The Master & the Muses

by Amanda McIntyre

  “It won’t be much longer, my muse, and we can be together again.” He patted my hand and rose to go back to his chair.

  “When does she start?” I asked, trying to snatch him back from the distance I already felt.

  “Tomorrow,” he replied, opening his book and settling into his chair. “I thought it best not to wait.”

  Part of me wanted to strangle William for his suggestion. What in blazes was he thinking sending that harlot into my home?

  How could Thomas not notice her? She was breathtakingly beautiful and wore her vivid golden hair secured loose, so that wispy tendrils lay against her swanlike neck. Her clothing was far more refined than I would have thought for a woman of her profession. Instead of plain clothes, she wore brightly colored skirts with matching waistcoats. Each day she wore a different hat, nothing as mundane as a bonnet, but expensive traveling hats like those that I once sold at the shop to the private and wealthy clientele.

  Three days a week, Grace would arrive in a black polished hansom carriage, and her driver would wait until she was finished with her duties to sweep her away. I had no idea of where she lived, or how she acquired such luxuries. And selfishly, I admit that I was just as happy that Thomas was gone on his research trips when she was around.

  Grace found me reading in the front parlor downstairs one morning. Thomas had just kissed me goodbye and said he was off again with some of the brothers to do more sketches in the woods. They’d probably be at the farm. He cupped my cheek before he left and reminded me that his research wouldn’t take up too much more time.

  “You don’t get out very often, do you?” Grace asked politely, as she ran her rag absentmindedly over a shelf.

  “In my condition, I prefer to be at home,” I replied, not looking up from my book.

  “Is Thomas happy about the child?”

  “I don’t see how that is any of your affair,” I offered curtly, hoping to send her back upstairs.

  Her blue eyes glittered with knowledge, the kind foreign to me, and yet, in spite of my distaste for her, I wanted to know how well she knew my Thomas. My pride stopped me, however.

  “He’ll come around, I wouldn’t worry.”

  A shiver skittered up my spine at how well she could read me. “What makes you think I’m concerned?” Was I that readable, that predictable?

  She shrugged. “You stay around here all day, waiting for him to come home. Don’t you have family that is interested in your condition? Have they been here to visit?”

  I stared at the book in my hands, not knowing what to say. I’d been following Thomas’s suggestion to wait until the baby was born to tell my family. However, I was growing desperate to have my mother know that I was with child, so she could be here with me when my time came. Still, Grace’s remark and her sticking her nose in where it did not belong did not sit well with me. “I’m going to go lie down awhile. I’m suddenly quite tired.” I waltzed past her and up the stairs, holding my belly with the book in my hand. I made it my single purpose to discuss the idea of an afternoon visit to my family with Thomas tonight after supper.

  “That was a sumptuous meal,” Thomas sighed, leaning his head back against the comfortable wingback chair. He took a swallow of his port and closed his eyes. Grace had left us a leg of lamb, cooked to perfection, and roasted potatoes and carrots for our supper that evening.

  He had come home quite enthused about his tromp through the woods, saying he was inspired about a new project. I waited patiently for the right time to approach him with my request.

  “Thomas, I’ve been thinking I would like to have someone I trust with me when my time comes,” I reasoned.

  “Fine, I’ll send for my mother,” he stated, his eyes still closed.

  “Thomas, you’ve barely acknowledged your mother for the entire time I’ve known you. Does she even know that I exist, much less that you are giving her a grandchild?”

  He opened one eye. “Of course she does.”

  I was admittedly startled at this revelation. “And what was her reaction?”

  “William didn’t say.”

  “William? You let William tell your family that you married and were having a child?” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  He frowned, pushed up from the chair and drew me into his arms. “Please, Helen, you need to stay calm—the baby.”

  Thomas stroked my back while I fumed inside at his lackadaisical attitude about our marriage, our family.

  “I haven’t spoken much about them as I am not exactly the apple of my family’s eye. My father thinks I am wasting my time with my art, and my mother—well, let’s just say she didn’t get the priestly son that she’d hoped for.”

