Keeping Katerina (The Victorians)

by Simone Beaudelaire

  "Well?"

  "I can’t tell you about her head injury, but at this point I see no signs of impending miscarriage. If she survives, the child should be fine."

  "Thank God."

  "I’m so very sorry Christopher. The poor girl. No one deserves that."

  "I’m such an ass. I was so proud of myself, proud of my sacrifice. I saved her. That’s what I told everyone. But I was the one who put her in danger." His voice was very unsteady, and broke several times.

  "No. You rescued her from danger, but it followed."

  "I couldn’t get there in time."

  "I know."

  "Why did this happen? Hasn’t she suffered enough?"

  "She has, son," said a deep voice from the doorway.

  "Father?"

  Seeing she was no longer needed, Mrs. Turner left. She would return frequently, until the outcome was clear.

  Adrian crushed his son in a tight hug.

  "Remember, Christopher, she had suffered for years. With you, she was happy. You gave her the best months of her life. And, God willing, you will again."

  "Are you still sorry I married her?"

  "No. Why would I be? My concern was that she was too damaged to love you. Clearly that wasn’t the case."

  "No. She loved me, Father. She truly did." The despair in his son’s voice made Adrian’s eyes burn.

  "I know."

  Christopher’s vision blurred. Hot tears burned his throat. "I love her so much." He said raggedly.

  "I know you do. And she knows it too. If anything can pull her through this, it will be your love."

  And then Christopher couldn’t speak anymore. He sank onto a chair beside his bed, taking his wife’s hand, letting his mother grip one shoulder, his father the other, while his grief poured from him, unchecked and unstoppable.

  ******

  In the morning, Katerina was still breathing, still unconscious. The doctor checked her, and found no change, for good or ill. Mrs. Turner examined her also and found her pregnancy still holding, the baby still moving appropriately in its mother’s body. There was nothing to do but wait. And so they waited and waited. In the early afternoon, she finally stirred, eyelids fluttering.

  "Kat, can you hear me love?"

  A soft exhalation of breath escaped her.

  "Kat?"

  Her dark eyes opened.

  "Oh God, no!" Christopher exclaimed. Katerina was alive, awake, but that spark, that warmth that made her the woman he loved, the awareness, the sentience was gone. Katerina was gone.

  ***Chapter 22***

  She was gone, the family soon realized, deep inside herself. Her eyes didn’t focus. She didn’t react to speech, to stimulation. She would swallow water if it were poured into her mouth, but not food. She took no nourishment, and she gave no sign she was aware at all.

  Three days crept past and she remained in this suspended state. On the afternoon of the third day, the doctor examined her thoroughly.

  "Can you do anything?"

  "No. I’m sorry."

  "Is this the fracture?"

  "No. She’s withdrawn. The fact she’s awake at all means the fracture likely isn’t going to kill her. Not this many days later. That would have happened much sooner. The broken bone will heal in the next six to eight weeks. However, if she doesn’t wake up and begin eating soon, healing won’t matter. She’ll just… fade. And only she can change it."

  "So this is a mental break?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you think she’ll come out of it?"

  "Hard to say. It’s up to her at this point. I’ll just go now. She can hear you, if she decides to listen. I think talking to her might be her best hope. Keep trying. Don’t give up."

  So they talked, and talked, and talked, trying to break through, trying to get her to listen, to engage. By the end of the fifth day after the attack, hope was fading. Adrian dragged his son to the guest room and forced him to lie down and rest. Julia remained with her daughter-in-law.

  "Katerina," she said softly, "That’s enough love. You need to come back to us. You need to wake up and be present. Your baby needs you. Your husband needs you. Everyone loves you. Can’t you wake up?"

  Katerina stirred. Julia held her breath. And then Katerina rolled to her side and closed her eyes. Exhausted, strained to the breaking point, Julia’s temper flared.

  "You selfish girl. You can’t do this. You can’t just give up. If you die, Christopher’s baby dies with you. Wake up. Stop this. Fight to live Kat. Your life is not over."

  "Mother stop." Christopher was at the door, leaning exhaustedly against the doorjamb.

  "I was trying to break through, to wake her up."

  "I know, but maybe it’s too much to ask. She’s been so hurt for so long. Perhaps it was finally the limit. Who are we to say she’s being selfish? She’s already endured more than anyone should have to. It might be asking more than she has to give."

  "Do you want her to ‘fade’ Christopher?"

  "Of course not, but I can’t choose for her."

  "Do you understand, son, that if she dies, you child dies with her?"

  "Yes, Mother. I understand. I would lose them both." His breath caught.

  "And then we would lose you, wouldn’t we son?"

