"Thank-you," William nodded politely as Ellen handed him his jacket and hat once they'd arrived back downstairs. "Oh, please see to it that young Brian is able to spend some time with Michaela this evening. Pass it along to Mrs. Dickinson that I think it is in both their best interests," William turned at the sound of the door opening several feet from them.
"Edmund, please, they're my sisters, and I'll speak with them in whatever manner I deem appropriate." Rebecca looked up as she and her husband bustled into the entrance foyer, having endured several hours of hospitality with her mother, sisters and in-laws.
"Dear, I was," Edmund also noticed the company, and busied himself handing his jacket to Ellen, who promptly made her presence scarce.
"Oh, Dr Burke," Rebecca smiled genuinely, as William raised a hand in polite protest.
"William, please, Mrs. Dickinson," he assured with a dull smile.
"William, you're just arriving also?" Rebecca enquired, as Edmund disappeared into the sitting room for his evening pipe.
"Actually, I was just leaving. However, I am pleased to have the chance to speak with you." He cordially slipped the hat from his head, and cleared his throat nervously.
"As am I. I can't thank you enough for all you've done. I don't know how you managed to convince the doctors to allow her to be released," Rebecca muttered almost to herself.
"It wasn't all that simple. I had to compromise myself, however I wouldn't have done it, had I not believed we could help her," William replied awkwardly, not keen to delve into the specifics for the sake of propriety.
"But, they were so determined. I can't see how they excused the overdose, on your word alone?" Rebecca frowned.
"They didn't. That is why I had to concoct such fabrication. They were of the opinion that, well, there was certain physical evidence, which they believed to be proof of previous abortive intentions. I had to," William turned his head away, in a desperate attempt to dismiss the uncomfortable subject matter.
"I don't understand, what?" Rebecca narrowed the distance between them, and forced herself to prepare for what she suspected would be a disturbing revelation.
"I'd really rather not. It's, not appropriate," William dropped his tone to an unsupported whisper.
"This is my sister," she pressed, her voice strained.
He raised his hand apologetically, "I know. And that is exactly why you do not need such details in your head. Suffice it to say, the evidence to which they were referring was not self-inflicted. Once that issue was made clear, well, Dr Hodge was quite accommodating, provided I assured him of her safety. And from what I've gathered these last two days, she's in no state to pose a threat to herself or the child," William turned towards the front door, as Rebecca touched his arm softly.
"Is she all right?" Her voice was raw and pleading.
"As I mentioned this afternoon, physically, Michaela and the child are fine. I am at a loss, however, as to explain her continued silence," William searched for the most appropriate word, never having thought he'd have to use the words 'Michaela' and 'silence' in the same sentence.
"As am I," Rebecca dropped her head, ashamed, as she continued, "I am afraid that I may have made matters worse," William raised a single eyebrow, and Rebecca spoke further, "Earlier this afternoon, I sat with her for a while. I was hoping she might speak with me. Last night, Brian told me what happened, and I told Michaela that I knew everything. I thought that might calm her, make her feel more comfortable, that she could talk with me. I tried to explain that I understood how ashamed she must have felt but that being out there, like that, is so much different to being in a large city like this. That it wasn't her fault. I said too much though. I started to question how and why. I let myself see it all and I'm afraid I overreacted. I made it sound like someone should have stopped it from happening and, she pulled away from me," Rebecca sighed in regret of her earlier behavior.
"You mustn't blame yourself. It's difficult to know what to say. I wish as well that somehow this might have been avoided. That we never should have let her leave," William shook his head dismissively.
"We'd have been wasting our breath, no-one tells Michaela what to do. I just don't know where to go from here," Rebecca glanced around, once again ensuring their words were not overheard.
"We need to wait until she'll talk to us. Once we can present to her a variety of options, she can choose which she wants and I can make some enquiries," William clasped his medical bag in front of him with both hands and kept his stance professional.
"Options? I don't understand," Rebecca shrugged in frustration.
"Well, I can make arrangements, for discrete accommodations, until the child is born. Or she might stay with you and a suitable family can be found to adopt," William spoke rationally, before Rebecca abruptly interjected.
