by H D Coulter
“The baby needs to feed,” Sarah told Joshua. “She needs to latch on to get the first milk and bond with her mother.”
“Not now... Can’t you see my wife is fighting for her life, the baby will have to wait.” Joshua struggled even to look at the child, seeing nothing but the pain Bea was in, and the still-open chasm into which, at any moment he knew he could still lose her.
“She is a newborn; she cannot wait.”
Beth spoke out before Joshua could block Sarah again. “How can I help, what do we need to do?”
“We need to place her at the breast; baby will do the rest.”
Beth looked at her new niece and saw a likeness of Bea straight away, the curve of her lips and the shape of her nose. This is what Bea would want. “Of course.” She gave Joshua an incontestable look, still holding the folds of her sister’s stomach together. His shaking hand reached out and opened Bea’s nightdress to expose her swollen breasts.
Sarah laid the baby down near the left nipple and watched how the baby wriggled at the smell of milk. Opening her tiny mouth wide, after two or three attempts, she latched on. Sarah lifted Bea’s nearest hand and placed it on the baby’s back. She watched as tears slid from the corners of Bea’s eyes into each ear, and another smile spread across her lips.
Miss Fisher cut the thread and cleaned off the wound. She placed a paste of moss and cloves across the red line to help it heal and numb a fraction of the pain.
“The rest is in Gods’ hands. I have done my part. Now she needs a good rest, and a reason to fight. May I use yo’ kitchen to clean myself up and rest? If you will allow it, I will remain close on by?”
“Of course - rest, eat. Thank you for all you have done.” Joshua reached out and took her blood-stained hands in to his. “We are forever grateful to you.”
“She’s not out o’ the woods yet, child - if she makes it through the night, she still have a long road ahead of her.”
“I understand, I do, but... she is the strongest woman I know.”
Chapter 9
June 1832, Beacon Hill, Boston
FOR THE FIRST TWO DAYS, Bea fought. Miss Fisher and Sarah took care of her night and day whilst Beth looked after the baby, taking her to Bea to feed every two hours, giving her a reason to keep fighting, reminding her she needed to live. Joshua divided his time between shorter days at work, and remaining by her side, stoking the fire and trying to be helpful to both able women, all the while feeling completely lost. He read to her in their few quiet moments from her favourite books. Jane Austen had become a comfort to her in recent months. Miss Fisher continued preparing herbal tea to keep the infection away and redressed the wound every few hours with fresh moss and cloth. On the third day, Bea’s colour began slowly to return, and she could acknowledge the baby when she came for her feeds. She felt the weight of the small body on her chest and the awkward little stretches she would perform as she suckled. Her hair was dark with little flecks of red that caught the candlelight. But if Bea tried to move an inch, a sharp pain seared across her hips. So she stayed still, her body aching and exhausted. Sarah gently and respectfully helped her to the toilet with a bedpan and an endless supply of clean towels, all the while humming her work-songs under her breath to put the new mother at ease.
By day five, Bea was more lucid. She was aware of everyone around her and how grateful she was to have them there. Her milk had now come in fully and the baby drank for longer, her own body responding to the smaller one at her breast.
As Beth brought the baby in for her mid-morning feed, Bea could hear her making funny little noises as she reached up for her Aunt’s hand.
“Good morning. You are looking better today. More colour in your cheeks.” Beth rejoiced.
“Good morning,” Bea whispered back.
“Here’s Mama, little one.” Beth lowered the baby onto Bea’s chest.
“Thank you.”
Beth smiled with a gleam in her eyes and gave Bea a brief nod, in the same way her Da used to do, one that said everything, knowing there was no reason for words.
“Hello Grace.” Bea stroked the tiny mop of dark hair and held her close as she latched on.
“Grace? Is that her name?”
“What do you think? It came to me last night. It feels right.”
“I love it, it suits her! She is Grace, I have never known a more contented baby.”
“She is my grace, and my light.” Bea said softly as she gently stroked the bare back.