  Christopher didn’t answer.

  "Damn you, Katerina, wake up."

  "Enough, Mother. Enough. Please, just go."

  Unable to think of anything else to say or do, Julia walked unsteadily down to the parlor where she cuddled up with her husband and wept.

  Christopher crawled into the bed beside Katerina, sliding his arm under her, cradling her, turning her towards him.

  With his free hand he traced the curve of her cheek, the fullness of her lip, the line of her nose. She was so beautiful, like an angel. He loved her with every fiber of his being. And he would lose her. He was already losing her. How could he live without this woman who warmed his life, his body, his heart? The future stretched before him, cold and empty. It was too much.

  "Don’t go away love," he told her, "don’t go where I can’t find you. Come back." Tears fell and splashed on her face.

  ******

  Katerina had been wrapped in a silver mist for the longest time. She burrowed into it, like a comforting blanket, hiding. If she emerged from the shadows, something so horrible, so excruciating awaited her that she would die in agony. Better just to let go slowly. Nothing hurt here, in the mist, in the darkness. Hunger didn’t bite at her, and pain didn’t assault her. She was numb, and content to remain so until numbness dissolved into death. Yes. That was the way to go. Just slowly release life. Release. It was easy to die. Simple. She was vaguely aware of people talking around her, trying to encourage her to engage. But she could ignore them as easily as a housefly buzzing against a windowpane. What did their struggle have to do with her? Nothing.

  And then something wet hit her cheek. She had been bathed enough times, could ignore it. But this was not bathing. Where was the cloth? This was like a warm rain. Another drop splashed on her skin. What was this? Curiosity awakened within the mist. She wanted to know what was happening. The darkness would still be there if she roused herself for a second, just to know, to understand. Another drop. Another. It was raining hot burning droplets on her.

  She struggled to engage, to move up through the numbness, back into her body, into awareness. There were arms holding her. Somewhere deep within her she recognized those arms. They meant something. They had held her before, and it had always been good.

  She emerged more fully into reality and saw the face. Handsome chiseled face, scruffy, unshaven, silver eyes tightly shut, tears dripping from beneath the lids onto her. He was crying. Crying on her. The hot rain was his tears and they fell, streaking across her skin, burning her, making her increasingly aware.

  The darkness beckoned, receding. If she wanted to withdraw with it, she needed to do it now, because life was taking hold of her again. She could feel it. It would hurt. She didn’t want
to hurt. She wanted peace.

  She retreated. But why was he crying? What had made this beautiful man so sad? He was sobbing… a word over and over.

  "Katerina. Katerina."

  That was her name. Was he really crying over her? Was he?

  She knew this man. Knew every inch of his body, knew his soul, his heart. Despite her desire for oblivion, she couldn’t leave him in such pain. She tried to think of a word. What was it?

  "Christopher?" her voice was rusty, harsh. The darkness retreated further. She tried to hold onto it, but it slipped away from her.

  Silver eyes opened, looking deeply into her. Those eyes snared her, anchored her to reality.

  "Kat?"

  She had to choose. The darkness would soon be gone, leaving her stranded here, where everything hurt. But here also was Christopher, hurting, crying. How could she leave him in such pain?

  The beautiful face was drawing close to her. Soft full lips touched hers. And that touch was pure light, obliterating the last of the darkness, and she was alive again, fully present. He crushed her to him, sobbing in relief. She cuddled in his arms, liking the connection to this man. She was remembering him minute by minute. Her hero. Her husband. The father of her child. And at last, she remembered what the terror was which had stalked her.

  "Chris…"

  "Yes, love?" such tenderness.

  "The baby. He killed our baby." She sobbed.

  "No. The baby is fine."

  She swallowed hard, forcing down her tears and gave him a quizzical look.

  "I stopped him. He didn’t get that far. You’ve been checked several times. There’s no sign of miscarriage."

  He placed her hand on her belly so she could feel the little movements. Her mouth opened.

  "Fine?"

  "Yes, the baby is fine."

  "I was so afraid… I said I didn’t want a baby…. But now I do…. I couldn’t bear the thought that…"

  "No. That didn’t happen. I got there first."

  "Father?"

  "Gone. On a boat to America. We’re safe from him for good."

  "Good."

  "Oh, love, are you really back with me?"

  "I think so."

  "Thank God. I was so worried." He kissed her lips again.

  She tried to pull him closer.

  "Easy, love. You have to try and be still."

  "My head hurts."

  "No doubt. You have a fractured skull, but it’s healing."

  "That explains why I’m so dizzy."

  "It might also be hunger. You haven’t eaten in days. Can you stand to eat, love?"

  "I think so."