"You don't mean that my sister actually has to deliver the, that," Rebecca's voice strengthened to match the horrified look that appeared upon her face.
"I'm afraid there's no other option," William replied, baffled.
"Dr Burke, William. I know it's against God but, given the unique circumstances, do you truly believe it's fair to put Michaela through this? A child born out of such brutality, is hardly going to have a decent life," Rebecca swallowed, and forced herself to press on. Her voice dropped to a whisper, "Please. You've got to do something," The pair locked eyes, in silence for several long, drawn-out moments.
"There's, there's really nothing I can do, I'm sorry," William shook his head automatically, although he knew exactly to what Rebecca had been referring.
"But there must be otherwise, why would Michaela have tried? Why would she have come all this way? I know it's not talked about openly but surely, you don't wish to see her ruined like this?" Rebecca pleaded.
"Mrs Dickinson, the termination of a pregnancy is against the law," William's voice was frank and void of feeling.
"I, I know," she pulled her eyes away, and softened her voice, "but this is my sister, not some harlot," Rebecca turned back to him, her voice more desperate, "Please. Help her," her voice was barely audible, as she dropped her hand back from his arm.
William placed his hat back meekly on his head, his gaze still lowered.
"I'll see you again tomorrow." He slipped through the front door silently.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
"Ma?" The young boy snuck his head through the ajar doorway. "Can I come in, Ma? Dr Burke said I could see ya." He turned his head slightly, as he waited for a response.
Michaela looked up at the sound of the small voice, a warm nod serving as enough encouragement for the child to creep into the bedroom and close the door behind him.
"Are we stayin' here now Ma?" Brian crawled nervously onto the edge of the bed and settled himself back against the large pillows. A small frown appeared on his face when, after several seconds, he did not receive a reply.
"It's all right, Ma, you don't gotta say nothin'. Not if ya still sick. How about if, well, I can tell ya 'bout what we been doin'? Ya can just listen if ya want? Don't gotta say nothin'," Brian ran his tongue along the edge of his lower lip, leaning forward to try and gauge her reaction.
Michaela, still distracted from her earlier conversation with William, barely heard the child's idle chatter. He detailed his activities for the past twenty-four hours, in the laborious, yet enthusiastic way that only a young child can, " and then she said we were gettin' married, said it didn't mean nothin' though. I dunno, guess it's all right if it's only pretend. Reckon she only wanted to get married so she could have the baby though. How come girls always wanna dress up in silly clothes and play with dolls? Don't wanna do nothin' interestin'," Brian trailed off, realizing his recant really wasn't that interesting. "Sorry, Ma." He chewed on his lower lip, glancing around the room as he looked for inspiration.
Michaela turned her head slightly to observe the hesitant grimace in the child's expression. Her eyes dropped closed wearily after several moments of silence.
"Ma don't," Brian grabbed her right hand quickly, instantly alarmed.
Michaela opened her eyes spontaneously and understood the child's panic.
"Sorry, I got worried. Ma?" He dropped the pitch of his voice, calming down. He waited until her eyes locked with his. Brian's voice was hushed, "Ma, back at the hotel, I, I'm sorry I said I hated ya." He lowered his head, eyes focusing on the quilt below, "I didn't mean it. Thought ya were mad at me." He couldn't bring himself to glance back up at her for a response.
Michaela felt her chest drop at the child's admission. Words, even if she could have found the appropriate ones, would have been insufficient. As she drew an emotional breath, Michaela moved her right arm to the child's shoulders and pulled him closer against her side. He looked up, stunned, at the welcomed, yet unexpected motion.
"Ya not mad anymore, Ma?" Brian settled snugly against her, feeling more comforted by the firmness of her arm around his back and shoulders than he thought possible.
She offered no response other than to slowly and deliberately lean forward, and place a kiss in the middle of his forehead. He squeezed tighter against her, and slipped his left arm to her shoulder as both held the much needed embrace.
"I love you too, Ma. We can stay here if you want? I don't mind," the young boy muttered, as he felt himself comforted by the familiar scent of her clothing against his cheek.
Neither moved until there was a faint knock at the door.
