“Harold won’t know of the child’s existence,” Anna conceded.
“He will know,” Nanny assured her. “But he won’t meet or see that beautiful, impressionable child.”
“I beg of you. Allow me to become acquainted with her.”
“I will be in touch,” Nanny informed her.
Nanny instructed the driver to leave. With the carriage gone, Nanny returned to the apartment and entered the bedroom. The tears flowed down her cheeks. She stared at her still friend, praying for the strength to speak to Stewart. She knelt beside the bed, placed her hands over Natasha’s, and looked at her pale face.
“Natasha, I required more time with you,” she sobbed. “My heart is breaking, but I’m unable to fathom the pain Stewart will experience. I will never forgive your father for the grief he has caused. I will sacrifice my life before I allow that man to hurt Hope as he hurt you. Your precious child will be raised with love in her heart. I love you, Natasha, and shall fight with my last breath to ensure your wishes are met. I fought this idea the day we talked. Together with your brothers I begged you to reconsider this decision and yet you remained persistent, as strong-willed as the king. Your father’s daughter. I admit, I don’t believe your father would have had a change of heart. Nor do your brothers. My heart breaks for them. They know your history, the lack of love you received. This decision is tormenting them, but after seeing you and Hope with Stewart, they couldn’t bear to see you parted. You would have been separated from your family if you were ever caught and forced back to the castle. They agree, your beautiful little girl deserves to grow under the guidance of the Donovans. How I hate your father and his stubborn pride for forcing you to contemplate and proceed with this dreadful day. I can only hope, as you do, that he lives in regret. That your mother lives in regret. I will not do anything to relieve their guilty consciences.”
Nanny left the room. After writing an entry in Natasha’s diary, she placed the book back into a box and returned to Natasha’s side, kneeling and praying in silence.
Hope’s giggle announced their return. Nanny wiped the tears from her eyes and walked into the parlour. Stewart opened the door.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Stewart stopped in the doorway at the sight of Nanny’s red, bloodshot eyes.
“What is the matter? What is the cause of your grief? Did you and Natasha quarrel?”
Nanny didn’t utter a sound. Looking past her, his favourite chair was missing. The parlour was empty. Only a couple hours earlier the room was full of their furniture.
“Natasha?” he called.
Natasha didn’t respond. He released Hope’s hand.
“She’s resting,” he reminded himself.
Surprised to see the bedroom door open, Stewart took another step. Natasha’s feet and legs were visible. She never slept on her back. His wife always preferred to lie on her side and tuck herself into the fetal position. She napped with a blanket or sheet covering her legs and bottom.
Another step. A diadem was on her head, the crown she detested. It was the first time he had seen it, other than her family portrait.
“Natasha.”
She didn’t respond.
“Why is Natasha wearing that thing?” he demanded. “She detests it.”
“Anna set it upon her head,” Nanny responded, her voice only slightly above a whisper.
“Anna?” He turned, and glared at Nanny. “Anna was in my home?”
“Briefly, yes.”
“We discussed this. Together, we would go to the castle with Hope, Momma, and Poppa. As a family we would go to her parents. Did Natasha speak with her mother?”
“Nay, she did not.”
Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. Why isn’t Natasha speaking? She is not that sound a sleeper. He entered the bedroom, removed the crown from Natasha’s head, and placed it on the floor. Natasha never moved.
“Wake up, my darling Natasha,” he cajoled her. “We’ve returned from the park. I’m aware you’re tired, but I beg of you, wake up and speak to me. I shall care for Hope while you rest, but you must open your eyes at once.”
There was no movement. She was still, so very still.
“Natasha. Open your eyes,” he pleaded.
He raised her hand to his lips. Nothing. Fear and disbelief crept over him. Natasha wasn’t talking. She wasn’t moving. She should be mumbling, squeezing his hand, something to show she heard him.
“Please,” he begged as his eyes filled. He turned and looked to Nanny where she stood at the door, holding Hope’s hand. She picked up his daughter and walked into the room.
