago when she'd first entertained the notion, and then five weeks ago when she had discovered the dreaded reality.
Such loathing only strengthened the guilt already settled within her. This was not how she'd planned her life; although none of the events in the past few years had been remotely conventional. They had, however, been her choice. Michaela knew her feelings towards this pregnancy were influenced more by lack of personal control, than through any of the more 'obvious' undesirable aspects.
Although she had not had a choice regarding the situation she was in, Michaela knew she had a choice regarding her own actions. She'd not considered an alternative plan until now, however, knew she would need to wait a few more days, until William thought her fit to travel; and send Brian home. She would need to find somewhere – she knew there were places – she would need to disappear.
Oh, God.
She dropped her head back, and her eyes glanced up hopelessly towards the ceiling. She couldn't stand it. Every time she thought of the baby growing inside her, she didn't see a baby.
The pace of her playing slowed and became more stilted as her thoughts drained her concentration.
She didn't see a baby. Not like little Mike, or any of the Indian children she'd treated at the reservation. On the few occasions Michaela actually allowed herself to consciously consider the life developing within her, she couldn't feel the unblemished excitement she always believed she would.
It wasn't the same.
It was cold, detached.
It's not fair, this isn't how this is meant to be. I'm supposed to want this, I'm supposed to feel something. What's wrong with me? Why can't I make sense of this? Why do I have to feel this way?
What am I so afraid of?
She knew the answer and quickly challenged it.
That doesn't make any difference. You're a doctor, Michaela. You know it was just, just,
She couldn't believe of the possible explanations that presented themselves to her. Just fate? God's will? Just the way things were meant to be? She knew scientifically that it was just something that had happened; It was simply biological. It could not have been prevented. However, explanations she could live with, tolerate, were not as forthcoming.
Michaela breathed out softly, feeling her chest drop wearily, as she turned the final page of the first movement of the sonata. She felt tired. She felt uncomfortable and cramped.
She returned her attention forcefully to the music, determined to at least finish this movement and had just managed to absorb herself fully in the music, when a voice pulled her away.
"I didn't know you played," William had been quietly ushered into the entrance hall several minutes earlier, when he had heard the music floating in from the sitting room."William?" she gasped, ceasing playing immediately. "I, I don't. Well, I haven't for many years," she blushed, noticing the impressed smile upon his face. Michaela slid carefully out between the bench and the piano and turned back to him as he spoke.
"Pity. It would be a shame to waste such talent." He blinked, and locked eyes with her sincerely. The smile which had grown on his lips was in response to her verbal acknowledgement of his presence rather than her musical gift, however he truly did find it charming. "I did tell you I would be seeing you today, did I not?" He frowned, at the confused look upon her face.
"I," she shook her head and dismissed her confusion with mild embarrassment, "I'm sorry, I didn't recall," Michaela had arrived by his side, as he gestured towards the staircase behind him.
"Don't apologize, please. Why don't we," he muttered warmly, as Michaela nodded automatically and they both made their way towards the stairs to begin climbing. "You've been feeling well?" He glanced back over his right shoulder as they continued up the staircase.
"I've been fine," Michaela frowned slightly, suddenly realizing just where this conversation was heading. Or rather, what was going to happen once they arrived upstairs.
"And it is good you've been moving around," he trailed of, almost unnerved by her calm manner and speech.
Michaela followed William along the corridor, slowing her pace in hesitation as he reached for the doorknob.
"Have a seat. Would you prefer if I summoned Ellen?" He queried professionally.
She dismissed the offer instantly and stepped past him into the large bedroom. "Must we? I assure you, I am quite fine," Michaela paced to the end of the bed, and tapped the iron frame lightly. Her awkwardness was obvious.
William paused and placed his black medical bag down slowly on the top of the chest of drawers to the right of the door. "Well, no, I'm not going to insist, however, the events of the last three days, shall we say, have not exactly been expected," William brought his hand forwards in gesture. Michaela scoffed subtly and moved her eyes from his glance.
"Nothing has been expected," she replied sarcastically, quickly catching herself and rephrasing, "I'm a doctor. I know how to monitor someone in my condition. I assure you, if I believe there to be any complications, I'll," she looked back up at him sharply as he cut her off.
"Michaela, forgive my directness, however, the reason we are all here to begin with is because you," he took a breath, and change the direction of his sentence immediately. "I simply meant that I took a great risk personally, professionally, in seeing you released yesterday, and I'd have done it all again without hesitation. However, as a physician, I do need to ensure your safety," His voice dropped to a whisper, "I am sorry that I needed to sound so cold."
She shook her head, "No, you are right. I'd have done the same thing. If it had been anyone else, I'd have been far less compassionate. I know you are only doing your job." She looked away once again, remaining emotionally detached, as she slid up onto the edge of the bed, and reached to unclasp her pale crimson skirt.
