“My hand trembles with both fear and fury as I attempt to write. I don’t know why I am bothering to write at all…It seems weak, helpless…I suppose it is simply a way of sorting my thoughts, since I have no one to talk to…and there is nothing else I can do but drive myself mad. Rupert has deceived me. I can hardy wrap my mind around it. Part of me still refuses to accept what he’s done. All this time, these impossibly long months when I have begged every day to return for my beloved, he has insisted that it was not yet safe for our journey. And of course I believed, because I have always trusted him with my life—and even with hers…He has been occupied unceasingly with business of the Council, or so he claimed, but all the while he was merely shuffling his feet. When I most recently inquired when we would depart for Connecticut, he professed, “I have been warned by the Council that troubles are still brewing in the New World. We must first wait for these difficulties to settle, or all of our lives will be in danger”…and so on.
Finally I abandoned my trusting child’s eyes and saw through him—the man whom I’d come to believe was entirely altruistic. It took far too long, but he confessed after I cornered him—after he could no longer defend himself against my accusations. “I have spoken with the coven of seers, William. You were not meant to be with Elizabeth. If you return to her, there will be nothing but pain. Please understand that I only wanted to protect you. I love you.” I tore away from him then; hurt, enraged, bewildered, and terrified. I ran faster than my lungs could handle, aware that he was following me, and for the first time since childhood, a prayer passed my lips. “Please God, don’t let me be too late.”’
It was the cruelest betrayal imaginable. My father betrayed us both.
~From the diary of William Wells; June 28th, 1686
~*~
The very sight of the room took Elizabeth’s breath away. In the center of the space stood a large four-poster bed—a real bed—delicately carved and made up with a brightly colored quilt that had yellow and violet floral designs sewn across it. Two large windows adorned with cheerful yellow curtains provided a gorgeous view of the golden and rose July sunset.
“Oh, Winifred…” Elizabeth attempted to express her gratitude once more as her eyes clouded over with tears, “I don’t want to be such a burden to you. The magistrate is holding you entirely responsible for me—you’re placing yourself and your family at great risk. There could be consequences—my wrongs will be considered your wrongs…”
The pretty, dark-haired woman placed a comforting hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder as she replied, “What did I tell you, dear? You’re not a burden. I want to do this; and I know you’re not going to up and run out on me.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth murmured thickly.
“No more thank-you’s, honey. There’s no need. Now how does the room suit you?”
“…It’s so bright in here,” Elizabeth murmured in awe as her eyes continued to sweep over her new bedchamber.
“Too much sun for you? We can pull the curtains if you like.”
“No! No, it’s perfect. It’s just perfect.”
“Winnie! Kitty woke up about ten minutes ago, so I just got her up before she had a chance to wake Bella—“
A young girl, probably around fifteen, breezed through the door of the bedchamber. She was tall and slender—her appearance quite similar to Winifred’s, though she still possessed the round softness of youth. On her hip, she balanced an adorable, toddler-aged little girl. Ringlet curls pinned with a small red ribbon framed the child’s cherubic baby face as she examined Elizabeth curiously with bright, emerald green eyes.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize she was already here,” the teenage girl apologized.
“It’s all right—we were just getting Elizabeth all settled in. Elizabeth Summers, this is my baby sister, Lucy. She’s been helping me look after my little girls ever since Benjamin—my husband—passed on.”
“Hello, Lucy,” Elizabeth said, smiling and nodding politely.
“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. We’re glad to have you with us,” Lucy replied, grinning brightly.
“Mama up me?” the little girl chirped, extending her chubby arms.
“C’mere, precious,” Winifred cooed, catching the toddler as she leapt into her mother’s arms.
“And who is this?” Elizabeth asked, laughing.
“This is my daughter, Kitty. She’s the rambunctious one. Her twin sister Bella’s the quiet one. It’s funny, how different they are.”
“Hi sweetheart. You have the prettiest green eyes I’ve ever seen, you know that?” Elizabeth said softly as she raised the child’s sticky fist to her lips for a light kiss, “She’s beautiful, Winifred.”
“Well thank you kindly,” Winifred murmured, kissing the top of her daughter’s dark head.
“I’ll just start on supper then, if you could listen out for Bella,” Lucy said, turning to leave the room.
