Innocence Lost For Love

by Melody Hewson

e Lost For Love

  By Melody Hewson

  Copyright 2013 Melody Hewson

  Sheila opened her eyes slowly, the world still seeming just out of focus around her. Something was dreadfully wrong, but she wasn't quite sure what it was. Her thoughts were just as out of focus as her vision. Vaguely she recalled being excited and happy before something awful had happened. After that her happiness had soured into a bitter fear that left her feeling cold and alone.

  Closing her eyes once more, Sheila attempted to sort out her jumbled thoughts, picking through one string of memories after another, searching for the one that would explain what had happened and why she now felt so bad.

  Blowing out a candle on an enormous chocolate birthday cake when she had turned seven. Putting on the sweater her mother had made her for her eleventh birthday. Petting a blind albino pony, the animal so old that patches of it's skin were completely denuded of fur. Her first day at the sewing station. Learning to cook rabbit stew. None of these memories were right and she set them aside one by one, still searching for something more recent.

  Charles. He was younger in her minds eye, his hair still thick and black, his pale cheeks still chubby with youth. But something told her that this string was the right one, so she followed it to the beginning and started there.

  She had met Charles on her first day at the Clothiers. He had been assigned to teach her what to do and it had been love at first sight. Almost the entire day had been spent exchanging shy glances and accidental touches, both finding excuses not to meet the other's eye. The evening had been spent in dreamy fantasy while reviewing an endless list of “I should have”s. They had both grown a little bolder the second day, when Charles again sat beside her on the work bench, showing her how to mend various garments so that the stitching would be hidden and how to make clothes that could withstand the stresses required of them.

  When the work day finally ended, he had hesitantly asked her to go with him to the magistrate's office, and she had excitedly said yes, then blushed at her eagerness. They were too afraid to hold hands, although Sheila had needed to cross her arms to avoid reaching out. It was best to wait, she knew, in case their budding romance was forbidden.

  There were two couples waiting in the room already when they arrived, all of them wearing identical expressions of nervous hope to match their own, all of them nursing fragile flames of hope but not daring to let them burn more than a flicker. A blaze would hurt far too much if it was extinguished. Silently they had sat, side by side, waiting to be called, their courage diminishing each time the other two couples left looking disappointed and it was finally their turn.

  “Speak up now,” said the magistrate, looking up at them sternly over half-moon spectacles. “Whatcha want? Come now, come now. Ain't got all day ya'know!”

  “We, uh... we want...” Charles stammered nervously, turning his eyes to Sheila as if begging her for both patience and strength.

  “Speak up now!” The magistrate scolded, his bushy white eyebrows lowering down until they nearly obscured his eyes. “Yar holdin' up the line!” Sheila looked behind her but the room was empty but for the three of them. “Marriage? Birth? Courtin'? Come on now, speak up! Speak up! If it's on your tongue, spit it right out.”

  “Y-yes.” Charles had stammered with another shy glance at her. “Courting, please. We, um,... need to know...”

  “Say no more, say no more!” The magistrate interrupted, reaching for the large, leather-bound tome that sat across his paper-littered desk. “Names.”

  “Um... I'm... Charles Fizzlecrank.” Charles mumbled uncertainly.

  “Sheila Greenpot.” She said quietly, then waited as the magistrate looked them up in the large book. The wait felt like forever, and Sheila felt her assurance continue to ebb away with each passing second, allowing her doubt to bubble up, swiftly filling the chasm left behind by her fleeing courage. 'He's going to say no.” She thought sadly. 'He's going to close that damn book of his and say no, we can't. Too close, he'll say. And then we'll have to be separated. And I'll never see him again. I bet they'll move me to a completely different job. Cooking would be alright, I guess. I hope it's the kitchens. Although with my luck I bet it would be-'

  The tome snapped shut with an echoing thump that reverberated in the small room, making them both jump in surprise as they were pulled out of their own private thoughts. The gnome behind the counter slowly raised his head, fixing each of them with his stern gaze before his countenance softened into a smile, his large, furry eyebrows seeming to crawl back up his face like a pair of shaggy caterpillars. “Well, ain't no oracle an' never claimed to be one, but you're good by me. No close relation on record.”

  Sheila had been surprised at the words, her expectations of denial proved wrong, and had joyfully grasped Charles' hand, almost skipping in joy as she left the office. The days had passed by in a blur after that, the two of them spending every moment they could together, working together, taking meals and breaks together, and spending every spare moment together. Nights were spent in impatient longing and innocent fantasies. They were married after a year of courting and were each moved from general sleeping quarters to partner quarters, which offered bigger beds, but no further privacy,as they shared the room with at least six other couples. They would not be given their own room unless they decided to have a baby.

  And after another year together, that's exactly what Sheila wanted to do. “I want a baby.” She blurted out as they were climbing into bed one night.

  “What?” Charles had exclaimed.

  “I... I want a baby.” She repeated, turning to look at him pleadingly.

  “What do you want a baby for? Where did this come from?” Charles had looked back with a look of hurt confusion, his hand hovering in mid air, still grasping the pale green sheet that he had been moving aside as he climbed into their shared bed.

  “Well... I dunno.” Sheila answered quietly, losing her resolve, hours of practiced script disappearing from her memory. “I... I've always wanted to be a mother. Knowing somewhere out there is a child that... came from me.” She looked away, then forced herself to look back again. “Haven't you ever wanted that?”

  “But, they'll just take it away.” Charles had argued, his fingers clutching the sheet had begun to unconsciously fidget, balling the material in his palm.

  Sheila knew he was right, although she couldn't bring herself to resent their keepers for it. There was no real crime among the people, no starvation, no poverty, none of the awful things they said had taken place before her ancestors had come to live in the colony. They were well fed, clothed, allowed free roam of the colony grounds, and in exchange, they were simply asked to work, and... to give up their children.

  “But not for a whole year.” Sheila finally protested. The gnomes never took an infant from a fit mother during the first year, when the maternal instincts were still fresh and strong. They had learned from their mistakes early on when the humans in their midst had revolted. A compromise of one year was finally accepted by both parties before peace was again restored. One whole year before the baby was taken and placed in the loving home of a willing gnome couple.

  “Well... we still need permission.” Charles had replied unhappily, finally continuing his task of climbing into the bed. “Let's wait until then. If the answer is yes, then we'll talk about it.”

  The answer had been yes when they went to the magistrate, his stern expression softening to a much more cheerful demeanor as he had looked up from his tome and said that they both qualified, all offspring born on both sides had come out strong and healthy and they were unrelated. There had been no further discussion. Once moved to their own private room, Sheila had gulped down the small vial of fertility po
tion that she had been given. Shortly after, the morning sickness had begun.

  Despite his previous reservations, Charles had been thrilled, and had even come to look forward to their new baby. Sometimes he would press his ear to her stomach and grin. Together they came up with a list of names, playfully arguing over whether it was to be a girl or a boy. Despite the knowledge that they would only have the child for a short time, Sheila believed that she could never be happier. And then disaster had finally struck.

  They came just after work, two peace keepers followed by their large machines called Guardians. They had come for Charles, they said. Conspiracy for revolt were the charges. When Sheila had protested, saying that they had never been apart long enough for him to plan any kind of revolt, she had been informed that he