"Penny, don't wanna," Brian frowned and reluctantly pulled away from Michaela's side, as the door opened, and Rebecca popped her head into the room.
"Oh sweetheart, it's just me," she consoled with a knowing smile of her daughter's bossiness.
"Sorry, Aunt Rebecca," The boy settled himself back against his mother's side.
"Might I sit with you, Brian?" Rebecca asked politely, and, after receiving an immediate nod, perched against the boy's left side on the edge of the large bed.
"Aunt Rebecca?" Brian waited for acknowledgement, and continued, "are we gonna be stayin' with you now?" He phrased the question neutrally.
"I don't know, honey. Would it be a problem?" she replied.
"No, just, if Ma ain't talkin', she can't be a doctor can she?" he deduced rapidly.
"No, I guess not," the older woman's voice faded away miserably.
"Then we can't go home till she can. So we have to stay," The room remained in silence, Rebecca shifting her eyes from her sister to her nephew, until Brian eventually spoke.
"What happened to the cat, Aunt Rebecca? The one Ma saved," Brian launched into the new subject.
"I was married soon after. I suppose he stayed with your mother," she dismissed, but saw the hopeful look in the child's eyes. "Brian that was years ago, it would have died by now," Rebecca consoled.
"Oh yeah. Well, what was his name?" Brian recovered quickly from the 'tragedy', and moved on.
"I can't remember, I," Rebecca barely recognized the sound of another adult's voice, until she saw the child's face animate beyond description.
"Victus, from the Latin; living," Michaela's voice was inflected, having not realized she'd spoken until both pairs of eyes turned to her.
Brian was oblivious to the significance of his mother's voice and didn't react until he saw the tears begin to fill her eyes.
"Michaela?" Rebecca moved immediately around to the farthest side of the bed, and without any hesitation, reached forwards to grasp her sister's shoulders.
"What'd he look like, Ma?" Brian continued, nervously, wanting to fill the emptiness of the room.
"He," Michaela was about to continue when she felt reality catch up with her in a heartbeat. She wasn't twelve anymore. She felt her sister's arms around her back, as the solitary tear ran down her right cheek.
"It's all right, Michaela. It doesn't matter," Rebecca knew her sister wasn't crying for the dead cat.
Brian watched as his mother remained numb in his aunt's arms.
Michaela felt the single ringlet of her sister's fine, brown hair, brush against the side of her face, as her chin nestled firmly against her shoulder. Her hands clasped behind Rebecca's back, as her eyes darted around the familiar room, snippets of images, and fragments of voices, collected in her mind. Michaela felt over twenty years pass through her memory in as many seconds.
"How come the cat made her upset?" Brian sat up on his knees, to quietly address his aunt.
"I don't think it was the cat." Rebecca ran her hand soothingly along her sister's long, auburn hair, noticing it glimmer against the light in the room.
"Father, you have to tell him, Rebecca. He'll save her." Michaela's voice was tiny and lost, as she looked down and saw the blood from the injured cat appear on her fingers.
"Michaela, Father's dead. Sweetheart, that was a long time ago," Rebecca pulled away from her sister, to grasp her small, delicate hands.
"But, she's hurt. I can't stop it. There's too much blood. She's going to die," Michaela kept her gaze lowered, as she brought her left hand over her right, to symbolically indicate the blood on her fingers.
"Ssh, it's all right," Rebecca whispered, confused by the intensity of her younger sister's actions.
"No, it's not, you don't understand," Michaela shook her head more violently.
"Ma, you saved the little cat. He lived, remember?" Brian rested back on his heels, as he tried to mediate between both women.
Michaela blinked several times, unable to reconcile the deluded thoughts in her mind.
"No," she begged, her voice still childlike. Brian narrowed his eyes and looked across to his aunt.
"How come she don't remember?" His voice was almost a whisper.
Rebecca turned back to her sister, having managed to understand what was going on before her. "Michaela, you're not talking about the cat anymore, we know that." Her explanation was confident, yet calm.
Michaela looked down at her sister's hands, interlocked with her own.
"But that is all right," Rebecca covered Michaela's left hand with her own, as she pushed it carefully down against her stomach. Their eyes met immediately. "It is all right. It is not your fault," Rebecca felt her sister's hands squirm under her own, but her grip remained firm.
