William closed the door behind him, and quickly descended the staircase. As he crossed the foyer towards the front door, it opened before him, and two young children burst inside.
"Leave me alone! I don't wanna play anymore! Aunt Rebecca, she made me hold her hand all through church, I don't gotta anymore, do I?" Brian pulled away from Penny's contact and turned around to his aunt for assistance.
"No, of course you don't. Penelope, leave Brian alone for the day. Go and practice for your lesson tomorrow," Rebecca and her husband arrived through the door, as William narrowly avoided colliding with the sprightly young children.
"Oh, Dr Burke, I'm so sorry," Rebecca gestured to the children; as Penelope disappeared into the sitting room, and Brian raced eagerly up the stairs.
"Not a bother, Mrs. Dickinson." He took his hat and jacket from Ellen, who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and moved towards the cleared doorway.
"How is my sister?" Rebecca noticed the curt manner in which William had dismissed the children.
Edmund noticed the hesitance in the physician's response. "Son, I shall explain that calculation to you. The library." He tapped his teenage son on the back sternly, and both moved down the hallway.
"She's been very fortunate, from what I can gather. Mrs Dickinson, after talking with Michaela, I feel it would be in her best interests, to see out the remainder of the pregnancy in seclusion."
"I think that would be wise, all things considered," Rebecca grimaced lightly.
"Michaela still doesn't seem amenable to that. I have tried to explain the situation to her, but she still vehemently opposes this pregnancy." William shifted the medical bag to his left hand, his hat still clutched in his right.
"Do you blame her? William, I can't think of anything worse," Rebecca slipped the ornate cape from her shoulders.
"Granted, the situation is dismal, but from all accounts, her baby is perfectly healthy, and this is hardly new to her. She's known for months," William shrugged lightly.
"But that wouldn't make it any easier, having something so repulsive growing inside of you. William," she reached for his hand, realizing she had over a decade on him. "I've had two children, both of which were created out of love and were wanted. With that in mind, the strain of both pregnancies was not mitigated by the reassurance I had knowing that my children would at least be born bearing resemblance to their parents. I suspect Michaela grew up with the same expectations. They've been shattered by what has happened; and as devoted as I am to my religious convictions, I find myself questioning, why any loving God would force such a child into existence. A child that is going to be deemed an outcast from the moment it is born. A child that is going to grow up knowing nothing but hate." Rebecca shook her head pitifully as she gazed across the large space.
"Oh, Mrs Dickinson, I do believe you're overreacting. There are plenty of children who come into this world unloved, but it doesn't have to stay that way. Why, Michaela and I have both worked in orphanages; we've seen disabled, diseased children, discarded by heartless parents. But this is an otherwise healthy, newborn baby. I don't suspect the sisters will have any trouble finding adoptive parents," William dismissed her concern, however looked down as Rebecca gripped his arm more firmly.
"This is different," Rebecca's voice was slightly hushed, and William barely heard her.
"Of course, it's different. I understand that. I understand that this is your sister; that you wish to preserve her reputation as much as possible; that the scandal of a pregnancy under such circumstances would do irreparable damage to," Rebecca looked away into the distance as William continued analyzing the situation.
Rebecca dropped her eyes closed for several seconds, as a single truth repeated itself again and again in her mind. "You don't understand. It was… an Indian," Such a reality was so overpowering, she hadn't realized she'd voiced it, until she saw that William had ceased his pragmatic ramblings.
"What? What did you say?" His met her eyes immediately, as he shifted his weight uneasily. He had heard only one word.
"Please don't make me say it again," Rebecca exhaled as she uttered the plea.
"How do you know this? Did, did Michaela tell you?" His voice was disjointed, his body language erratic.
"She hasn't told any of us, William. Brian was the one," Rebecca struggled to phrase the statement as diplomatically as she could.
The pair remaining in an awkward silence, as William worked through Rebecca's words. "When? How?" his voice had dropped to a strained whisper.
"Back in May. Apparently a group of them abducted her. Brian said she nearly died. And none of us so much as knew a thing," Rebecca sighed, in that moment wishing with all her heart that her baby sister had never left them.
After several silent moments, William adjusted his hat, coat and bag in his arms, looking away from her.
"I need to go. I have, I have some work to do," His tightened the grip on his bag, and moved towards the front door.
"Dr Burke, I," Rebecca stammered, feeling unsettled by the profound reaction her words had had on the physician.
