by Ann Aguirre
“James…,” Millie whispered, just as he was about to drift off.
“Hm?”
“Do you truly not remember…?”
“When we first saw each other?” Maybe it was because his mind was weary and wandering, but an image of her standing near the public house in Otterburn flashed into his head. Wide eyes watching their group in awed silence, and pretty as a spring flower in her blue dress. “Think … maybe it was when Company D came to Otterburn, seeking aid against the horde?”
“Yes!” Her delight startled him wide-awake.
Before he knew much of anything else, she’d crossed the distance between them, gazing down at him in the moonlight. That face, those eyes. She’s … breathtaking. His heart kicked up a wild rhythm, and he couldn’t quite get his breath.
She went on, softly, “I thought you didn’t see me, that you never would. But me? I’ve been watching you all along. And it got lonely.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
This time, he knew what for.
“You were the finest man I’d ever seen and I just … I know they say it doesn’t happen, but when I saw you, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. And my heart just … went.”
“Oh, Millie…”
“But then you opened your blasted mouth. I’ve been here before, you said. But I didn’t see anything worth staying for. And you were looking right at me. And it felt like it was possible for somebody to break your heart without even speaking to you.”
He winced. It got worse.
“Don’t forget how you called my hometown ‘a bit of an eyesore.’”
“No wonder you’re angry,” he mumbled.
She shook her head. “Not really. Not about that, anymore. I just … I wanted…”
Then she gave up on talking and kissed him.
Sorrow Came Calling
Snow covered the ground in a white carpet.
It had been a month since Szarok had left, and in that time, Tegan had been accepted as Khamish’s new apprentice. While she felt uneasy, considering how her first two teachers had ended up, the woman knew so much about midwifery that she couldn’t pass up the chance for … learning. Even framing the word in her mind summoned a burst of yearning. She missed him in a way that she hadn’t known was possible, as if someone had carved her heart from her body and locked it away in a box.
“Come on now. No time to dawdle.” Khamish emerged from her room, clean and ready to start the day.
“No breakfast?”
“We need to check on Mrs. Gwynne. She’s near her time, and she had trouble with the last one. Her man won’t know what to do with those three littles if anything goes wrong.”
The pain receded. Keeping busy provided the best panacea for what ailed her. She gathered the new doctor’s bag she’d traded for a couple of weeks back, and checked the medicines that Khamish had been kind enough to supply. Everything’s here. It wasn’t quite as comprehensive as the kit she’d left on the Catalina, but willing hands went a long way toward making up for that.
As they went out, she said, “You usually make patients come to you.”
“So I do. But there are exceptions. If they’re bedridden or ready to drop a baby in the street, it’s best for me to do the walking.”
Tegan had gotten used to the woman’s accent, so it no longer registered as strong, though sometimes new expressions still puzzled her until she worked them out by context. Tegan hurried out behind Khamish and stepped in the footprints she made in the snow. From both necessity and convenience, she dressed like her new mentor as well: thick trousers, sturdy boots, under-blouse, vest with many pockets, and a heavy overcoat. Someone had knitted her a hat, scarf, and mittens in thanks for treating a child’s putrid throat, and she bundled up, as the passing weeks brought winter stalking in like a hungry wolf.
Khamish maneuvered in the white like a dancer, long legs eating up the distance. Tegan struggled in her wake, but since she was determined, the older woman didn’t arrive much before her. Mr. Gwynne was pacing on the porch, smelling of hops and fermented grain. Once, she didn’t pay that much attention to people’s scents, but time with Szarok had left her noting the details, so these days she almost always knew what they’d been eating or drinking.
“I’m so glad to see you.” The man’s relief was palpable as he rushed toward them. “She’s inside with our oldest girl. I sent the babies to my sister.”
“Is she having pains?” Khamish asked.
“I think so. When she started crying and cursing me, I ran.”
Khamish muttered something Tegan felt sure was uncomplimentary. Louder, she said, “Stop drinking. It won’t help.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He lowered his head in apparent remorse.