“Grace Mason.”
“What’s this? Good morning, my love. You are looking better today.” Joshua sounded happy as he peered around the door from his dressing room, still trying to tie his cravat.
“I have named the baby Grace. What do you think?”
“Grace Mason,” Beth repeated with a smile.
“Yes, it’s... very good.” Joshua glanced at the baby for a moment before studying Bea’s appearance. “How are you feeling today?”
“Better, stronger, still the pain when I move. Have you said good morning to our daughter?”
“... Yes.”
“I would like you to hold her a little while today.”
“You need your rest, my darling, and I need to work,” Joshua interjected, dismissing the idea as if she wanted to walk bare-foot in the snow.
“When you’re ready, Bea.” Beth shuffled out of the room before things became too personal.
“Have you held her yet, Joshua?”
“I didn’t want to disturb her; all she seems to do is sleep and feed. And I have been busy at the docks and looking after you.”
“I know you have, and I am truly grateful to you; you will never know how much. I felt you every second, hearing your voice helped me in the darkness.” Joshua gripped tight her free hand, placing a kiss on her forehead. “But you also need to bond with your baby – she is our child.”
“I need to go to work.” Joshua pulled his hand out of her grip and moved towards the door.
“You can spare five minutes, surely?”
“I am needed to put out a fire. Something has gone wrong with a large shipment, and they need me on the ground.”
“Please, Joshua?” she was pleading, the hurt clear in her voice.
“When I return this evening, I will – I promise – but now I really must go.”
Grace gave a brief murmur, a sign she was full, and began wiggling on Bea’s chest. Bea gently shuffled her upwards so that the lolling, milky head was supported just above her shoulder. Gently, she patted the baby’s back. After a minute Grace let out a loud burp, and Bea chuckled.
“It suits you – being a mother.” Joshua stood there for a moment and watched how she smiled, a small light returning inside of her. A quick pang of jealously entered his head, but he dismissed it as quickly as it arrived. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Bea nodded, absorbed once more in Grace. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” Joshua said as he walked out the door.
Bea felt Grace relax into her chest once more and drifted back to sleep, soothed by the familiar sound of her steady heartbeat, the pain dulled by its dainty rhythm. Bea tucked the blanket around them both and embraced the reassuring ball of weight, grasping tight to this moment of happiness. “You are my child; not his – you are innocent – you are loved – you are mine.”
Chapter 10
After a fortnight, Bea was strong enough to shuffle around the room for a few minutes at a time, cradling the baby in her arms. Once she was out of danger, Miss Fisher had left to return to her own home, with twenty pounds in her pocket at the Mason’s insistence: “You saved our lives; it is the least we can do. We are forever in your debt.” Miss Fisher, who had never seen such a sum of money, took it with an abiding sense of disbelief, but returned every couple of days to check Bea’s wound for any sign of infection. Sarah barely left Bea’s side. They gave her the second bedroom to use as her own, and she insisted on staying close, making sure they fed Bea with rich, simple broths, and dr
inking her herbal teas.
One morning, seated in her velvet chair after ten laps of the room with Grace sound asleep in her arms. She whispered to her daughter, delighting in her profoundly tranquil face.
“I promise you, my darling, I will protect you with my life. No one will hurt you or take you from us. It is you and I against the world. You will have a life full of love, happiness and opportunities...”
There was a knock on the door. “Come in.” Bea called out in a loud whisper.
Beth popped her head around the door. “Sorry, I wanted to check if you needed anything?”
“Thank you, but I think we are fine, aren’t we, my darling?” Bea gazed down at the sleeping Grace in her arms, with rosy cheeks and her little wrinkly fingers interlocking around the knitted blanket. Beth nodded and edged back round the door. “Wait... come and sit with me for a moment, will you?”