"I shall be in touch." He didn't even turn back to make eye contact, however slipped hurriedly through the front door.
Rebecca closed the door softly behind him, and listened as the sounds of a child's clumsy piano playing filtered in from the next room.
"Lord, please give us strength." She dropped her eyes closed in brief prayer, before taking a replenishing breath and heading for the stairs. She needed to check on her sister.
Rebecca tapped lightly on the ajar door. "Michaela?" she whispered, before hesitantly poking her head into the bedroom. The sight that greeted her melted her heart momentarily. Michaela lay, fast asleep on her left side, Brian sprawled on the bed beside her, his head cupped in his hands, merely watching her sleep.
"Ma's sleepin'," he mouthed silently, craning his head around to address his aunt.
"Oh," she smiled; as if explanation was really necessary.
"Ya can come sit with us though," he suggested warmly.
Rebecca accepted the offer, and perched on the edge of the large bed, gently stroking the boy's back.
"Aunt Rebecca?" He whispered after a long while.
"Hmm?" she kept her voice low.
"If Ma has to go away, am I gonna get to go with her or go home?" He mused, reflecting on his mother's recent disclosure.
"I think you'll go home, sweetheart," Rebecca took in the innocence across the young boy's small face.
"How come Ma doesn't want to go home?" He rested his head in the palm of his right hand.
"Well, because she can't, Brian. It's not that she doesn't want to." Rebecca patted the child's back maternally.
"But, if she ain't done nothin' bad then, I don't understand," he struggled with the dilemma.
"It's complicated, Brian. Perhaps when you're older, you'll be able to understand." Rebecca knew it wasn't her place to discuss the delicate subject.
"Why don't she just marry Sully? Then no-one will be mad her havin' a baby. And Sully loves her; told me so himself. Even said he wouldn't care if she got fat," Brian turned his attention back to his mother.
"Everything will sort itself out, darling. Don't you worry," Rebecca consoled, as Brian pushed himself up carefully from the bed.
"Will you stay with Ma?" He chewed on his lower lip, and, quickly receiving a nod in the affirmative, dashed from the room.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
"Sully, will you calm down. I know ya worried. We all are, but ain't gonna make this train get there any faster," Matthew reached for the man's shoulder, as Sully re-read the telegram that had been sent from Horace. It had been waiting for them at the station when they'd arrived in the stage the day before.
"I know, I know," he breathed heavily. "Just, something don't feel right." He glanced over the succinct words yet another time.
"All it says is that she's in the hospital. That she's ill. Could be anything," Matthew tried to rationalize, as he noticed Colleen kept her attention deliberately focused on the passing countryside around them. They'd been on the train several hours, and she had not uttered a single word.
"Well, ain't really gonna be good news, whatever it is," Sully tucked his right knee under his chin, hands clasped around his ankle.
Matthew sighed and crossed the small compartment to sit next to his sister. "You been quiet. The telegram upsettin' ya?"
"Guess. Only, don't try to reassure me it's nothin'. I know exactly what she's been like these last few months, probably got desperate, and tried to, forget it," Colleen rolled her eyes, knowing her brother wouldn't want to hear her speculations.
"Ain't helpful to think like that, not if we gotta spend the next two nights crammed in here together," he tried to sound mature and composed.
"Fine," she concluded abruptly, and returned her attention to their moving surroundings.
Matthew sighed, feeling the solemn mood of the people around him, like a chilling wind in the middle of winter.
"Fine," he sighed wearily.
~.~
X.O.X
Monday, 23rd August, 1869
One Day Later – 18 Weeks Gestation
X.O.X
~.~
"Can ya learn how to make this, Ma? What did ya say it was, Miss Ellen?" Brian shoveled another forkful of his dinner into his mouth hungrily.
"Honey carrots, Master Brian," Ellen smiled over from the dinner trolley across the room.
"Yeah, that's it." He stood up and carefully spooned another large helping of the vegetables onto his plate.
"Brian," Michaela shuddered at the boy's rather forward manner; however realized he simply knew no better.
"Sorry, what did I do?" he stammered, seeing his cousin's condemning glare.
"It is proper to ask an adult to serve you, sweetheart," Michaela directed, glancing apologetically around the table.
"But if I did that, they'd take the food first and I wouldn't get none," Brian frowned, as Rebecca, her husband and Ellen chuckled lightly.
Michaela looked back down unenthusiastically at the untouched food on her plate. She couldn't feel any less hungry.