“I’m so sorry,” Nanny whispered, tears running down her cheeks.
He turned his attention back to his wife. “This is a nightmare. The worst of my life.” He refused to believe she was gone. Dead. He needed his wife.
“No,” he whimpered in disbelief. “Dear God, no,” he cried. “Squeeze my hand, Natasha,” he demanded. Tears fell on the cover. “You can’t leave me. Hope needs her momma. After the passion we shared this past week, I’m certain you are with child. I want more children with you. The life we discussed and dreamed of….”
“Momma,” Hope whispered.
Turning, Stewart noticed Nanny had brought Hope to Natasha’s still body.
“Kiss your momma, child,” she whispered.
Hope leaned over while in Nanny’s arms and kissed her momma’s cheek, and then turned to Stewart.
“Poppa?”
Unable to look at the daughter they shared, Stewart closed his eyes, putting all his strength into controlling his voice.
“Remain with Nanny, Hope.”
He felt Nanny’s hand on the back of his head. “Her love for you consumed her entire being,” Nanny told him in a soothing voice. “She believed in her heart you and your daughter would be happier living free of confinement.”
“That is not a decision for Natasha to make without allowing me to voice my opinion.” Still on his knees, Stewart remembered the visit with both Nanny and the twins. “This was planned?” he asked angrily. “Yet you didn’t inform me, warn me?”
“The twins and I begged her. Our attempt to persuade her to reconsider was in vain. Natasha was adamant. She wanted your life to find a calm normality.”
“I was deceived,” he whispered. He rested his head on Natasha’s chest. “Why did I believe your father was ending his search? I am such a fool,” he sobbed.
“Nay. You had no reason to question her. Marcus and Joshua begged her to reconsider, but they supported and respected her decision.”
Stewart lifted his head. “You deceived me,” he growled. “They deceived me.”
“Stewart,” she sobbed. “The twins are grieving. I have never experienced such pain in my heart. I’m grieving her loss. I beg of you. Forgive us.”
Unable to look at Nanny’s face, Stewart turned his attention back to the still body. To his wife.
“It is impossible to find happiness without you. You’re my life, Natasha. The air that allows me to breathe.”
“You must rebuild your life with your child,” Nanny informed him. “She needs her Poppa.”
“Hope needs her momma.” He broke down and sobbed.
“I have seen your inner strength. Think of your daughter. This child will need her poppa. You must be strong for her.”
Stewart held Natasha’s hand, put his head on his wife’s stomach, and cried.
“Leave me in peace,” Stewart pleaded.
With Hope still in her arms, Nanny left the room with his confused child. Stewart stared at Natasha’s face.
“Tomorrow. Tomorrow was to be different. You were to remain by my side tomorrow and always. This is what you meant?” He stared at her.
He went quiet. The only sound was Nanny’s voice as she spoke to Hope. There was a tap on the door.
“We came the moment we received the message.” It was his momma’s voice.
His parents’ voices. Somehow, they knew to come. Still kneelin
g by his wife’s body, his focus shifted to the door. His parents entered the room. His momma sobbed in disbelief. His poppa walked to his side. Stewart lifted his head from Natasha’s stomach. Her dress was soaked from his tears. His poppa dropped to his knees and placed his arms around his son’s shoulders.
“I returned home after taking Hope to the park to … this,” Stewart cried. Nanny appeared in the doorframe, holding Hope’s hand. “You must inform me of the events after I departed.”
Nanny spoke of the discussion with the twins, and her last hour in Natasha’s company, begging her to reconsider. She related Anna’s visit and her reaction to her daughter’s death.
“Natasha loved you, Stewart. You left this building with a smile upon your face. Her last memory of you. A beautiful memory. She was happy.”
He turned his gaze back to the bed. Nanny reached for the envelope on his wife’s stomach.
“This is a letter Natasha wrote,” Nanny informed his momma. “He’s filled with pain and anger. I suggest you wait.”