  He rested his chin on my head. “William, on the other hand, has always been my mother’s darling boy.”

  “Thomas—” I began, but my thought was snatched in my next breath. I gripped his arm, unsure what was happening.

  “Helen, what is it?” he asked.

  There was a flutter deep inside me. Everything else paled in comparison to the wonder of this strange little flip. I grabbed Thomas’s hand and held it to my belly. “There, can you feel her?”

  “Her?” he asked. “How do you know?” His eyes searched mine.

  I held my hand over his, searching calmly for the movement again, but the child had quieted. “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling.” Calmer now that I had his attention, I held his hand in mine. We waited a moment more and when nothing happened, I turned to him, determined to state my case. “Thomas, I want to go visit my mother. I can’t stand the thought that she doesn’t know I’m having a child.”

  He squeezed my hands between his and looked at the floor.

  “Helen, I have something I need to tell you.” He paused a moment, as if formulating his words. “I’d hoped to wait until the baby was born. I didn’t want to upset you.” He raked a hand through his hair, his gaze uncertain.

  “Thomas, for God’s sake, what is the matter?”

  “I’ve been to see your parents.”

  He held my hands tight when I tried to tug them away, the massive onyx ring he wore on his index finger pressing uncomfortably against my flesh.

  “I went to see them when you were ill. After I discovered you were having the baby, well, I couldn’t have that on my mind, too, if something would’ve happened to you. You were weak for a time and none of us knew what to expect. I was frantic. We all were, even John.”

  “If he’d kept the bathwater warm, none of this would have happened,” I spewed out hatefully.

  “Helen, John was not to blame entirely. You hadn’t been taking proper care of yourself, either.”

  I nodded, pulling my confused thoughts back to the present. All I could think about was that my family knew I was ill and still did not come to see me. I took a deep breath, blinking back my tears.

  “Go on, Thomas, tell me what happened.”

  “I told them you were in good hands, at a good institution. I told them about the child, how I planned to marry you and make a good home for you both. I tried to reassure them about the brotherhood, the family we belonged to here and how well we care for each other. I told them that I would see to it that our child would receive an education in the fine arts and that we’d send him to university.”

  I stared at him, wondering why he’d not comforted me with these words before now. It was the first time he’d ever spoken about our child’s future. “What did they say? Were they happy for us?”

  He released a weary sigh and my hope dissipated.

  “I wish that I could bring you better news, Helen. Your mama was distraught, and though your sisters and I tried to comfort her, she would not be consoled. Perhaps if your papa had been more understanding—”

  I looked up. “Papa? What did he do?”

  Thomas cleared his throat. “He said that he would neither bless our union nor claim the bastard child existed.”

  My heart twisted brutally in my chest. Bile rose in my throat and
I covered my mouth, choking back the tears.

  “I am sorry, Helen.”

  He rested his head in my lap, as would a child who wanted to be comforted. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “Because of this.” He lifted his head to look at me. “I didn’t want to upset you. I wanted to wait until you were stronger, until we had a healthy beautiful child to show them. Was I wrong?”

  He stroked my cheek. “Please tell me you forgive me. I did mean well.” His lips found mine, tears mingling with the joining of our mouths. I could not remember the last time he had kissed me other than to say goodbye.

  “Of course, my dearest, of course you would be thinking of my health and our child. I would not have expected otherwise.”

  Thomas wrapped his warm hands around my face. Anticipation flooded my heart, certain he was about to say the words I had longed to hear from his mouth.

  “I promise you, after the child is born and you are strong again, we will go to visit your family and proudly show them their grandchild. How will they be able to refuse such a gift?”

  I bowed my head and nodded, not allowing him to see the fresh tears welling in my eyes. I had hoped to hear how much he loved me, how we would get through these trying times together. But what I heard was him telling me to sit here and take care of myself while he went out gallivanting with his brethren. I couldn’t believe that my family had no more care for me than that, my mama especially. I had to find out for myself.

