A Bride of Honor

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  “Help me!” she gasped between each wave of pain. What was going on in her body? “Something’s wrong, Damien.” She grasped his hand. “Please don’t let anything be wrong!”

  Mrs. Moore settled across from her as the coach began to move. “There, there, dear, we’ll soon have you home.” She turned to Damien. “She’s bleeding,” Mrs. Moore said quietly. “Is she with child?”

  Damien gaped at the older lady, his mind going from incomprehension to shock to horror in those few seconds. Could it be? He looked down at Lindsay, whose head rested in his lap.

  Her eyes were closed, her complexion deadly pale as if all the blood were rushing out of her. His glance fell lower and terror filled him at the red staining her light gown. Dear God, don’t take her. Please don’t let her die. Please, don’t let me lose her.

  Lindsay’s hold on him tightened. “Please, Damien, don’t let anything happen. Don’t let anything be wrong.” A fresh onslaught of pain seemed to course through her lower body. “Help me, Lord, please don’t take my baby from me!” she cried, her arms holding her abdomen as if to protect it.

  Tears pricked his eyes. Dear God, he prayed, a baby! How long had she known? Why hadn’t she told him?

  But all thoughts were forgotten as she turned pleading eyes to him. “Help me, Damien! Please, help me!”

  “Yes, love. Anything, I’ll do anything,” he murmured, holding her and stroking her hair.

  “Good, we are almost there,” Mrs. Moore said. “I shall have my coachman summon a midwife. There’s a woman our family has used for many years. She is to be trusted.”

  “We can summon a physician, anything—”

  “Don’t trouble yourself, Reverend. This woman is more experienced than most physicians. She has rarely lost a child.”

  By the time the coach stopped, Lindsay’s consciousness was ebbing. Damien lifted her down, afraid with each movement she would lose more blood.

  “D-Damien?” Lindsay sounded so weak.

  “I’m here, love. Hold on.”

  He climbed up the dark stairs, praying he wouldn’t stumble and drop his precious charge.

  Finally, he was able to lay her gently on the bed.

  Mrs. Moore hovered behind him. “Is there anyone else you’d like to summon—a female relative?”

  Damien tried to focus on her words. “Yes, my sister.” Florence would know what to do. Lindsay clutched his hand and he didn’t dare move from her side.

  Mrs. Moore left the room, returning with an oilcloth. “Here, help me lay this beneath her. It will have to do for now.”

  He helped roll Lindsay to one side as the older lady spread out the cloth. Lindsay doubled over with pain and he nearly cried out as if her agony were his own. What he wouldn’t give to be the one to suffer in her place.

  “We’d best undress her, remove any stays, and make her as comfortable as we can.”

  He untied his wife’s bonnet and began unbuttoning her pelisse. Mrs. Moore’s more competent fingers untied her sash and undid the long row of buttons down the back of her dress. “Do you have a nightgown for her?”

  Nodding, he turned to the cupboard. When he came back to the bed, Mrs. Moore had managed to removed Lindsay’s dress and was undoing her stays. He swallowed at the sight of so much blood. A baby forming inside his wife, and now taking her life’s blood. Why hadn’t been he more observant? Wiser? Of course she must be with child! And now she might lose her life because of him.

  He handed Mrs. Moore the nightgown. Lindsay’s body looked chalky white and his heart clenched in fear. Dear God, please, please don’t take her from me. I’ll do anything, pay any price.

  “Damien, I’m scared.”

  Jolted from his prayer by her whisper, he passed a hand over her sweating brow. “I’m here, love. It’s going to be all right.”

  He helped Mrs. Moore put the nightgown over Lindsay’s head and guide her arms through the sleeves. The movement of her body brought a whimper, a sound that tore through Damien.

  Mrs. Moore leaned toward her. “There now, dear, lie quietly. The midwife will be here soon.” She helped her back down against the pillows.

  Damien remained at Lindsay’s side, his hand clutching one of hers. He felt lost, as if the earth had shifted beneath his feet and he knew neither what was up nor down, backward or forward. Her hand was ice-cold and he chafed it absently, his eyes horrified at the sight of blood already soaking through the light blanket that covered her.