  "Good. Kat?"

  "Hmmm?"

  "I love you."

  He rose and rang for Katie, who was delighted to bring some soup for Katerina. Then he brought her a glass of cool water, supporting her head so he could raise it to her lips.

  She took a deep sip.

  "Can you forgive me, love?" she asked, finally fully awake.

  "For what?"

  "The attack. It was my fault."

  "How?"

  "I didn’t hide. I told him… I didn’t want to see him. I told him to go away."

  "But that’s good, love. It means you were finally getting strong."

  "It made him so angry."

  "And I wasn’t there to protect you."

  "Yes, you were. You stopped him. You’re my hero again."

  "I’m no hero. Just a husband who adores his wife. You’re the brave one."

  "But I’m not brave. Not without you."

  "Then be with me."

  "Oh yes. I’m here now. I’m sorry I went away."

  "You came back. That’s what matters."

  "I love you Christopher. There’s no place I would rather be than here."

  "I’m so very glad." He brushed his lips against hers in a kiss of such aching tenderness that she was finally able to the rest of the terror in a flood of wracking sobs that shook her slender frame. But she was not alone. She was part of something bigger than herself. She was part of Christopher, and he was part of her, and both of them were part of the child she carried. And now, at last, she could finally finish healing and make herself into the woman she had always wanted to be. And he would be here with her. And she was finally safe.

  Dear reader,

  I hope you have enjoyed the time you have spent with the Bennetts. If you did, I would appreciate it very much if you would leave me a review. I also love to hear from readers. If you have any questions, comments, or issues, or if you just want to get in touch, you can email me at simonebeaudelaireauthor@hotmail.com. You can also check out my web site http://simonebeaudelaireauthor.weebly.com to see my blog, upcoming writing projects, and works by other notable authors.

  Historical note

  The cotton mills of the Victorian period were well known to be horrible places: hot, dangerous, and prone to employing small children, who often died or were maimed. No precautions were taken to protect these small and vulnerable workers. There was no health or life insurance. While most cotton mills were located in cities such as Lancaster, there were a few in London.

  My research did not reveal the existence of any such thing as a "progressive cotton mill" so I invented one. The Victorian era was a time of dawning awareness of the rights of the poor and disenfranchised, as evidenced by Robert Browning’s poems, and the passage of several laws intended to improve the lives of the working poor, particularly children. And after all, socially conscious middle class families like the Bennetts could hardly be expected to own anything else, right?

  Other than that, I have strived to remain historically accurate. In 1848 railroads stretched across England and Italy, steamships were under development, and gas lighting was quite common.

  Robert Browning, who is one of my all time favorite poets, is famous for his love affair with and marriage to the poetess Elizabeth Barrett, who during her lifetime, was far more famous than her husband. Her father, like Giovanni Valentino, did not want his daughters to marry. However, it is not generally believed that he was abusive of them. Just possessive. When Robert and Elizabeth married in secret, they returned to their separate homes after the wedding and later ran away to Florence, where they lived happily together for several years, and had a son. While living in Italy, Robert encountered many works of art and wrote about the artists: Fra Lippo Lippi and Andrea del Sarto, for instance. And Browning’s poetry was hated at first. It was only later that people began to appreciate his vision.

  Bullying is quite a buzz word these days, and thus might seem like a very modern term. However, the concept is not new. People have been bullied forever, and the term first appeared in print in the 1500s.

  Child abuse has been a scourge of society for a very long time, but in the early Victorian period, people were becoming increasingly aware that such things happened, and were debating how to deal with it. I wish I could say the problem has been effectively dealt with, but that would be too great a piece of fiction.

  Acknowledgements: I would like to thank my dedicated team of beta readers without whose help this story would not be what it is. Thank you Guy, Sandra, Leslie, Reed, Jill, Shirley, and Sue.

  Table of Contents

  L.M. Boelz

  ***Chapter 1***. 4

  ***Chapter 2***. 8

  ***Chapter 3***. 13

  ***Chapter 4***. 22

  ***Chapter 5***. 41

  ***Chapter 6***. 63

  ***Chapter 7***. 67

  ***Chapter 8***. 86

  ***Chapter 9***. 100

  ***Chapter 10***. 118

  ***Chapter 11***. 128

  ***Chapter 12***. 139

  ***Chapter 13***. 149

  ***Chapter 14***. 167

  *** Chapter 15***. 172

  ***Chapter 16 ***. 185

  ***Chapter 17***. 190

  ***Chapter 18***. 211

  ***Chapter 19***. 221

  ***Chapter 20***. 229

  ***Chapter 21***. 241
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  ***Chapter 22***. 255