Michaela, rather than physically avoiding her sister's grasp, merely turned her head back towards the window to her left.
Rebecca could feel the hardness of her sister's lower abdomen against their overlapped hands. She let a soft sigh drop from her lips. "We'll leave you to settle for the night. Brian, Ellen has cookies and milk downstairs for Penny and yourself. Then you can say goodnight to your mother and prepare for bed." Rebecca removed her hand, watching as Michaela's hand also dropped lifelessly from her abdomen.
"Aww man, she gonna feed that doll and all?" He speculated, as he slid from the edge of the mattress.
"I suppose so," Rebecca rose to her feet, and paced around towards the door after the little boy. "Go along, sweetheart." She patted him on the back lightly, as he obediently exited the room.
Rebecca quietly closed the door.
"Here," Rebecca turned her attention back to her sister. She reached for the nightgown which Ellen had placed in the top drawer of the dressing table. "Michaela, we're trying," Rebecca murmured weakly as she draped the crisp, ivory garment over the edge of the bed frame.
The youngest Quinn daughter still hadn't moved.
"I'll check on you a little later. Is there anything I can get you?" Rebecca stepped back from the bed, trying to read the blank expression on her sister's face.
Michaela remained silent, her gaze still fixed towards the window, as she shook her head dismissively several times.
"I'll leave you to change," Rebecca instructed, more to remind Michaela. She left the room without another word.
~.~
X.O.X
Sunday, 22nd August 1869
One Day Later – 18 Weeks Gestation
X.O.X
~.~
Michaela finished brushing through the final strands of her long, auburn hair, before she carefully buttoned up the remaining top few buttons of the housecoat and opened the bathroom door.
Her eyes went immediately across the large, bedroom, ensuring her door was still safely closed, before she paced silently back into the room, and reached for the undergarments which lay neatly across the bed beside her clothes.
The bath had been quick, and far from relaxing. Michaela swept her damp hair over her shoulders, as she tentatively reached for the first button of the pale housecoat. She just wanted to be back in her own clothes. Michaela shook her head, mocking herself for the thought. It didn't make any difference. Her clothes barely fit anymore.
Michaela felt the anxiety build in her chest as soon as the reoccurring thought flooded her mind; what was she doing here? Perhaps William had been right when he'd spoken with her at the hospital; perhaps she was better just going away. She could arrange for Brian to travel back home and she could wait, and return, after.
The very contemplation of after caused her to feel queasy, however Michaela knew she had run out of options. She'd known that from the moment she'd awoken at the hospital, the instant she had laid her eyes on the assortment of gruff physicians towering over her.
She thought back to her sister's pleas the night before; Michaela knew she was only trying to help; trying to be supportive. But how could she expect anyone, much less her own family, to understand her actions. It was all so different here.
Michaela had not realized she'd deflected her gaze to the window, until she felt the droplets of cool water trail down the sides of her face from her wet hair. She wiped the moisture automatically from her temples, and let her eyes drop closed for several seconds.
She knew she could not stay here much longer; hiding her condition was becoming almost impossible. It would only be a matter of days, a week at the most before it would be outwardly apparent beyond denial. Her eyes opened as she rubbed her right hand up and down against her left arm, the action a desperate attempt to soothe the emotional panic brewing under every inch of her skin.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
Ellen had just finished returning the breakfast condiments to the kitchen, when she heard the knock at the door. As she bustled through the dining room and into the entrance hall, the knocking intensified impatiently.
"Just a moment," she sighed, and began to open the door.
"Where is she?" The woman stepped boldly through the doorway, her voice assertive and cutting.
"I beg your pardon? Miss Marjorie?" Ellen recognized the familiar woman immediately, and turned to close the door behind her. In the mere seconds her back was turned, Ellen heard the guest's voice fade as she moved away from her.
"My sister. She's here, isn't she?" Marjorie's voice was crisp and impolite, having been quite offended when, only the previous night, a routine dinner at her Mother's had commenced with mention of her younger sister:
Barely a full minute after the dozen or so people seated around the large, eloquently dressed dinner table had finished the Blessing, Elizabeth had turned to her eldest child.