“Thanks Luce,” Winifred called after her.
Suddenly, Elizabeth sucked in her breath sharply, grasping onto a bed post as her hand flew to her belly.
“You all right, honey?” Winifred asked, placing her hand gently on Elizabeth’s arm.
Breathing out slowly as she squeezed her eyes shut tight, Elizabeth nodded.
“This keeps happening,” she muttered.
“Your body’s getting ready for the real thing, that’s all. The pains come from time to time—toward the end.”
“How will I know when it’s real?” Elizabeth breathed.
“Trust me—you’ll know,” Winifred replied as she scooted the child up further on her hip.
“I don’t know how you did it with two. One seems to be difficult enough.”
“You tend to forget after they’re born—how hard it is. But it’s certainly worth it,” Winifred laughed as she tickled Kitty’s belly, sending the little girl into a fit of giggles.
Elizabeth smiled at the pair wistfully, a feeling of warmth spreading through her chest. All too abruptly, however, the sensation turned painful, sending tears spilling over her cheeks. Winifred looked up from her daughter, an expression of concern passing over her features.
“Why don’t you get some rest, Elizabeth? Try to feel better. I’ll come up with a tray for you as soon as dinner’s ready.”
Elizabeth nodded, wiping her damp eyes, “Thank you, Winifred.”
“No more of that, now. You just make yourself at home.”
The warm softness of the bed and clean sheets felt like absolute heaven on earth. Elizabeth sighed blissfully as her aching body sunk into the feathery cocoon. She was already beginning to drift off peacefully when Winifred appeared, balancing a tray in her arms complete with a vase of freshly cut flowers. After placing the tray on the bedside table, she helped Elizabeth sit up and propped two down pillows behind her back.
“I thought you could use a little extra cheer,” Winifred explained as Elizabeth’s gaze drifted over to the flowers.
“This is too much—“
“Shut your mouth and eat up! There’s some stew, fresh bread, squash, and strawberries for you. And you’d better eat every last bite—that baby needs a good meal.”
Elizabeth didn’t need to be told twice; she dove into her supper ravenously, not realizing how starving she’d been or how delicious real food actually tasted. Once she polished her plates, Winifred cleared the dishes away and left the room, explaining that she needed to put the twins to bed. Several minutes later, she peeked inside the door.
“Still awake, honey?” she asked quietly.
“I’m awake,” Elizabeth replied, stifling a yawn.
“Anything else I can get for you?”
“Oh no, I have everything I could possibly need, but…”
“But what?”
“Well, it’s silly, but I would love some company for a while, just for conversation—if you aren’t too tired.”
“Of course I’m not too tired!” Winifred replied excitedly as she bustled inside and softly shut the door behind her, “I’m always up for a good talk.”
The brunette perched on the edge of the bed, folding her legs beneath her as she flipped her loose hair over one shoulder. “Anything in particular on your mind, Elizabeth? Baby questions?” she asked lightly.
“No…no. I’m tired of talking about me. I’d love to hear stories about you, though.”
“What sort of stories?”
“Just anything—your life, where you’re from, good memories…if you’d like to share with me,” Elizabeth shrugged, smiling.
“I surely would, though my life isn’t too terribly interesting, I fear.”
“Everyone has a good story…a history. Where did you live before Wethersfield?”
“Well, I was born and raised in the Province of Carolina—that’s quite far to the south.”
“What is it like there?”
Winifred paused, considering, “Heat’s different—the air’s heavier and the days are brighter. Snows rarely come. And the trees are lovelier—oaks covered with Spanish mosses and weeping willows by the water,” Winifred’s eyes became glassy as she stared ahead, seeing a vision deep in her memory, “My pa was a freeman. We lived on a small farm—fifty acres. Pa grew corn and cotton mostly; and we raised some cattle. But after a famine came and several bad seasons ruined the crops, we had to leave. Pa moved us up north, because he heard stories about thriving towns scattered around the Bay Colony. And we just sorta ended up here, I suppose. Met my husband about six months after we settled. The courtship was brief; we married after only a few months.”
“I can understand how difficult it must have been for you. Moving here from someplace warm…So after you arrived and met your husband, was it your choice to marry him?” Elizabeth asked carefully.