  He almost fell to his knees at the thought that he was losing his young wife, but a gasp of pain from her made him forget all else but her distress. He leaned closer. “It’s all right. I’m here. Nothing will hurt you,” he crooned to her.

  By the time the midwife arrived, he was desperate with worry. “Thank goodness you’re here. Can you please help my wife? She has lost so much blood.”

  With a brief nod to him, she set down her bag and went to the bed, pulling away the blanket. After a cursory examination, she covered Lindsay once again and turned to Damien. “How long was she with child?”

  The calmly spoken words were like a hammer blow. There was no other possibility left now. “I don’t know. She hadn’t said anything to me.”

  She gave a clipped nod, but before she could say anything more, Lindsay cried out again. “My baby, help the baby!” Her hand pressed his convulsively.

  “Mr. Hathaway, I’m afraid you must leave the room.”

  How could he possibly leave her? “Can’t I stay?” he asked the woman.

  “It’s not seemly, sir, for a man to be in the birthing room.” Seeing the determination in his eyes, her voice softened. “It will only distress you to see her like this. Don’t worry, we shall take good care of your wife.”

  The elderly Mrs. Moore came up to him. “There, there, Reverend, trust us to take care of dear Mrs. Hathaway. My coachman has gone to fetch Florence. She can help us.”

  Florence. “Thank you, that was most thoughtful of you.”

  She patted his hand. “We’ll let you know as soon as it’s over.”

  As soon as it’s over. The words, instead of comforting him, sounded ominous. He looked down at Lindsay. She lay unconscious. Fear ate at him.

  Mrs. Moore touched his arm. “It’s best if she not know what is going on.”

  “It’s the amount of blood she’s lost. She’ll come ’round again when it’s over,” the midwife stated calmly.

  Reluctantly, Damien let his wife’s cold hand go. “I’ll be in the next room. Please, call me if there’s anything—”

  “You may be assured of it, sir.”

  He nodded and made his way to the door. There he turned and looked at Lindsay, still as if death had already claimed her soul, leaving her body a pale shell.

  “Pray for her.”

  He started at Mrs. Moore’s serious tone.

  “Yes, of course.”

  Quietly, he let himself out of the room and went into the small sitting room, which they had only vacated that morning. How long ago that seemed. Lindsay had been happy, preparing breakfast, then tidying everything up afterward while he meditated on his sermon.

  Damien alternated between kneeling and pacing in the small room. How could he not have known Lindsay was with child? Why hadn’t she told him? Shoving a hand through his hair, he stopped at the window and looked down at the street through the filmy lace curtain. A wagon piled with kegs stopped behind a small flock of sheep. The driver yelled and waved his whip at the youth who was herding the flock.

  They were so intent on their tasks with no idea that a few floors above them a young woman’s life was draining from her.

  No! He wouldn’t think that.

  He sank down to his knees before the grimy window, bowed his head into his hands and began to pray over again. Please don’t take her from me, he begged, though he felt no worthiness to be her husband. Even though he knew it was not the way to pray, he began bargaining with God. I’ll do right by her. I’ll return her to her father. I’ll bring about
a reconciliation with him. Only, please, dear Lord, don’t take her. His chest heaved with sobs; he lowered his head to the floor, feeling helpless to save his beloved young wife. Take the babe if You must, but don’t take her from me. Please.

  He didn’t know how much time had passed when he was shaken by the shoulder. “Damien, what’s happened? Mrs. Moore’s coachman told us to come quickly, that the young lady was ill. What has happened to Lindsay?”

  Grateful for his sister’s presence, Damien rose to his feet, feeling stiff and numb. He nodded to Jonah who stood behind Florence, looking worried.

  “She’s in trouble, Flo.” His voice broke and he had to struggle a few seconds before he could continue. “She was…with child and she’s losing it.”

  Her gray eyes held understanding and sorrow. “Oh, dear, no! How did it happen?”