“Let’s have a look, shall we?” Khamish opened the door and stepped inside.
The cottage was warm, and a woman’s cries came from the back room. Tegan went with her mentor to see how bad it was, but she didn’t count on the wave of shock that iced her from head to toe. The smell and the weeping, it carried her back to that time and everything she’d done her best to forget. Tegan sucked in a breath, trying to conceal her tremors. It wasn’t just the blood, but the woman’s tearful face and the stink of her sweat, traces of copper, and the natal fluid soaking the bedcovers.
Khamish offered her a sharp look. “This is your first birthing?”
“Yes,” she got out.
“Well, suck it up. Religious folk say women are cursed, and that’s why we bleed and have to suffer. I call that nonsense, but I’ll agree this is a poor natural design.”
“Can you stop waxing philosophical while I’m dying?” Mrs. Gwynne shrieked.
The older woman laughed. “You’re not; it just feels like you are. I’ll wash up and be right back. Tegan, keep her calm.”
Easier said than done. The nausea and terror came at her in waves like enemies determined to wear her down. Yet the little girl, no more than seven or eight, held her mother’s hand bravely, and she remembered doing the same, whenever her mama had fallen ill. It got easier to breathe when she focused on the child.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Lucilla.”
“That’s pretty. Are you happy you’re getting a baby brother or sister?”
The girl made a face. “Not really. I wish they’d stop. We have enough already.”
“Lucilla!” Mrs. Gwynne snapped.
“What? You told me it’s wrong to lie.”
Breathe. Just breathe.
Soon Tegan had her feelings under control, and she peeled off her cold-weather gear. Then she knelt and said, “If you don’t mind, I’m going to make you a little more comfortable.”
With Lucilla’s help, she found fresh bedding and changed it so Mrs. Gwynne wasn’t lying in the wet. Khamish came back as she got the patient settled, and she did the exam with quick precision. The older woman showed no sign of alarm as she concluded her check.
“It all looks good so far, but you’re not quite ready to push. I know you’ll hate hearing this, but it would probably go faster if you moved around.”
“You’re merciless,” Mrs. Gwynne mumbled.
But she did struggle to her feet with Tegan’s help. She supported the woman in pacing around the room, down the hall into the sitting area and back. They went fifteen times before the labor quickened and Khamish took another look. Her expression told Tegan that it was time for a baby to be born.
“Lucilla, love, take your father to your auntie’s house. I’m afraid he’s still drinking out there, and if he falls down in the snow…”
“He’ll freeze,” the girl finished. “Very well, I’m going.”
“Should she be put in charge of him like that?” Tegan asked.
“If you’re worried, you can walk with them. This isn’t the first baby I’ve delivered. I thought you might want to see it, but I can manage on my own.”
Quietly relieved, she set a hand on Lucilla’s shoulder. “I’ll make sure you get
there safe and then come right back.”
“I know the way … but thank you.” The little girl’s smile said she appreciated the extra care, even if it came from a stranger.
Tegan had the idea that she probably did a lot around the house and helped look after her younger siblings, too. The things Lucilla said didn’t sound particularly childish, and Tegan understood all too well how that was. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when there had been no fear, no threat looming, even … before.
She grabbed her winter clothes and layered up, then helped Lucilla do the same. As they came out, they caught Mr. Gwynne drinking on the porch. Startled, he chucked his cup of whatever into the snow beside the house. Lucilla only sighed. Tegan frowned at him.
“Is this any way to greet a new life? Come on. We’re taking you to your sister’s house.”
“I want to stay,” he protested.
“For what?” she demanded.
Lucilla tugged on his sleeve. “Daddy, don’t be stubborn.”
“I’m sorry, squirrel. Let’s go then.” With a tremulous sigh, he took his daughter’s hand, but his gait was none too steady when he set out.