“In a way, I suppose. He asked me, my pa approved of him, and I’d been a burden to my folks long enough, so…it seemed like the right thing to do.”
“And were you ever—I mean, did you…did you ever love him at all?” Elizabeth asked softly, knowing that Winifred would not take offense to the deeply personal question.
“Oh it was never like that with Benjamin and me…I had a fondness for him, but being his wife was more of an occupation than anything else. Really we weren’t together very often. He was always working and traveling. At first, it wasn’t so bad, but…he wasn’t a kind man. He put me through some hard times.”
“I’m sorry,” Elizabeth murmured.
“Nah, it’s all right. I’m still here, aren’t I? He did give me two beautiful little girls, so it was all worth it…Maybe I did love him a little, I don’t know, but…You know, love—real love—it’s bright and burning and bigger than life. It’s so very precious…and rare…” Winifred trailed off longingly as she gazed out the window, into the night. Her eyes turned glassy once more as a wistful smile played across her lips.
Before she asked the question, Elizabeth was already sure of the answer.
“Did you ever have that kind of love?” Elizabeth whispered.
“Maybe I did. Long time ago,” Winifred murmured, reaching up to brush away tears that gathered in the corners of her eyes.
“Tell me,” Elizabeth encouraged tenderly.
“He um—he worked on a piece of land close to my pa’s farm in Carolina. I used to sneak out to go see him and we’d just talk—about everything and nothing. We’d lie on our backs on the bank of the river at night…he knew me better than anyone, and I loved him,” she finished softly, smiling sadly.
“Why couldn’t you marry him?”
“I couldn’t. We couldn’t…” Winifred paused to draw in a deep, shaking breath, “I swear to God, Elizabeth, I’ve never told anybody this…He—he was dark. Dark-skinned—the color of warm hazelnut. Beautiful…His name was Charles. And he’s still there for all I know. I had no choice but to leave him. I mean, if anybody ever found out…”
“Oh, Winifred,” Elizabeth murmured in deepest sympathy, gently taking her new friend’s hand.
“It’s all right. I’m glad we had that time—I wouldn’t change it. Even if it wasn’t forever. He’ll always be with me, I think.”
“Of course he will.”
“Do you mind if I ask you something kinda personal, Elizabeth?...Did you love the father of your baby?”
Elizabeth nodded, unsure if she could find the words.
--
“So you let him go?” Winifred asked sniffling, “That is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard!”
Elizabeth had told her almost everything. She’d edited the parts that included vampires and demons, because she simply didn’t have the breath or the strength to attempt an explanation.
“You know I always thought he was so handsome, whenever I saw him in town. He was quiet—I remember thinking he was regal, almost, but real polite too. I never believed all those ridiculous rumors,” the brunette continued.
“I’m so afraid, Winifred—I’m terrified that I’m never going to see him again,” Elizabeth said, her voice clogged with emotion.
“You will,” Winifred murmured earnestly as she grasped Elizabeth’s hands, her eyes sparkling with hope, “I know you will…Ma used to tell me this story—that God creates one soul at a time, and then he splits that soul in two and gives one half to one person and the other half to another person. Those two people are linked forever, no matter what. They always find each other again. Always. You and William…Me and Charles.”
Elizabeth nodded, trying to smile as she swiped at her tears.
“I hope so,” she murmured, “I hope so.”
--
In the few weeks that followed, Elizabeth felt herself growing slower and even more tired, if that were a possibility. Winifred and Lucy were incredibly sweet and understanding, always encouraging their guest to take frequent naps during the day to escape the overpowering heat outside. August was quickly reaching its pinnacle as First Harvest loomed just around the corner. Elizabeth could scarcely believe that it had been almost one year since her ship from Bermuda docked at Saybrook Harbor. In a way, it felt like ten years, because she’d still been a child then, ignorant of so much of the world. And now, for better or worse, she’d truly become a woman.