“Of course.” Beth dragged over a chair that was beside the dressing table. Bea watched how she moved, how she held herself. Her little sister was no longer a young lady. Without Bea realising it, she had transformed into a woman. Her face had more defined angles, higher cheek bones showed off her brown eyes and full lips. Her waist, which was once straight, had a curve to it now, emphasising her hips. Where had the time gone? It was only yesterday, when they used to curl up on the hay mattress, keeping away as their parents had yet another fight after dinner. Practising hairstyles and fashionable braids they had seen on Lady Dawn Richmond at Church two Sundays past. She was the same age as Bea, but couldn’t be more different. Now look at them. How strange life was sometimes. Bea readied herself for a conversation she had been meaning to have for the past few weeks, but now it was time.
“I wanted to talk to you... now that I am recovered, and I want you to be honest with me.” She waited until Beth nodded her head in agreement. “Tell me how it really is in Ulverston when you left? Da writes to me, telling me that everything is alright, but I know he is protecting me... from the truth. For example, I have only received one letter from Alice and yet, I have sent at least a dozen in return. I know things are wrong but no one will tell me... Please, don’t get me wrong, I am thrilled and grateful that you are here and yet, this wasn’t the plan. The fact Joshua and Da thought it best and you must have agreed?” Bea lifted her hand off Graces rhythmically rising chest and laid it on top of Beth’s outstretched hand.
“We knew you were struggling, not just through Joshua but by your letters. There was no spirit in the writing. Your voice was gone. That was one reason, to be here to help you, when I should of before...” Bea was about to protest until Beth raised her finger to allow her to finish. A gesture similar to her Da’s. “In honesty, I have not been allowed to talk to Alice. I saw her in town one day and she passed me a note whilst remarking on some form of nonsense before carrying on with her business. I think it must have laid in her cotton shopping bag for a while with the corners bent and smudged. And yet, all it said was sorry. For the sake of their shop we could no longer be friends and in time she hopes things are different. That was it, a life time of friendship dismissed in a few words. But I also understand, which brings me onto my other reason...” Beth had contemplated how this conversation would go, knowing the guilt Bea would instantly feel. “Life back home is harder. The family gave me notice, after working for them since I was twelve. Da’s orders have slowed down. Mr Mason blacklisting the family didn’t help, but the shipyards know Da and the reputation the Lightfoot rope, so they keep orders coming. Thankfully, business keeps thriving in Ulverston and they need rope, otherwise...” she didn’t need to finish the last part. Lowering her eyes and the slump in her shoulders told Bea everything she needed to know. “But none of that is because of you. All you did was fall in love and no one saw what Captain Hanley was capable of. Society is quick to judge and hold you down.” Beth added in a soft voice with a hint of their Da. Bea felt the tears building in the corners of the eyes. “No one in our family blames you... I don’t blame you.” Gently placing her other hand on top of Bea’s slightly shuddering one, she gave it a brief squeeze, seeing for the first time the amount of painful guilt Bea was holding on to. “What you had to endure was enough punishment to last a thousand lifetimes, and you did nothing wrong. - I see it now, the way he looks at you, protected you when this little one was coming into the world – you belong to each other.”
There was a moment of silence as Beth’s words sank in and she believed her. There was no blame. “Thank you, for your honesty... I am so glad you are here.” A few tears broke through and streamed down Bea’s face. Beth let go of her hand and grabbed a clean handkerchief from the top clothes draw, handing it to her. “Thank you,” she repeated.
“It is strange, living in a big town – city compared to Outcast – Ulverston, but I am enjoying it. There is excitement here and endless possibilities.” Beth continued the conversation, smiling back at her sister.
“You have a chance to start afresh, to discover what you want to do.” Both of the women giggled as Beth distorted herself so that it resembled that of Lady Dawn, with her nose held tight and grinning whilst looking rather fearful of the poor children standing close by. An appearance they had often seen at church. The laughter stirred Grace out of her deep sleep.
Sarah entered the room carrying a pot of tea on a small silver tray. “Thank you, Sarah, you read my mind.”