Muttering, Tegan propped him up on the other side, and Mr. Gwynne kept trying to veer off to see friends, or for “just a quick visit to the public house.” So it took much longer than she expected to herd him across town. She’d never wrangled such a difficult man. Breathing hard, she finally dragged him to a well-built house with multiple stories.
“We’re here,” Lucilla said.
Tegan hauled him up the steps onto the porch and rapped on the door. The minute she let go of him, he staggered toward the street. Whatever he’d been drinking clearly had a long tail. She grabbed ahold of him and shoved him through the door as it opened. The brown-haired woman seemed startled until she recognized her brother.
“Oh, Farrell,” she said, shaking her head.
“Will you look after him?” Tegan asked.
“Of course. I’m sorry he’s troubled you. He doesn’t cope well in tense situations.”
“True,” Lucilla said.
“Well, come in, all of you, and have a cuppa. It’s some bitter out.” Farrell Gwynne’s sister beckoned, and Tegan stepped inside, not wanting to be rude.
But she didn’t take off her coat. “I should probably get back.…”
But I don’t want to.
I don’t want to see a live baby that makes me think of my dead ones.
She’d told Deuce that she wanted to protect them, but nothing could’ve been further from the truth. While the Huntress might be a capable warrior, she was blind when it came to other people’s hearts. If she’d ever been taken by force, maybe then she’d understand Tegan’s hate. She had never shown it to anyone, until Szarok, never thought anyone would understand. But he did. His voice growled in her memory: I don’t care if you lie to everyone else in the world. Never to me. Understand? Forced sweetness had been her sword and shield, but it was time to find new weapons, forged of honesty instead. She no longer feared that her truths might drive others away.
Making up her mind to face her fear, she turned for the door with a word of apology. In that moment, Mr. Gwynne stumbled and cracked his head on a table’s edge. Head wounds usually looked worse than they were, so Tegan didn’t panic over the profuse bleeding. Lucilla started crying, so her aunt comforted her.
“Do you have bandages? I’m sorry. I left my bag.”
Presently they brought basic supplies, so she cleaned the wound and patched him up. The whole time, his sister scolded him for being an irresponsible arse. Once she finished, it seemed churlish to refuse the drink a third time.
So she stayed.
Eventually she said, “I should go.”
“Must you?” Lucilla asked, all big eyes. “You’re so nice. Won’t you read us a story first so we don’t worry about Ma?”
Twelve more wide eyes stared up at her, all innocence and appeal. Tegan couldn’t resist, so she accepted an ancient storybook and read about a princess and a frog until the children passed out in a pile on the floor. Mr. Gwynne was snoring nearby in a chair, so the scene seemed much calmer than the rowdy house she’d entered earlier.
“You’re a miracle worker,” his sister said. “Between his littles and mine, me nerves … They got me drove.”
“No trouble at all.”
It was late by the time she headed back to the Gwynne place. Flurries of snow dropped on her skin in icy kisses. The house was mostly dark; she didn’t knock, as Mrs. Gwynne could hardly answer and Khamish was likely to be busy. But instead of cries and commands from the back, there was only stillness and silence. She started when she registered Khamish just sitting in the front room, head bowed.
Her stomach tightened. “What happened?”
“It went bad,” Khamish said softly. “She tore and bled, and I didn’t have enough hands.”
Oh. Oh no.
“The baby…?”
“Stillborn, like the last.”
Tears rising, Tegan dropped to her knees beside the older woman and took her hands. “Would it … Could we have saved her if I’d been here?” With all her heart, Tegan wished to hear a definite no.
But Khamish only sighed. “Hard to say. I don’t think the baby was ever meant for this world, but Netta Gwynne? I don’t know.”
“Sorry. I’m so sorry. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have gone. Mr. Gwynne wouldn’t cooperate on the way, then he hurt his head, but I shouldn’t have lingered with the children. This—”
“Is not your fault. When you hold people’s lives in your hands, it’s easy to take on guilt until you can’t breathe for it. But if you’d stayed, maybe Mr. Gwynne and his wee girl would’ve frozen in the snow. Lucilla’s a taking child, but she shouldn’t be put in charge of her da.”