Elizabeth had grown quite comfortable in her new home—she felt so welcome that it was almost as though she’d always been there. Often she felt pangs of sadness due to the fact that she’d only just recently met Winifred. Even though they had been in acquaintance for mere weeks, Elizabeth had already begun to cherish the company of her new friend. The perky young woman was always able to find at least one good thing in the direst of circumstances; and Elizabeth found it wonderfully refreshing that she did not take life too seriously. Winifred taught her to laugh—at herself, at the absurd Puritan religion, and even at her own seemingly hopeless situation. The two women continued to bond easily—particularly over the loss of their beloved mothers, which had recently impacted both of their lives deeply. For the first time since her death, Elizabeth was able to share memories of her mother with a smile on her face. Before, she’d always dwelt on the loss, because it had been so painful, so fresh…But now she happily recalled stories of Joyce: teaching her how to swim as a toddler, making a horrid mess of flour as they’d tried unsuccessfully to make pettifores together, attempting to explain sexual intercourse using a plethora of entertaining—and yet terribly confusing—metaphors.
The days passed much too quickly, and Elizabeth knew her time was close when she felt an intense pressure building low in her pelvis, throwing her balance off even more than usual. Winifred explained that the baby had dropped in preparation for birth—knowledge that frightened Elizabeth terribly. She wished she could keep the baby inside just to protect it, to keep it close…and to safeguard herself. If it would just stay where it was for a little longer, then maybe William would come soon and she would never have to worry about the trials at all…Even though she’d more or less told herself they were never coming back, Elizabeth still refused to release the desperate thread of hope to which she clung. Winifred had helped restore her faith.
On one particularly dreary evening in late August, Elizabeth was so exhausted that she fell into bed at twilight, sinking into a deep sleep the second her head hit the pillow. The sleep was heavy, quiet, and entirely dreamless. Hours later, she awoke suddenly in silent darkness, save for the rain that pattered lightly against the windowpanes and an occasional crack of thunder in the distance. At first she thought it might’ve been the thunder that woke her, but when a painful cramp instantly seized her lower belly, she knew it was something else. The pain wasn’t dreadful—more of a discomfort, really, so Elizabeth hefted herself over to her other side, pulled the covers up to her chin, and tried to fall back to sleep. It’s just another unpleasant symptom—no different from the others. Winifred said that I would know when it was time.
The cramping continued, waking her occasionally, but Elizabeth tried her best to ignore it. Dreams came then, the pictures dancing in her mind growing increasingly more agitated and troublesome. She saw William hauling crates off a ship, his back nearly breaking with the effort of it. She saw him standing on a lonely dock at night—looking out into a freezing, choppy sea as tears streamed down his rough cheeks. She heard him shouting back and forth with Giles, but she couldn’t make out what they said. And then she dreamed of another man, so like to William and yet not him at all…dressed all in black, his eyes cold and mournful, his hair white with the curls smoothed down, though he still appeared to be a young man. But when he told her he loved her, it was William’s voice she heard. Other scenes swirled about in her mind: she saw herself waking from sleep, covered in blood, her abdomen sunken and empty. Screams tore from her dream throat as she searched for her child through a maze of dark tunnels. William’s voice hovered above and beside her, promising that he would help. The baby doesn’t know you. It won’t come to you, William. Someone stabbed her in the back—Oh God it hurts. Oh my God please help me live through this! When she looked behind her, she saw that her attacker wore her mother’s face. The knife slid back into her spine, twisting, turning, burning until she cried.
And then her eyes snapped open. Thunder rumbled overhead—flashes of lightening lit the room in bolts of electric silver. But the pain—the knife—it was still there, still inside her. It wouldn’t stop. This time it continued through her spine before burning into her pelvis and hips. Her breath came in short pants as she flew upright in bed, her fingers gripping where it hurt. But the pain seemed to be everywhere at once—it moved and radiated—shooting through her, squeezing her until it temporarily released its clutches. Get Winifred. Have to get Winifred. During one of the brief moments of respite when the pain rolled back, Elizabeth gingerly eased her sore body from the bed and stood tentatively. The instant she was on her feet, she felt a rush of something warm and wet spilling from her, causing her balance to waver.