"Ow, what was that for?" Brian jolted in his chair sharply, feeling his cousin's shoe strike his shin unexpectedly.
"Penelope Elizabeth Dickinson!" Rebecca scolded, seeing the bemused grin spread across her daughter's face.
"Go on," The young girl prompted, Brian staring her down, however gently resting his cutlery down on the edge of his dinner plate.
"Ah, Ma?" He stuttered, swallowing the mouthful of carrots painfully, "Can, can we," His jaw dropped.
"Might we," she corrected tiredly, more out of duty in front of her family, than grammatical compulsion.
"Might we borrow ya bag? I gotta be the doctor," his face melting into pure charm itself.
"Oh, I see. So that's what that little scene was in your room yesterday?" Michaela raised an eyebrow teasingly.
"Scene, what scene?" Edmund reacted defensively, glaring demandingly at his daughter.
"Noth, nothing, Father, we were playing," Penny recoiled, wishing she'd never kicked Brian in the first place.
"So, can, sorry, might we Ma? Promise we'll be careful," Brian's voice raised hopefully.
"I don't think so, children. It is not a toy, medical equipment costs a lot of money, Brian. You know that." Michaela was intrigued by the effect her niece was having on her son's usually rational, and disciplined behavior. The glimmer in his eye was mischievous.
"All right." He turned back to Penelope with a disheartened shrug.
Everyone gradually resumed their meals. Glasses clinked and cutlery tinkled against fine china. Rebecca waited until she managed to catch her sister's eye, and with a simple glare, Michaela knew what she was trying to say. Ever since Michaela could remember, she and Rebecca had perfected what they called invisible communication. Whether it be at the dinner table, in church, or in a room with their Mother, the two sisters could convey meanings and inferences, with often only a twitch of an eyebrow, or a hand movement.
This time, however, Michaela knew her sister's glare was directed squarely at herself. She glanced down at the arrangement of meat and mashed potato, surrounded by carrots and beans; what had started out as shepherd's pie and vegetables, had quickly ended up an unappetizing assortment of colors and textures.
She looked back up, as Rebecca took a deliberate sip from the glass in front of her. The older woman's glare remained fixed on her sister.
Michaela sighed, and gingerly slipped another small mouthful of food passed her lips. She felt bloated and uncomfortable to begin with, however, unemotionally repeated the action, until she'd made a noticeable impact on the quantity of food left on her plate.
"May I be excused?" Edmund Jr. placed his knife and fork neatly in the middle of his plate, and addressed his father.
"Before dessert, son?" came the flat reply.
"I have a Latin grammar exam tomorrow morning," The young man justified, and was excused from the table. Rebecca waited until her son had left the room.
"Mother said you were just as bad. She said you'd slip little pieces of paper under the tablecloth, and secretly read them between courses," Rebecca prompted jovially.
Michaela smiled weakly at the memory "Only when it came to bacteria."
"What about the time Martha found the cow's heart in the ice chest. Mother tried to make Father ground you for a week, although after you scored the highest mark in the biology exam, he pointed out it was hardly fair to punish you for doing well," Rebecca giggled.
"Rebecca, really," Edmund tried to sway her from such graphic dinner conversation.
"I want to hear more about the cow's heart! Was it all bloody and messy?" Penny chimed in eagerly.
"No, it was neatly dissected I'll have you know. Actually, Martha thought it was your Aunt Marjorie trying to scare her," Michaela defended automatically.
"Did we ever tell Martha the truth about that? That it wasn't Marjorie after all?" Rebecca flapped her right hand forwards with a hearty laugh, ignoring her husband's contempt.
"Poor Marjorie," Michaela shook her head, and idly continued working her way through the dinner before her.
The room fell into a natural silence, as everyone finished their main course, and Ellen began clearing the plates away.
"Real ice-cream? Like in the store?" Brian's eyes widened as the large bowl of strawberry ice-cream was placed in front of him.
"You've had it before, haven't you?" Penny spoke crisply, as she watched her cousin's mouth water.
"Of course I have," Brian replied haughtily, anything to save himself from appearing deprived.
No-one noticed Ellen disappear momentarily into the hallway, until she returned and reluctantly stood by Mr. Dickinson's side.
"I do apologize, Sir. Dr Burke is here. He wishes to speak with Miss Michaela," she kept her voice low and unobtrusive.
"Show him in, Ellen," Edmund instructed immediately.