“Indeed,” his momma responded. “I will ensure he sees that later. In time, he will come to appreciate it.”
Nanny placed her hand on his shoulder. “This cannot wait,” Nanny informed him. “Natasha had a will prepared.”
Astonishment and anger filled him. “We never discussed that,” he growled. “I don’t want to hear any more. Destroy that. I don’t want to see it.”
“Stewart you must. For Hope’s sake, you must be strong.”
Unable to imagine his life without his wife, he took a deep breath.
“What does it say? What are Natasha’s wishes?”
“You are to retain sole custody of the daughter you share. I shall take Hope to the park once a month where she shall visit with Ann—”
“I will not allow that,” he objected. He turned his back to her.
“I beg of you. Allow me to finish,” Nanny pleaded.
She placed her hand on the back of Hope’s head. Stewart turned his attention from Nanny to his parents, and back to the woman his wife trusted with her life.
“Unless you state otherwise, Natasha’s father will never see this child, although he will be informed of her existence.”
“Neither Natasha’s mother or father will have contact with our daughter,” Stewart fumed.
His momma walked over to Nanny, bent down, took Hope into her arms. She left the room.
“It’s Natasha’s wish that Anna knows her grandchild. Anna is to establish a trust fund for Hope and provide a lump sum of cash for—”
“We don’t want their money. I want my wife back.”
“It is a stipulation of the will, Stewart,” Nanny explained. “The fund must be set up. It grants her visitation rights to—”
“Her parents will not see our daughter,” he barked. “I won’t accept any money from that family.”
“Stewart, please,” Nanny begged, her voice cracking. “It’s Natasha’s wish. I beg of you. Allow me to mourn my friend knowing her wishes were met.”
“Stewart, you must do as requested,” his poppa insisted. He gripped his shoulders. “It’s Natasha’s wish. Allow her to rest in peace.”
Numb, Stewart was overwhelmed by the information. What he needed was time to comprehend what had happened. He needed time to think.
“Her last request,” Nanny continued, wiping a tear from her eye. “My apologies,” she whispered. “It was my intent to remain strong. Her body is to be buried in your family plot.” Her voice cracked. “Her parents are not to be informed of the location of the funeral or know where she is buried. She was not willing to grant her father closure.”
His poppa embraced Nanny.
“It was Natasha’s final hope that you would allow the twins and me to visit, keeping the bond we share.”
“Why should I allow that?” he asked. He squeezed Natasha’s lifeless hand. “You befriended me, only to deceive me. You assisted Natasha without speaking in confidence to me. This decision concerned me. It concerned my life and our daughter.”
“Stewart,” his poppa begged. “I cannot comprehend the pain in your heart, but I’m able to feel Nanny’s pain. She’s grieving as we are. Please Stewart, do not compound her grief by restricting her time with Hope to once a month while in the company of the child’s other grandmother. Do not put an end the bond this family has developed with Nanny, Marcus, and Joshua. You must find it in your heart to forgive them. They were acting in accordance to Natasha’s wishes.”
Stewart stared at his wife, willing her to move. His heart and mind were convinced it was a trick meant to hurt her parents.
“Please,” he begged. “Open those beautiful brown eyes. Look at me.”
His momma re-entered the room. She placed her hand on his shoulder.
“Grieve, Stewart,” she sobbed. “You must accept her death, and lean on your poppa and me for strength and support. We grieve with you.”
A knock at the door startled him. His poppa disappeared into the parlour. He returned a few minutes later.
“It’s time to go, Stewart.”
“I’m not leaving my wife,” he informed them. “Leave me.”
Four men in black attire entered the room. They positioned themselves around Natasha’s body. He knew without asking. Morticians. Strangers were not touching her body. Not as long as he was able to breathe. He glared at them. “Do not touch her,” he growled.
His poppa moved to his momma and took Hope into his arms.