She continued moving, trying to take advantage of this painless moment, to slip quietly into Winifred’s bedchamber to tell her that her time had come. Her heart pattered a mile a minute as fearful tears stung her eyes. Not now. I’m not ready. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. William should be here. He should be with me. Elizabeth moved slowly—afraid that if she jostled herself around at all, the pain would worsen. Before she’d even reached the door to exit into the hall, however, another pain—this one even more intense than the others—gripped her tightly. It hurt so much that it left her feeling nauseous—so much so that she grabbed onto a bed post for support before collapsing onto the hardwood floor. It didn’t stop, though—it just kept coming. Elizabeth curled around the pain that moved and burned inside her, scorching her bones, and she screamed a bloodcurdling scream that sounded more animal than human.
It wasn’t until her head was cradled in Winifred’s lap, the older woman wiping beads of sweat from her brow, that Elizabeth stopped crying out William’s name.
“Elizabeth, honey, can you hear me?”
“Baby’s coming,” she whimpered, her voice trapped in cotton.
“I know. You need to keep breathing. Breathe through the pain. It helps,” Winifred soothed as she stroked her fingers through tangled, limp locks of Elizabeth’s hair.
“William. You have to get him. He’d want to know.”
“Elizabeth, has the water fallen yet?”
“Yes. The waves are rolling over…falling down. He’s at the docks. You have to get him, Winifred. The baby needs him.”
When the pain clenched through her again, Elizabeth wailed in agony, her body curving tightly into her friend’s arms as all her muscles tensed before releasing, leaving her in a boneless heap.
“Elizabeth, let’s try standing up for awhile. It’ll help the baby drop—and maybe the pain will ease up a little.”
Winifred slipped from beneath Elizabeth, placing her arms at the younger woman’s sides to help propel her up. It did help a little—not much—but Elizabeth felt better being active, pretending as though she were actually accomplishing something instead of lying in wait. The constant ache in her back grew unbearable, so she tried moving, bending over the bed, placing her forehead into the mattress while she rocked her pelvis and shifted her feet. Never, never had she imagined such agony in her life—so much at one time without any relief. Pacing the room for a bit, she stumbled and crashed into the walls for support each time the pain intensified, her fingernails clawing into the wood paneling. Subconsciously she tried to tear out of the room, escape this coffin-like trap where someone was torturing her, stabbing her again and again until her blood flowed like wine. She was aware of bustling all around her, someone coming in and out, bringing her useless things that would never help; but Elizabeth paid no attention as she retreated inside herself to hide from the pain, desperate to grow numb to it.
Hands on her back—massaging gently, petting her, caressing her—a kind voice whispering reassurances in her ear. Still the screaming never ceased—like a feral animal locked in a cage. The sound made her throat hurt. Squeezing her eyes tight against the brilliant red that flashed all around her, she tried to see William, an image of his beautiful smile perhaps, crystal blue eyes sparking mischievously, the boyish excitement on his face when he opened a book of poetry to read to her.
“Golden sands,” she muttered, “Crystal brooks. Silken lines. Silver hooks.”
“Elizabeth, listen to me. You need to try and focus. Stay with me, honey. We need to get this baby out. It’s already been too long,” Winifred’s soft voice—far away.
“You have to get the book!” Elizabeth cried.
“We don’t need a book. Come on—let’s get you on the bed.”
“No—John Donne, so I can read it. Read it to the baby,” she slurred.
“Elizabeth—“
She heard nothing else, as something sharp tore through her, running down, splitting her in two. Behind her closed lids, she saw William’s face—but it wasn’t him at all. It was the stranger, the stranger who wore his face and carried a piece of his heart—the stranger who carried the spark. There was blood—blood on her hands that poured from his nose as she hit him. You are dead inside. Her fists struck and tore his beautiful features, bruised his precious eyes…
“Elizabeth, you need to try and push—“
“No! No, William! I didn’t do it! It isn’t me!” she cried, the grotesque, visceral intensity of the vision causing her to vomit.
The stranger huddled in the dark with the sounds of waves crashing all around him. He cried out—cried out to the eyes watching him in the darkness—cried out to her without knowing…without seeing…
“Please God, I just want to forget,” he whimpered, clutching his chest.
“Don’t forget. You’re the one that remembers! You have to help me, William; you have to help me…”
“Elizabeth, I need you to work with me!”
She could see then—she saw Winifred’s fearful, wearied hazel eyes as the woman hovered before her, holding onto Elizabeth’s knees.
“I’ll see you again…help me remember, Winifred?”