"No, it's all right. Please excuse me," Michaela removed the napkin from her lap, and moved as hastily as she could from the dining room, arriving slightly breathlessly into the foyer.
"William?" She smiled lightly at the unexpected visit.
"Michaela, I sincerely apologize for interrupting at such a late hour." He turned and crossed the room.
"Don't apologize, we were just finishing," she guessed at the meaning behind his visit at once, and preempted him, "Although if you're here simply to check on me, I assure you, I'm fine. I've been resting each afternoon and eating properly," she trailed off, noticing the sadness in his eyes as he regarded her. "William?"
"Oh, I, I'm glad. Michaela, might, might we talk somewhere more private?"
She ushered him into the sitting room, as they both settled themselves in armchairs facing each other.
"Is something wrong? Are you in trouble, because of me?" Michaela swallowed, becoming quite unnerved at his melancholy expression.
"No, no. I spoke with your sister yesterday. Since then, I've found myself," he trailed off, drawing a quick breath. "Michaela, I wish to apologize sincerely, for the heartless, arrogant things I have said over the past few days." William spoke softly, his large blue eyes studying her calm expression.
"There is no need, I deserved everything. I behaved appallingly. I am indebted to you for your assistance." Michaela was distracted by the physician's less-than-subtle awkwardness.
"No, some of my earlier remarks were uninformed. It was before I knew all the facts. Before I understood the situation properly," he dismissed quickly.
"William honestly, this is unnecessary. You are right. I don't have a choice any longer. As much as it disheartens me to believe it, if I really have no other option than to have this child, then perhaps that is beyond me," she spoke with defeated resignation.
"Michaela, I don't understand. Yesterday, you, your sister, were all but pleading with me for a way to end this pregnancy, and now you almost seem accepting of it."
"I had absolutely no right to ask something like that of you. To jeopardize my own license is one thing, but to even ask, to expect you to take such a risk, is unforgivable." Michaela lowered her voice, feeling as though every decision she'd made was merely distressing those around her.
"I happen to think you were very much justified. Until yesterday, I didn't understand the true nature of the situation. That is why I came to see you this evening. I might be able to help," he met her eyes as she looked up at him suddenly.
"But you already have, William. The convent, is that no longer feasible?" Michaela frowned, feeling uneasiness set in.
"Oh no, it is, it is. I thought, however, I might be able to suggest help, in a more practical manner. Certainly, a more timely one." He noticed the flash of confusion, followed by a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
"William?" Michaela saw the seriousness in his eyes. She heard the dryness in his voice. She recognized his demeanor; it was the same one she used when she had to deliver bad news to a patient.
She studied his expression for several moments longer, his mouth twitching as she slowly began to understand the true motive behind his calling. "I, are you saying?"
"I might be able to help you. If that is still what you want," William spoke tentatively, after all, exceptional circumstances or not, what he was proposing, was still illegal and gravely immoral.
She felt her stomach lurch into a mild wave of nausea. Her fingers tingled, and the backs of her hands felt icy cold.
"Help me? You mean?" She saw his subtle glance downwards.
"I only wish you'd told me sooner, it would have been a lot," he paused finding the best word, "simpler."
"I tried," Michaela defended, with mild exasperation. "I wrote to Horatio Storer himself, I even visited him. I did ask you." Michaela shook her head wearily.
"Yes but you weren't exactly, clear." He cleared his throat, knowing exactly which detail Michaela had omitted from her argument.
"I believe I was. You think I don't find this as reprehensible as you? You think I didn't question myself? I agonized for weeks. Every defense I've heard since I've been here, I offered myself. I know it's dangerous, I know it's illegal, and I know it's immoral. If there was a better solution, don't you think I'd prefer it?" Michaela's voice had become rich with emotion.
"It's all right, don't upset yourself," William challenged, raising his right hand forwards slightly to calm her.
Michaela drew a much-needed breath, as she glanced away towards the burning fire.
"As I said, I am willing to help you. I need to know that it is still what you want," William continued sternly.
She felt herself choke up slightly; as she watched the large flames flicker. Her lips pursed tightly, she nodded deliberately.
"You need to say it, Michaela," William kept his voice professional. He was more concerned about the dissociated way in which she was handling the suggestion.
She pulled her eyes away, biting her lower lip as she glanced downwards. "I need this to be over. I want my life back."