  After an early breakfast the next day, Thomas left to go sketching with the brothers. I looked out of the window and saw Grace’s carriage parked below, her driver munching on an apple. “Grace?”

  I wandered into the studio and she met me at the kitchen door. She wiped her hands on a towel. “Yes?”

  “I wonder if I might borrow your carriage and driver for a few hours. It’s a lovely day and I’ve been cooped up inside far too long.”

  She eyed me for a moment and shrugged. “Supper is around seven, as usual, provided the two of you return on time.” She said no more and asked no further questions as I had hoped.

  An hour later, I could see the rooftop of our barn and the grove of apple trees where we used to pick apples at this time of year.

  To my delight, Mama was hanging the washing on the clothesline. My sister Beth was working in the garden, and Rosalind sat on the steps with a bowl of beans in her lap. My heart squeezed at the familiar sight. I leaned out of the window as the carriage swayed, rolling over the uneven ground, and saw the look of joy on my mama’s face.

  “Helen?” she called, lifting up a sheet to walk beneath it.

  The carriage had barely come to a stop, and I did not wait for the driver to open the door. “Mama!” I waved to her as I stepped from the carriage. My feet hit the ground and, like in the days of my youth, I picked up my skirts and began to run toward her, though with more of a waddle than a brisk gait. I spied a patch of bright yellow flowers, knowing that in a few weeks they’d be replaced with great, fat pumpkins. Plucking the pumpkins, preparing them for pies was a treasured memory I held dear. I wasn’t paying heed to the tangled vines trailing across the path in front of me, and my foot snagged on one of them causing me to fall forward, unable to catch myself before I landed flat on my face. I lay still, fearing the worst, realizing that the baby had cushioned my fall. Beth reached her arm under mine and I pushed to my knees. Rosalind grabbed my other arm and brought me to my feet.

  “How far along are you?” Mama asked, concern filling her eyes.

  “Four months, maybe five.”

  “Let’s get you inside to lie down for a bit.”

  They helped me to my old bed and I lay flat on my back, my mother and two sisters fussing over me. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. The doctor says that the womb is a strong, safe place.”

  Mama looked down at me. “I’ve a mind to send for Gretchen Collins down the road. She’s a good midwife—delivered all three of you, right here in this house.”

  “Where’s Papa?” I asked, ignoring her suggestion. She whispered something to Beth, who glanced at me and took off like a bolt from the room.

  “I don’t want to cause any trouble, Mama,” I stated. “I just needed to see you. I needed to know that you weren’t angry at me for not coming here and letting you know about the baby.”

  She sat on the edge of the bed and hugged me. “How could I be angry with you? I am so glad you are here. How long can you stay?”

  “I can’t stay long. I’ve borrowed the carriage from our housekeeper.”

  “Your housekeeper?” She looked impressed.

  “It’s far too complicated. I just wanted to see you. I want you—and Beth and Rosalind—to come when the baby is born. We have plenty of room and we would welcome your help.”

  “I’ll have to wait and see, Helen. It’s your father. He’s a stubborn old German and I don’t know if I can leave him here alone for too long.”

  “He’s still angry with me, then?” I asked.

  “He’ll come around. It’s just going to take time.”

  “Where is he?” I asked again. “I’m going to have to get back soon.”

  “He’s in the fields, but perhaps now is not the best time to see him, Helen. I think, though, that you ought to let Gretchen take a look at you.”

  I swung my legs over the side of the bed. There was no pain, no spotting. I stood and felt no dizziness. “There, you see? Good as new.” I hid the queasy feeling in my stomach from her. There was no need to concern her. I would rest on the carriage ride back home.

  My mother studied me a moment, and then her eyes came alive with a thought. “Wait, there is something I want to give you.” She hurried to the chest in the corner of my bedroom. My father had made it for me on my ninth birthday. She handed me a small package wrapped in old paper. Inside was a worn blanket, a bonnet and a pair of tiny knit booties.