"Rebecca, might you enlighten us as to my daughter's absence?" Elizabeth phrased her question directly enough, so as to draw the attention of all the adults around them.
"Mother, must we discuss this over supper?" The eldest Quinn daughter dropped the white napkin to her lap, as she felt everyone's eyes on her.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Was it not meant for everyone's knowledge?" Elizabeth raised an eyebrow sharply. "And there was I, thinking 'No child of mine would ever behave so secretively'. I am sorry, Rebecca, I just thought your sisters might be interested in the news," Elizabeth smiled plainly, despite the sarcasm that dripped from her voice.
"What is she talking about? Mother?" Claudette frowned, and slipped the fork back against the Wedgwood china dinner plate.
"Why don't you all ask your sister? Rebecca, dear, do tell me, since you would no doubt know better than myself. Did Michaela not feel up to joining us this evening?" Elizabeth muttered, as if she might have been discussing the weather.
"Michaela is still unwell," Rebecca reached quickly for the cutlery either side of her plate, as she tried to ignore the hushed gasps and whispers from around the table.
"I see. Do give her my warmest wishes," Elizabeth daintily began slicing the succulent supper before her, both women aware of the point she was trying to make.
"Rebecca, do you mean to say Michaela is here? In Boston?" Maureen frowned, and looked curiously from her mother to her older sister.
Rebecca glanced up at Elizabeth, who diverted her eyes deliberately. Rebecca's utterance was quick "Yes, she is." She returned her attention to the meal in front of her.
"How is it, you are the only one to know of this?" Marjorie interjected, her envy was obvious.
Rebecca took several moments to glance around at the four female relatives, each staring intently back at her. She drew a reluctant breath, and kept her voice flat, "Michaela and Brian are only here for a few days. She was to be attending a medical conference, when she took ill yesterday, and I was contacted," Rebecca dropped her head, as she let the untruth slip from her lips, knowing that an uninvited visitor was the last thing her sister needed. "She shall be leaving Monday."
Slowly, her sisters and their husbands recommenced the weekly dinner. Rebecca glared back up at her mother, who nodded politely, and resumed her meal. About to do the same, Rebecca saw the fierceness of Marjorie's glare from across the table.
Marjorie's recent divorce had left her bitter and sullen, and after months of family gossip, Rebecca knew she would relish the focus being on another family member.
"Which one? Mrs. Dickinson is in the library, Miss Michaela," Marjorie cut the short, brown-haired chambermaid off with lightening speed.
"Exactly." She proceeded towards the staircase, and began climbing. Ellen remained close behind her.
"But Miss Marjorie, she's not receiving visitors unannounced. Miss Marjorie, please," Ellen struggled to keep up with the younger woman's emotion-fueled ascent.
"Never mind that," Marjorie attempted to dismiss the woman with a flick of her right hand. She arrived on the landing and proceeded towards the two guest rooms along the hall in front of her.
~.~
X.O.X
~.~
Michaela tightened the undergarment as firmly as she could around her waist, able to clearly see her stomach protruding below her chest. She gritted her teeth and pulled the ties several inches longer, until the coarse material dug uncomfortably into her flesh.
She only clenched her jaw tighter when she reminded herself she was fighting fate, and destined to lose. Michaela pushed the reality away as she reached for her petticoat and stepped into it. She'd just managed to drag the firm, cotton material over her stomach, when she heard raised voices in the corridor.
Michaela felt her breath catch in her throat, and awkwardly reached for her white blouse which was folded neatly in the middle of the bed. She grappled with the flimsy material, the volume of the voices intensifying as she flung it over her shoulders, and attempted to finish dressing.
"You can't go in there, Miss Marjorie!" Ellen demanded from the hallway, trying to catch the younger woman's elbow, as her right hand found the gold-plated doorknob.
"Can't I just? We'll see," Marjorie retorted self-importantly, as she flung the door open without another thought.
Michaela looked up as the trapped air in her throat was exhaled in a surprised gasp. She recognized the light head of hair and matched it with the voice instantly.