He leaned forwards in the chair. "We must be absolutely certain. This is not something I take lightly, and not something I feel entirely comfortable with. If it was anyone else, there would be no discussion." He knew he was violating his oath as a doctor, not to mention a precious moral code; no doubt a combination of religious belief and fine upbringing.
She took in his carefully placed words and understood what had not been voiced.
"I never thought I could believe that the termination of a pregnancy could be warranted, until I had to choose. Between my three other children. Am I being selfish?" She looked away once again.
"I do not believe so," he muttered, able to comprehend the sheer torment that such a pregnancy would present. "I believe this is justified."
"You were adamant yesterday. What has changed?" Michaela frowned, seeing his hands clutched nervously against the arms of the velvet chair.
"I wasn't in possession of all the facts," His eyebrows lowered, as he moved his hands to his knees. "Michaela, why didn't you tell us the truth? That is what made the difference." He shook his head, conveying his confusion.
Michaela felt a chill run through her arms at the expression on his face.
He knew the truth.
"I," she tightened her jaw momentarily, and refused to meet his eyes. From the expression on her face, William knew the memory caused her almost physical pain. "I don't wish to discuss it," her face deadened, now void of any emotion.
"Michaela, do you honestly think appearing like this, in such a state, was not more distressing for everyone? Your sister, myself. I'm certain that someone as conservative as Horatio Storer would quite possibly have assisted you in the first place, had you simply explained."
"I couldn't. What makes you think for one moment that you've any ability to understand my motives?" She glanced around the room, moving her eyes anywhere that didn't involve looking directly at him.
"Perhaps you're right, but." He stopped seeing her eyes dropped closed in distress.
"I'd sooner people believe I was a whore than know the truth." She stood quickly, and moved across the room beside the cozy fire, her right hand resting against the mantelpiece, focusing on the family portrait.
"I can't explain it, so I can't expect anyone to understand how it feels. I know it wasn't my fault, but I can't stop feeling as though it was. What is worse, I can't stop remembering it, every hour of every day. And it's as if it's happening all over again."
"Michaela, you don't have to tell me." William interjected.
"I don't care! I really don't. People think I'm delicate, or weak. Doctors, even my own sisters, I'm sure they think I'm utterly insane. They think I don't know what I'm doing, but I do. I knew on Friday when I took the Laudanum. I merely hoped it would induce a miscarriage, but part of me wanted to go with it. Of course I can tell myself everything you will, 'Don't be foolish, you've got your life ahead of you', 'How can you consider such wickedness when you've three beautiful children who need you'. Don't you think I know all of that?" She dropped her voice to a hush. "But no matter what, there's this tiny part of me that doesn't care about any of that. It's as if I can't see life the same as it was before. You'll say it's melancholia and maybe that's true. I just keep waiting for it to end but every day the reminder just strengthens. I don't understand what I did to deserve this. Why me?" Her shoulders dropped, as her lower lip trembled. She felt the warmth of the fire against her hands as the sight of the flame before her vision became clouded by her own tears.
"You didn't do anything wrong, Michaela." William arrived silently behind her. Michaela remained unaware of his proximity until she felt the tips of his fingers touch her left shoulder, ever so lightly.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, offering nothing more than solace in his uninflected words.
She blinked, a long, thoughtful blink. She concentrated on the almost unperceivable sensation of his touch. He has initiated that. Her mind voiced calmly.
He knows, and he's not disgusted, Michaela. Why are you harder on yourself, than are those around you? Because I feel so tainted. I never thought I'd feel this way. I never thought I'd let this shame control me.
No. She ordered strongly to herself.
I will make this stop. I will take my life back.
She knew that such a touch meant something significant, regardless of her troublesome situation. For a man to initiate such an act, alone. She felt history flooding back to her.
I don't understand. What's happening?
Michaela turned slightly, lowering her head as his hand fell quickly from her shoulder.
"Forgive me, that was improper." William regretted the intimacy of the gesture the moment she moved.
"No. Don't apologize, please," she voiced breathily.
"It pains me to see you so distressed, Michaela. If it is what you want, I will help you," His tone was equally light and awkward.
"How?" She quickly reiterated the question, seeing his misunderstanding, "How is it done?" She watched his face stiffen quickly into a professional detachment.
"Until yesterday, I always believed it to be a far more invasive procedure than it might otherwise appear," he looked away, to shed the personal nature of the situation. When he turned back to her, it was one physician talking to another.