  “These were yours. I thought that my granddaughter might be able to use them.” Unshed tears shimmered in her eyes. I hugged her tight, then my sister. “I will put them on her the first day. Tell Beth I’ll see her soon.”

  They walked me to the carriage and, while I hated not seeing my father, perhaps, in this case, Thomas was right.

  “I’ll see you soon.” The carriage jerked forward as it started down the lane, taking me from my old life back to my new one.

  Chapter 8

  THE DIRT ROAD BACK TO TOWN WAS ROUGHER than it had seemed when we’d traveled it earlier. I bit my lip, fighting the nausea making my stomach roil. No doubt the stress of the fall, coupled with sneaking away to see my mother against Thomas’s wishes, did not bode well for my nervous stomach. I leaned my head back against the seat and tried to rest to no avail. When I saw the outskirts of London, I sighed with relief, never more glad to see our familiar cobblestone street. I thanked the driver and trudged slowly up the stairs, bone weary and too tired to find Grace. I decided to lie down for a few moments, and later I would thank her for the use of her carriage.

  With barely the strength to remove my hat and coat, I peeled back the bed linens and, fully clothed, crawled beneath the comforting quilt and drifted off to sleep.

  I awoke feeling groggy and feverish. My stomach was still unsettled. I noted an uncomfortable cramping low in my belly, but put aside the niggling fear that it had anything to do with my mishap. I decided to make myself a cup of tea and wait for Thomas to come home.

  I tossed off the covers, finding it easier to turn on my side and push myself upright as I swung my legs over the bed. A wave of nausea hit me quick and I thought I might lose my stomach. I waited, breathing slow, closing my eyes, willing the nausea to ease, and after a moment it faded away.

  Bracing my hand on the nightstand, I stood and almost instantly felt a gush of something wet between my legs. I grabbed my skirts, tugging them over my knees, my thighs, knowing that it was far too early for the baby to be coming.

  My heart stopped when I saw the bloodstained fabric of my drawers. Panic gripped my
heart. I stumbled to the doorway. Was Grace still here? Had Thomas returned?

  “Thomas!” The shadows of the dusky hallway teased my muddled thoughts. Was it evening or early morning? “Thomas!” I called again and heard no response. My head was light, as if the life was being sucked from my body. I sank to the floor, resting my cheek on the cool wood of the door frame.

  My mind was a haze and I fought to discern the sounds around me. I heard a door slam shut and the sound of footsteps on the stairs, although they seemed far away, somewhere in a dream. “Thomas.” I moved my lips, but they felt strangely detached from my body. My head seemed too heavy for my neck and it flopped forward to my chest, where I saw a large, dark spot forming on my skirt. The thought crossed my mind that I was going to die.

  “Helen? Oh, Jesus, Helen!”

  I peered toward the voice, searching for a familiar face, but the image was watery. I recognized the faint scent of bay rum. William.

  I felt myself being lifted into his arms. “William,” I whispered. My body seemed to be floating in midair. I was disoriented, my eyes fluttered shut and I just wanted to sleep. I remembered telling Papa I was sorry and leaning my head on a solid shoulder. If I could rest for a few minutes, I would be fine.

  “Stay with me, Helen.” William’s voice grew distant. I wasn’t able to answer him before the black sleep took me.

  Twice now, I’d awakened in a hospital room. This time, however, both Thomas and William were there. Thomas sat at my side, his hands holding mine. William, off to the side, looked on.

  My husband’s face was drawn and dark circles rimmed his eyes, red from crying. He managed a smile and squeezed my hand, but he did not speak.

  Instinctively, I moved my hand over my belly, expecting to feel the tight little ball that I’d come to accept as part of me. My eyes darted to Thomas then, and I could see him fighting with his emotions.

  My heart felt as if someone squeezed it, strangling the life out of me. My thoughts searched for a reason, my eyes filling with unshed tears. I blinked and looked at William, who averted his eyes, placing his hand over his mouth.