"Well, well, well. I see Mother was right all along. If I didn't know better, I'd swear my sister has been keeping secrets," Marjorie closed the door loudly, barely missing Ellen who was on her toes, several feet behind.
Michaela unintentionally startled at the sound of the slamming door; her jaw still dropped in shock.
Marjorie looked her younger sister up and down suspiciously, before she folded her arms across her chest and moved her tongue around in her mouth, searching for suitably condemning words.
No, not another person. This is not happening.
Michaela turned back towards the window as she squinted her eyes closed, and mentally willed the unwelcome presence to leave.
"I apologize," Marjorie paused, noticing her sister's partial state of dress. "It is after ten, I would have thought," she trailed off dismissively, noticing something odd in her younger sister's appearance. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. Michaela's face was paler, her cheeks fuller.
"For heaven's sake, at least finish dressing," Marjorie sighed in contempt, although discretely turned around to allow her sister some degree of privacy.
Michaela slowly opened her eyes, and stepped forwards to grasp the pale crimson skirt which lay on the edge of the bed. Her eyes darted in undisguised panic between the garment in her hands, and her older sister's turned back, as she tried to calculate just how quickly she could fasten the skirt before Marjorie's patience would wear thin.
"Mother said you were ill. What I find quite, rude, is that you failed to inform us of your visit," Marjorie busied herself in running the tips of her fingers over the small china ornaments which lined the dressing table against the wall.
Michaela gathered the skirt in both hands, and quickly brought it up, several inches higher than her petticoat, the skirt designed to fit much more snugly than the petticoat, and therefore, being less-forgiving of her increased size.
"Cat got your tongue, dear? How uncharacteristic," Marjorie chuckled lightly, as she unpredictably swiveled around one foot, having deemed she'd given her sister enough time to dress.
Michaela had just that instant fastened the metal clasp of the skirt when she felt her sister move slightly. With equal speed, Michaela brought her hands into an unnatural embrace in front of her.
"Oh, well never mind. I trust you've been kept up-to-date on all the recent events. I've no doubt you'd be pleased to know that the divorce proceedings went through only a month ago. Mother was beside herself with the notion of a scandal, however she has recovered," Marjorie turned the right corner of her mouth up slightly, as she studied the delicacy with which her younger sister continued buttoning the top of her white blouse.
Michaela blinked, and swallowed, her mouth feeling dry, her breath rising, as she attempted to button the final two buttons. Her fingers felt stiff with nerves.
"Michaela, Rebecca said you'd taken ill. I hadn't thought it serious but you don't look well, at all," Marjorie studied the petrified look that slowly grew in her sister's eyes. As she arrived only feet from her, Marjorie brought her hands to her hips, and once again looked her sister up and down.
"I do hope it's nothing serious but you're ever so pale and your face, it's fuller," Marjorie took a step backwards, her right hand locking against her chin as she scrutinized her sister's appearance. "In fact, you're, fuller all over. Michaela Quinn, why, with a complexion like that and a figure, dear, anyone would think you were pregnant!" Marjorie threw her head back with a humored laugh. A bright smile came to her lips, never for a moment believing there was any truth to her ridicule.
About to glance back at her younger sister, for the offended denial she had assumed was imminent, Marjorie's attention was jolted back towards the door as it swung open.
"How dare you! Just what do you think you're doing!" Rebecca stormed into the room, having heard only her sister's bemused cackle several seconds earlier as she'd rushed down the corridor.
Michaela stared instantly towards Rebecca, the sheer terror in her expression masked only by the worried tears that had begun to cloud her eyes.
All movement within the room froze, each sister remaining fixed in their respective position, Rebecca between the ajar doorway and the bed, Michaela between the bed and the window, and Marjorie, her left hand still drawn to her hip, at the end of the bed; between them.
Marjorie frowned, seeing the desperation in the way her younger sister glared back towards Rebecca. As she turned, Marjorie noticed her older sister's eyes widened so subtly, that she knew that underlying communication was taking place.
Still, time stood still, as Marjorie alternated her eyes between each sister. Slowly, her mouth opening, until she could eventually manage to put words to her deduction.
"Oh my Lord! You are pregnant?" The room fell into a deathly silence.