“Yes, I’ll help you,” the woman assured, her voice like an angel.
Suddenly the world grew incredibly bright, and Elizabeth curled away from it—she fell into hiding.
--
Hushed whispers all around.
“I don’t know what else to do. It’s already been a day. Far too long. I don’t know if the baby’s still alive.”
“Should we send for the doctor, Winnie?”
“No, not yet,” she sighed, “First babies can take a long time, and Elizabeth is small—her hips might be too narrow. We’ll hold on through the night. If nothing has changed by tomorrow…”
Elizabeth tried to open her eyes, to move her tongue, but everything was frozen. When her lids blinked open slightly, she was instantly burned by the brightness of the room. So much light.
“I’m cold,” Elizabeth hummed through unfeeling lips.
A warm hand touched hers, and Elizabeth recoiled at the sensation as the numbness began to recede, the excruciating pain slowly creeping back.
“Don’t touch me!” she screamed.
A blanket came over her.
“Elizabeth do you still feel a lot of pressure? You’ve had some time to rest, but we need to try pushing again, all right?”
“No, no I can’t. I’m going to die.”
“Shut your mouth. Nobody’s dying in my house.”
“You can cut it out. There was a book I read, a woman…they cut her baby out with a knife.”
“We’re not cutting you, Elizabeth. You’re gonna help us get this baby out.”
“Tell him I love him. When he comes back, tell him how much I loved him. Tell him I’m sorry.”
Tears of pain, of grief and sadness flooded her cheeks. She wouldn’t see her baby smile, or learn to talk, or run and play. She wouldn’t see the look on William’s face when he first held their child. The cruelty of it left her feeling bitter, and it caused her heart to swell, to split in two just like the rest of her…slowly ripping apart.
“You’re going to tell him yourself. Now sit up,” Winifred said firmly.
--
Another night came, and Elizabeth was grateful for the darkness. It didn’t hurt as much in the dark. Her back leaned up against the headboard of the bed, and someone sat behind her, holding her legs open because she couldn’t do it anymore. She gave herself in to the pain completely, used it, flowed with it as she bore down; and she felt it moving inside her, burning as it crawled lower. Ripping, tearing, searing, falling…
“I can see it, Elizabeth!” Winifred cried from below, “It’s so close now, honey! Don’t give up!”
And Elizabeth knew she wouldn’t—she knew she would use her last breath to give her baby life—to bring William’s child into this world.
Then she heard the pop of bone snapping, felt a rush of air flooding her lungs, and it was over. Her body collapsed, her eyes shutting in exhaustion. But she wasn’t ready for the separation—it was too sudden—she wasn’t ready to be alone in her own body. Not yet.
There was a slap against flesh, followed by a tiny, shrill cry. Elizabeth would never be able to describe the beauty in that sound. A bundle was placed on her belly, small and wet, its tiny body shaking with the little pulse of its heart.
“Elizabeth, open your eyes,” Winifred said thickly. She was crying. “Open your eyes and look at the most beautiful baby boy I ever did see.”
Her hands came around the tiny thing on her belly as her eyes cracked open, trying to focus. Lucy maneuvered out from behind and gingerly helped Elizabeth sit up against the headboard. The hazy pink glow of dawn bathed the room in soft orange, and Elizabeth saw him for the first time in the light of a new summer day.
“You have a son. You and William have a son,” Winifred whispered.
Elizabeth’s fingers brushed lightly over her son’s reddened cheek, still wet from her blood and his tears, but he’d already stopped crying. He squinted up at his mother blearily, his eyes as bright as sapphires, blue like the waves of the Caribbean.
“What will you call him?”
And Elizabeth knew. She knew his name as if she’d always known him.
I feel like I’ve always known you, Elizabeth. Before I knew myself even. Is that possible?
“Elijah,” she breathed, “His name is Elijah.”
“Welcome to the world, Elijah,” Winifred murmured, stroking the baby’s damp honey blonde hair.
“Elijah…” Elizabeth whispered, rolling the sweet sound of the name across her tongue, “Elijah.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
As I mentioned in the last AN, I'm headed out of town for over a week; so I have no idea when I'll be able to post next. Hopefully it won't be more than two or three weeks. But I left the story at a nice place: no evil cliffhangers! : )