“Sir, we must do our job—” the mortician started to say.
“I’m aware we cannot stay here,” Stewart barked, “but….”
Stewart looked at his wife, picked her up in his arms, and carried her into the parlour. He stopped. The room was empty. The pictures on the walls, the furniture, everything. He glanced back into Hope’s room. From his vantage point, it was also empty. How had he missed this when he first came home? Everything seemed a nauseating blur of images.
“Our pictures? Personal items? What have you done with them?”
“Packed safely in boxes,” Nanny reassured him.
The mortician held the door open. Stewart left the apartment with Natasha’s limp body in his arms. He walked to the covered wagon, stepped up, and sat on the floor, his wife remaining in his arms.
“Sir, you cannot stay inside,” the gentleman whispered.
“Indeed I can,” he snarled.
“Stewart, no,” his momma pleaded. “You must come home with us. With Hope.”
“I’m not leaving my wife.”
His poppa put one arm around his momma while the other supported Hope. His daughter clung to her papa’s shoulders. “We can’t force him,” his poppa admitted.
The door was closed. The carriage lurched into motion. He didn’t know where they were going. It didn’t matter. He was with Natasha.
* * *
Willard, Eliza, and Nanny watched as the wagon began to move with Stewart and his deceased wife inside.
“I fear he is grieving so, he may take his own life,” Eliza admitted. “Dear Lord, guide our son. Give him strength.”
She turned and looked at Hope. Her granddaughter sat contently in her papa’s arms.
“This poor child.”
Willard kissed the side of her small head.
“Hope is a Donovan, and shall be raised by this family,” he declared. “It was never our intent to have another child at this stage in our lives, but if our son does not return for his daughter, we shall raise her as our own.”
He gave his wife’s hand a slight squeeze of encouragement.
“I will continue working to pay for her education. Like her parents, she is a bright, alert child. Victoria will assist when she is not at school. Hope will be loved, and know her parents loved her.”
“God have mercy,” Nanny cried. “This was not Natasha’s wish. Bring Stewart back to his family. To his daughter.”
A plate was prepared, but Stewart did not return for the evening meal. Eliza attempted to se
ttle Hope at bedtime, but the child cried for her momma and poppa. Eliza crawled onto the bed and put her arms around the distraught child. Eventually, they both fell asleep.
Vicki went to bed an hour later, exhausted from the emotional day. A short time later, Willard checked to ensure the door was unlocked, hoping his son would come home. With Goldie settled at the door, he ascended the staircase. He looked in on Victoria, and his wife and granddaughter.
“Sleep well, my love,” he whispered. “Sweet dreams, my precious Hope. I pray your poppa returns.” He closed the door.
* * *
The screen disappeared before Keeghan’s eyes.
“No. Alexander, you can’t end the story there. Please tell me Natasha faked her suicide. That it was an illusion or something. Medication to slow her heartbeat. Anything. I liked her. She found happiness with Stewart. Hope needs her momma.”
“I am proud of the woman Momma becomes.”
“Natasha is your momma?”
Alexander stood.
“Wait a second,” Keeghan pleaded. “Is Natasha your momma, or is that little baby Hope your momma? Who are you, Alexander? And why is this story important to me?”
“You require time to absorb the information. We will continue later.”
Alexander looked into the distance and smiled, as if seeing someone he knew. He began walking, and simply vanished before Keeghan’s eyes.
The End
About the Author
Heather has an uncanny ability to frequently ‘manipulate’ her dreams. As a bonus, she remembers them in extensive detail the following morning. A dream inspired the basic storyline. Then her overactive imagination developed the characters and the detail. In her spare time Heather assists the Healing Cycle, Hospice Palliative Care. She is also actively involved with the local curling club, currently volunteering her time teaching children when she isn’t curling herself. Heather has a passion for travel, photography and gardening. She would like to extend a special thank-you to her niece for reading and re-reading and to her husband for his support, and encouragement, suggesting she “write it down.”
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