Tegan recognized this for what it was, an attempt to clear her conscience, but the weight wouldn’t go. “What should we do?” she asked, aching at the idea of crossing town again with such dreadful news.
“I’ve already washed and wrapped the bodies. Now we must notify the family.”
“If they had other kin, they should be here. I don’t understand why—”
“Mara, Mr. Gwynne’s sister, is the only one. Netta’s people passed early in life, and I half raised her.” Khamish let out a sigh so long that almost sounded like a sob. “Some days I’m plain tired. Never thought I’d live to see this girl gone.”
“Then … I’ll go with you.” It was the least she could do.
But the older woman shook her head. “Go on home. People will say wretched things in the shock of grief. I can bear it, but you shouldn’t have to.”
“No, I’ll go.”
No matter what Khamish said, Tegan didn’t change her mind. For the second time, she trudged through the snow. They didn’t speak, and she sucked in the cold air like it could numb her guilt. But the feeling only intensified as they went up the steps to the door. Khamish knocked, and Mara stood there wearing an expectant look.
“Who … Who’s with Netta?”
“I’m sorry,” Khamish said. “I truly am.”
Mara crumpled against the doorframe, her head falling back. “Oh, Farrell. Whatever will you do?” After taking a few steadying breaths, she gathered herself. “I’ll not wake them with such news. The morn is soon enough.”
Heavily, Khamish nodded.
Tegan stopped listening to the words because they couldn’t change anything. I chose wrong. I chose the comfortable path. If I’d been there … She didn’t truly believe it would’ve come to a choice between two tragedies. Lucilla probably could’ve shepherded her father just fine. I just preferred to go.
Mara didn’t offer tea. Eventually she shut the door on them, and Khamish led the way back to her cottage. The weighty silence lasted until they got inside.
“Hungry?”
Tegan shook her head.
“You can’t starve because we lost today. This is the way of the world, me girl. Sometimes it’s awful
and it hurts like hell, but if you can’t swallow the bitter down and keep moving, you can’t call yourself a healer.”
Tegan spoke through clenched teeth. “I can. I have. It’s about all I know how to do.”
“Now that just isn’t true. You can mend a wound, soothe a sore heart, and I heard from Mara how sweet you were with those littles.”
“I’m not sweet,” she snapped.
“Not always. Nobody is. But a person isn’t made of one or two colors like a tree.”
Tegan had no reply for that. She didn’t argue when Khamish put a bowl of soup in front of her. She cleaned the dish like her life depended on it. Afterward, she washed up and then went to the window to watch the snow falling. The inexorable flurry of white had already covered their footprints, leaving no trace that they’d come or gone.
“It’s unnerving how fast it happens sometimes,” said Khamish.
“The snow?”
“That … and dying. I’ll carry it for a long time, how Netta said to me that we were waxing philosophical while she was dying. And I made light. Now she’s gone.”
For the first time, Tegan saw how her mentor was hurting. Her brave face crumpled, tears streaming for the young mother she’d half raised. She ran to Khamish and hugged her, eyes wet, but it didn’t matter what she felt. Comforting others, that was something she knew how to do.
“She was well enough then. You treated her with nothing but kindness.”
“I know. But let me be weak tonight. I’ll pick up and carry on in the morning. You know Netta told me to look after her littles? I’m too old. I don’t see how I can keep that promise.”
The older woman cried and cried until Tegan feared she might be sick. Finally she put her to bed with a hot drink and then she read from an old book until her voice nearly gave. I’m sorry, she thought. Because of me … Well, I’m just sorry. That whole night, she lay with Khamish in bed like she had done before her mother had died, but she didn’t sleep. Tegan listened to Khamish’s heartbeat, but it only tapped out a basic rhythm. There were no words, like Szarok had promised.