"There is a new technique, now considered less dangerous. A saline solution is injected directly into the uterine cavity, causing poisoning and premature death. A day later, if labor has not commenced, the cervix is dilated with ergot, and labor is induced. Following that, bed rest is advised for one to two days and the patient monitored for any hemorrhaging, as would be the case following a natural delivery." William allowed her time to reflect on the provided information. He noticed the equally detached way in which she considered the procedure.
"The patient is still required to deliver the fetus? Why is this technique preferable?" Her voice was richer and more confident. After all, this was clinical; safe.
William nodded. "From what I can gather previous curettage procedures carry a greater risk of uterine perforation, extensive hemorrhaging, not to mention infection. It is considered safer to allow the body to naturally expel the tissue," he clasped his hands behind his back as she took in the information unemotionally.
"I'd not been aware of this procedure," Michaela sighed, dismayed. She thought back to the many nights she'd spent pouring over textbooks and journals, researching the very same field. Had such an option been presented, she could have attempted it herself, months ago. Before Colleen had found out. And no-one need ever have known.
"It is new, and well, this is hardly a publicized area of obstetrics. The termination of a pregnancy is only deemed appropriate from a medical point of view when maternal health is threatened. And even then, it is very difficult to prove." He concluded and searched her face for any glimmer of hesitance. There was none.
"Where?" She folded her arms tightly across her chest.
"My clinic," he paused for reflection, "Michaela, are you sure this is what you want?" He was concerned by the coldness in her voice and expression.
"I am," she replied without a beat.
"As long as you are sure. Unfortunately, I have appointments all morning until twelve. But if you arrive then, it should only take half an hour or so and I'll clear Wednesday's schedule. Michaela, if there are complications." He saw her face animate at once.
"I trust you. Don't think about that," she dismissed the suggestion briskly.
"If, however, there are, the penalties are severe Michaela. If you require hospitalization, then any competent physician will know exactly what has been done. It could make matters far graver," His voice lowered to match the content of his words.
"William, I'll take that chance but I don't expect you to. I can simply say I performed the procedure myself. I won't involve you," she reassured without delay.
"Michaela, you'd lose your license. You could be arrested and end up in jail. Or detained again, and I'm not sure which would be worse," he tried to rationalize with her, however, sensed that her mind was already made up.
"It won't happen, William. I trust you with my life. If something does go wrong, then perhaps it was meant to be," Michaela kept her gaze fixed across the room, her eyes drifting over the piano, hearing the music fill her consciousness once again.
"How can you be so flippant with your very life, Michaela? How does the prospect not terrify you?" his tone was more forceful, and he moved slightly closer towards her, in order to obtain her attention.
Michaela pulled herself out of the daze and answered his question with all seriousness. "William, in my experience, it takes more effort to stay alive. Death doesn't terrify me. Nothing does anymore." She recognized the fear that filled his eyes; it was a fear of incomprehension.
"I'm sorry if I appeared harsh. I'm scared for you. I wouldn't want anything to happen to you. You have come to mean a great deal to me," his voice cracked as he spoke.
Michaela looked away, feeling her chest tighten, and her mind reel. They were back where they'd been a year ago. "William, I'm sorry. I can't deal with anything beyond the next few days at the moment. I don't know what I want in life anymore - I want to be the person I was before, and I don't know if I ever will be. I just need the things that were important to me, to stay important; my career; the children." she shrugged, as she reflected on all in her life that had changed.
"I'm sorry, it was selfish of me to," he began, but she spoke over him immediately.
"You were being honest and there is nothing selfish about that. I do care for you, and I'll never be able to thank you enough for being there for me, for helping me. I just need some time, to put things right."
She didn't know what she wanted. She'd turned down his proposal once before, a decision that had, more recently, filled her with regret. There were so many things in life that would have been different, had she married him, and remained in Boston with the children. With the confusion of the situation she was now facing, Michaela found it nigh-on impossible to deny that perhaps, that would have been the preferable outcome. Maybe she had sacrificed idealism for safety. Maybe she was now being granted a second chance.
"Of course," William muttered. His face was hollow and sorrowful.
"I'll see you tomorrow. At midday." She hung her head, as he nodded meekly.
"If you change your mind," he recovered from the personal rejection, and donned a professional tone.
"I won't. Goodnight, William." Michaela clutched the sides of her skirt, as she silently departed from the room.
He watched her leave, waiting several moments before doing likewise. He knew he had a long night of reading ahead of him.