"Thank-you," he paused, glimpsing the unshielded determination and courage it took for Michaela to change her mind.
He completed the routine abdominal examination in silence and slipped the stethoscope back into the large black bag.
"Michaela, Rebecca wasn't certain and, at the hospital, Dr Hodge could only estimate, how far along," he snapped the bag closed as she dully replied.
"Eighteen weeks. Does it really matter!" her voice was brazen and hasty.
Michaela busied herself re-buttoning the small buttons of her silk blouse, feeling the frustration seethe within her without justification.
"You know it matters," he paused, and adjusted his tone professionally, "you're underweight." William stepped backwards, both of them taking a moment to recover from her previous outburst.
Michaela looked away and pushed the edges of her blouse roughly under her skirt.
"I'm sorry," she refastened the clasp on the back on her skirt and interlocked her fingers in front of her.
William nodded, as his face softened. Tentatively, he took a seat on the edge of the bed beside her, his hands resting on his medical bag as he stumbled awkwardly on his words. "Michaela, I meant everything I said to you yesterday. Whether you believe it or not," he ensured he still held her attention and continued, "Now, I've spoken with your sister and I've also made discrete enquiries of my own. There's a convent, run by a small group of Catholic nuns. Predominantly for young girls faced with unwanted pregnancies, however, given the circumstances, they would be more than welcoming and it would give you privacy and time to decide what you wish to do," William studied her receptive gaze intently, unable to determine how she would respond to the offer.
"Is there no other way?" she whispered.
"I thought that would be for the best. Isn't that why you came here, Michaela? To avoid the scandal of the town? To escape him?" William turned his head, and kept his voice non-threatening.
"Sully?" she frowned, confused by the awkwardness in William's voice.
"Well, yes. Was it not he, who did this to you?" he voiced boldly, as Michaela's face crumpled.
"Why would you think that?" she drew her right hand to her face, scolding herself for the ease at which tears collected in her eyes.
"Well, your Mother informed me that you were courting, soon after you left last year. You can tell me the truth, Michaela. No matter what happened, you are not to blame," William saw the conflict on Michaela's reddened face.
She refused to meet his eyes and instead, delicately pulled herself to the edge of the mattress, got to her feet and strolled around the end of the bed, her arms still clasped in front her.
"Even if you were engaged, it makes absolutely no difference. At the hospital, you were examined. We know what he did to you. We know you were hurt. You don't have to protect him," William spoke slowly as she arrived by the window. It wasn't until his final statement that she turned abruptly, her jaw dropped, about to speak.
You must tell him the truth, Michaela. Don't you dare take the easy way out. You know Sully doesn't deserve it. You owe it to him to be honest. Although if you'd been honest with him from the start, none of this.
She blinked quickly and looked up at William. The voice which came from deep within her throat was coarse and hollow.
"It was not Sully," she informed him crisply. Too crisply. Her voice was too clinical.
"Michaela, I know it may seem easier to avoid something as painful as," he saw the raw fury glimmer once again in her eyes.
"I told you, William, it was not Sully! How dare you!" Her throat hurt from the loud, strained response.
"Fine," he sighed, unconvinced by her denial, yet not wishing to push the issue.
Michaela directed her attention back to the window as she heard him collect his bag from the side of the bed.
"Michaela, is it easier for you if I speak to you as a physician?" He cleared his throat and waited for her to turn around.
She nodded blankly.
"You're significantly underweight, and anemic. You've been extremely lucky up until this point to have not had more serious complications, but you need to ensure you get adequate sleep, even napping in the afternoons would be preferable until your health improves," he paused, and deliberately emphasized his final order, "and, as unwelcome as it is, you need to acknowledge this child's existence. I'm sorry if that sounds harsh, however, unless you want to end up hemorrhaging, and on permanent bed rest, you'll start taking proper care of yourself, and for the next four months, that includes this baby." He knew she had understood his words. From the guilty look upon her face, he also knew she'd had similar thoughts.
"William, is there no other way? Is it really too late?" She lifted her gaze upwards, as he hovered in the doorway.
"You know it is. You've known it was too late from the start. Michaela, I have no reason to believe you're not carrying an otherwise healthy child. At some point, you need to accept that. It is your own flesh and blood as much as it is not. You've three children not even your own; would you suddenly love any of them the less if you discovered their creation had been," he searched for an appropriate word, "undesired?"
Michaela turned away silently.
"I will make the necessary enquiries. You will be fit to travel by the end of the week. Michaela?" He rested his hand on the doorknob lightly, needing verbal confirmation.
"I will go. I can send Brian home to Matthew and Colleen. They'll be taken care of," her voice was resigned and empty.
"Very well," he nodded slowly. "Michaela, everything I could possibly say to you, I know you already know. Rest, eat properly, don't exert yourself. I'll stop by again on Wednesday." He saw her eyes drop closed and her chin move slightly; She'd heard him.