  Remembering Florence’s own condition, which now was becoming visible, he guided her to the sofa. If only he’d known Lindsay was also with child! How much more careful he would have been of her health. He remembered all her work moving, how tired she’d been recently, how pale. The images smote him.

  Quietly, he recounted to Florence and Jonah what had happened. Florence kept shaking her head and clucking softly. “Poor child.”

  “How long have you known, lad?” Jonah spoke for the first time, his keen eyes upon Damien.

  Damien felt himself flushing with shame. “I didn’t.”

  Florence gasped. Even Jonah looked amazed.

  “She said nothing to me. I was too stupid—” he turned away, once again on the verge of breaking down “—too ignorant to notice. I should have noticed.” He clenched his hands.

  Jonah pressed his shoulder. “Don’t fret yourself. We all know what you’ve gone through in the last month.”

  “That’s no excuse.”

  “You’re a young man, not expected to know about a woman’s things.”

  “I’ve been to enough sickbeds to know something of the way of women,” he said grimly. So many poor women he’d assisted in their last minutes of life, dying from childbirth or the fever that afflicted so many afterward, and he’d been callously unaware of his own wife’s condition. He shook his head. “I don’t understand why she didn’t tell me.”

  “I’m sure she didn’t want to worry you, what with losing the curacy,” Jonah said.

  Damien stared at his brother-in-law, who seemed so much more discerning than he. He nodded slowly. “Undoubtedly that was it.”

  Florence put her arm around him. “Don’t feel so badly. Lindsay is young. Perhaps she didn’t realize it fully herself until just recently. Let me go to her.”

  Florence left, and Damien and Jonah sat silent. A while later, Jonah got up to tend the fire and make tea. They heard very little from the other chamber. Why wasn’t Lindsay crying out? Was she already gone?

  Damien sat with his head in his hands, hardly able to pray any more except to beg for God’s mercy.

  Finally, the door to the room opened. The midwife emerged, a bundle of soiled sheets in her arms. Damien went right to her. She did not keep him waiting.

  “Your wife is alive.”

  He sagged with a relief so profound he would have collapsed but for Jonah’s strong arm around him.

  “She is not wholly out of the woods. The next few days will be critical. She lost quantities of blood.” The woman paused, looking at him gently. “She lost the baby.”

  Damien turned away from her and the others, his eyes filling with tears. He had asked the Lord to take anything but Lindsay. The sorrow at the child he would never know suddenly overwhelmed him.

  The next second, Florence’s arms were around him. “I’m sorry, Damien, so terribly sorry.” They held each other tightly. He felt an aching hollow inside.

  He drew away from his sister and faced the midwife again. “How is my wife?”

  “Quite exhausted. She is sleeping quietly now.” She gave him a keen look. “Many women who lose a child, especially those who are young, take it hard. You’ll have to be patient with her.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  After that, Florence took charge, seeing to the dirty linens and setting out a cup of tea for the midwife.

  He had no idea when the woman left, and too late, he realized he hadn’t even paid her. But Florence told him it had been taken care of. Mrs. Moore pressed his arm at some point and made her farewells, telling him she’d send her coachman around to drop off some food over the next few days and asked him to let her know if he or Lindsay needed anything. Damien had only strength enough left to mumble his thanks.

  And finally, he and Florence were alone. After sending Jonah home to look after the farm, she’d insisted on staying overnight to tend Lindsay.

  “I don’t want you to wear yourself out,” he told his sister. “I should have been more careful of Lindsay.”

  “You don’t know that. She is a healthy girl, and a body can do a lot. One never knows why these things happen.”

  Damien only nodded, too worried about Lindsay’s life to think beyond the moment. In the past month, he’d been stripped of everything he held dear. Everything but Lindsay.

  He would do all in his power to cherish her and help her recover.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lindsay opened her eyes. Daylight assaulted them, forcing her to squint. She lifted a hand to shade her eyes and gasped with pain. Her hand fell back to the bed, too weak to do more.

  Someone moved beside her. “You’re awake.”

  She glanced up to see Damien leaning over her. Why was she in bed, and he bending over her?