“I am going to pass on the tea. I have some errand to do before the shops close.” Said Beth, refusing the empty cup. “Sarah, I’ll be back in an hour to help make dinner.”
“Thank you,” Bea repeated, as she felt a part of the burden lift from her shoulders.
Without a word, Beth smiled and waved bye as she closed the door behind her.
“Shall I put Grace in her cradle?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Sarah lent down and scooped Grace into her arms, planting a small kiss on her forehead before laying her down. Bea saw daily how fond Sarah had become of Grace, and she didn’t know what she would have done without the young woman; she had become a friend, an auxiliary mother, and a protector.
“Sarah, may I have a word?” Today was the day for honesty. No more secrets.
“Yes, Mistress... Bea.”
“I have been meaning to speak to you - to explain – about... what I said during the night my baby was born.”
“There is no need.” Sarah shook her head, dismissing the notion.
“There are moments from my past that haunt me still, and some of that came back during the labour. You have shown me such kindness over the past few weeks, months, even, I do not know what I would have done without you.”
“You would have done just fine, Mis... Bea.”
“Few people would have been as patient and kind as you. I like to think we have become friends?”
Sarah nodded, poured out a small cup of tea, and placed a thin slice of lemon and a spoon of honey into the cup, stirring pensively. She understood Bea needed to talk now. She handed the cup to her in silence. Bea took a small sip, followed by a deep breath. She told Sarah about Hanley without using his name, merely calling him ‘the man’ or ‘the monster’. She lightly touched upon the night he had taken everything from her, without going into detail. But she didn’t know if she should dare say more, whether Joshua would want her to. What if Sarah told another, even in innocence, and then they told another; before they knew it, it would taint their fresh start.
“There... there is more, but I have not spoken of it aloud to anyone but Joshua, and... I do not know if I am ready.” Without thinking, her free hand drifted towards her neck and stroked her scar. Sarah had seen that mark many times before, but always on the dead bodies of men and women, never on a living soul. Bea’s story intrigued her, and wanted to know more, but felt instinctively that it wasn’t her place to press. The moment she had met Bea, she had seen pain in her every movement and thought. And on the night Grace had come into the world, she had witnessed it become a reality. When Bea was ready, she
would be there to listen.
She took Bea’s hand in hers; one woman to another, both survivors of terror, now working out how to live entirely new lives. Sarah gave Bea’s hand a little squeeze and smiled.
“I’ll let you rest now, Bea.” She took the half-finished tea, placed it on the tray, and carried it quietly out the door.
Chapter 11
July 1832, Ulverston, England
“I FEEL SORRY FOR THEM, I do – to think how that girl behaved, and how it has affected her family – oh I’ll have a half a pound of butter too – the Lightfoots have been here for generations, and in a matter of months they’ve lost everything.” Mrs Richardson placed her wicker basket onto the polished wooden counter.
“Such a shame; I know Bob well – now is there anything else I can get for you?”
“A dozen eggs, please. Yes, my Frank knows Bob Lightfoot, they used to drink together in the Bay Horse, but now I hear he won’t go near the place, and I don’t blame him. The questions people asked.... That wife of his rarely comes into town herself now.” She tutted her head from side to side. “The airs that woman had, I personally couldn’t stand her, but I wouldn’t wish such a fate on any mother. Mrs Dent does her shopping for her now.”
Mrs Hodgson moved closer, stretching her neck out. “Really?”
Mrs Richardson, mirroring her action, leaned forward. “It’s just shameful, that’s what it is.”
“The nerve of that Beatrice.”
“Hmmmm, indeed. Well, is there anything else I can get for you, Mrs Richardson?” The shopkeeper continued, straightening herself back up and smoothing out the creases in her apron.
“Could I have three candles, beeswax, if you don’t mind. I know it’s an indulgence, but I prefer the smell.”
“Right you are.”
“I hear they have shipped the other daughter out to join her across the sea, little Beth. She lost her job working at the big house, and no one else will have her, of course – and can you blame them?” She made the sign of the cross over her chest.