  She remembered.

  Reaching up, she sought his hand. His immediately enfolded hers.

  “The baby—” she began, her lips already trembling, tears welling up in her eyes.

  He bent down and smoothed her forehead with his other hand. “It’s all right. Don’t try to talk. Preserve your strength.”

  She tried to sit up but stopped at the pain. “Tell me. Please.”

  He knelt at the side of the bed, not letting her hand go. “I’m sorry, dearest. The midwife did all she knew.”

  His face began to swim before her as his words sank in. Her mouth trembled violently. She clutched his hand to her cheek. “Please, tell me my baby is all right!” The words were difficult to speak, her throat parched, but nothing else mattered. My baby! My baby! Lord, please, no!

  Damien continued murmuring soothing words as she cried, still clutching his hand. When at last she felt spent, he gently wiped her face with a handkerchief. “Let me get you something to drink.”

  She lay breathless, too weak to speak or cry or even hold Damien’s hand any longer. She heard water being poured, but she was too weary to open her eyes.

  “Here, drink a little of this.” He put his hand beneath her head and eased it up. Obediently, she took a few sips. He wiped her mouth dry and eased her back against the pillows.

  She closed her eyes once more, beginning to feel a blessed lethargy invade her. “Tell me what happened.”

  He drew up a chair and once again took her hand, which rested listlessly in his. She had no strength to do more. “You were in pain and bleeding.” He cleared his throat softly. “I didn’t realize you were with child. Please forgive me.”

  For the first time, she noticed the unsteadiness in his voice. She opened her eyes and read the suffering in his. “I’m s-sorry. I was going to tell you,” she said, each word coming out with effort. “In the chapel that afternoon. But that’s when you told me you had to resign your curacy.” She sniffled. “I just couldn’t…burden you then.”

  His hand pressed hers softly. “That would have been no burden.”

  At his gentle words, she began to cry.

  “Oh, Lindsay, I should have realized. I’m a brute, an ignorant brute. I was so caught up in my problems, I didn’t notice anything different.”

  She tried to shake her head against the pillow. “It’s not your fault. I’m the one who’s to blame….” Once
again she began to cry. She’d staked everything on this baby. If only she could give Damien a baby, he’d love her. But she’d lost it. God had judged her.

  She’d deceived her father and ruined Damien’s good name, and now she must pay the price.

  Too weary to fight the cloud of despair, she closed her eyes, allowing depression to engulf her.

  When she opened her eyes again, the knowledge of her loss hit her at once. How she wished she could fall back asleep. But she was fully awake, conscious of everything that had happened. Why hadn’t she told someone sooner? Maybe if she’d had some advice, she’d have known how to better care for the tiny life growing within her.

  Had she overexerted herself? Had all the lifting and carrying of their belongings from the parsonage hurt the baby? Why then was Florence’s baby still intact?

  Tears filled her eyes again and she curled up on her side, wanting to hide from everything and everyone. She didn’t want to see Florence with her maternal glow and increasing waistline, evidence of a life flourishing within her.

  But the door clicked open and Florence entered with a large bouquet of autumn flowers in a vase. “Good morning, Lindsay. Jonah picked these for you from the farm. He is anxious about you and hopes you are up to company soon.”

  Lindsay said nothing but turned her gaze from her sister-in-law. Florence set the vase on a table where Lindsay could see it. Then she went to the drapes and pushed them open. Lindsay couldn’t help glancing at her when she turned around and approached the bed. Her stomach was round and visible now, like a soft bulge under her gown. Lindsay looked away.

  Florence’s hand touched her forehead. “Good, you don’t feel feverish. The midwife said we must watch for that in the coming days. Would you like some tea, or a little gruel?”

  Lindsay shook her head.

  “You must put something in your stomach. You’ve lost a vast amount of blood and must be feeling very weak.”

  “Please,” she whispered, “I want nothing.”

  Florence poured a glass of water. “Here, at least have a sip of this before I go.”

  Lindsay allowed Florence to lift her head as Damien had done and took a sip before shaking her head.