When Stars Fall at Midnight, page 9
She stirred at the sound of my bag opening and moaned softly.
“Stella, it’s Percival. Can you hear me?”
Her eyes fluttered open. She stared up at me with fevered, glassy eyes. “Where am I?”
“You’re at my home. We met on the train.”
She shook her head, mumbling something incoherent under her breath. “Everything hurts. I’m cold. So cold.”
She closed her eyes again and did not answer when I asked her if she could tell me more about what hurt.
I listened to her heartbeat with my stethoscope and heard nothing alarming. However, she was running a high fever, which worried me a great deal.
Penelope appeared in the doorway, looking small and frightened. “She’s been delirious, Dr. Bancroft. Calling out for someone call Mauve. Other times, Constantine.”
“Will you go downstairs and ask my mother to meet me here? Then I need you to go down to the kitchen and bring up a bucket of boiling water. I need it to sanitize my instruments.” I was going to have to examine Stella. There was no other way to see if the midwife or whoever delivered the baby had gotten all of the placenta. In my experience, sometimes small pieces remained inside the woman, causing fever and heavy bleeding.
Soon, Mother joined me, sitting by Stella’s side as I placed a cool cloth on my patient’s forehead. After a few minutes, Penelope arrived with a bucket of boiling water. I put on a pair of rubber gloves and cleaned my duckbill-shaped speculum, forceps, and a retractor in the hot water. Then, Mother and Penelope each held up one of Stella’s legs so I could place the speculum inside so that I could do a vaginal examination.
Sure enough, several pieces of the placenta had been left inside her uterus. I removed them and cleaned her up. For her part, Stella remained quiet, other than a soft whimper now and then. We managed to get some aspirin in her to help with the pain. Penelope pinned a new, clean cloth for the bleeding.
“I’ll keep close watch on her,” I said. “And pray I got everything, and the infection will subside.”
“If not, then what happens?” Penelope asked me, wringing her hands.
“We’ll address that if we need to. For now, one of us will need to stay with her. We’ll have to work in shifts.”
“I’ll take the first one,” Penelope said. “So, you two can have your supper.”
We agreed, leaving Penelope with the delirious Stella.
At the doorway, I turned to look back at the bed. Penelope was on her knees, praying.
Mother and I stayed with Stella throughout the night, taking shifts to sleep every few hours. Stella continued in delirium, crying out for Mauve and then Mireille and thrashing about. Finally, nearing dawn, her fever broke. She’d quieted then and seemed to fall into a deep, peaceful sleep. Penelope came to relieve us at daybreak, sending us off to bed.
Tired, I crawled into bed and slept until ten. I woke with a start, worried about my patient. I rang for Robert, and he came minutes later, reassuring me that Stella was still sleeping and seemed to be on the mend. “Thank goodness for you, Dr. Bancroft.”
I brushed aside his compliment and asked if he could bring a tray of something to eat and a strong pot of coffee.
After he left, I got in the bathtub. While lathering my skin and scrubbing my hair, I thought about Stella McCord. Had I not brought her home, she would have died. Unless by some miracle she’d found her way to a hospital. Regardless, I was glad God had put me in her path.
I ate breakfast and perused the newspaper before going down to the nursery to see Clara. She was on the floor playing with her dollhouse when I appeared. For a moment, I watched her, overcome with the tender, all-consuming love I felt for her.
She jumped to her feet, calling out, “Papa,” before throwing herself into my arms.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
“You didn’t come to church,” Clara said, with a note of admonishment in her tone. Her strong ethical code and religious faith, in addition to her bossiness, reminded me of my mother.
Mother and I had decided not to attend, given everything going on here at the house. “We have a houseguest and she’s very ill. I had to stay and look after her.”
“Grandmama too?”
“That’s right.” I gathered Clara onto my lap and inhaled the sweet scent of her hair. “I’m sorry we missed church and spending time with you.”
“Miss Lisk took me, and she fell asleep. And guess what else? She snored. Very loudly.”
“Oh, dear,” I said.
Clara giggled. “She made a snorting sound and the people in front of us turned around to look at her. It was mortifying.” She dragged out the last word for emphasis.
“Mortifying? Really?” Such a big word for such a little girl. “A lot of people fall asleep in church.”
“I can tell you exactly why. The preacher’s boring. Today, he droned on and on. So long that I scarcely remember a thing he said.”
She even sounded like my mother.
“There was a lady there with a giant hat.” Clara held out her hands to demonstrate. “And you won’t believe it—there was a peacock feather sticking out of the top and all the little feathers kept dancing around because the windows were open. It was the best that I ever saw. Miss Lisk said she thought it was tacky and boog….boog something.”
“Bourgeois.”
“Yes, that’s it. Miss Lisk said she shouldn’t wear something so gaudy to church, but I thought it looked wonderful. Miss Lisk and I do not agree about fashion. She doesn’t know anything about Paris and all the dresses that come from there.”
“I can’t say I know anything about that myself.”
She sighed, flashing an indulgent smile. “Oh, Papa, of course you don’t.”
Of course? Why so emphatic?
“Where is Miss Lisk now?” I asked. “Have you been in here by yourself?”
“Grandmama said she could have the rest of the day off because she looked exhausted, and Miss Lisk said she was unusually tired because someone had kept her very busy all week. I think she was talking about me.”
“Yes, I think you’re correct.”
“I don’t know why she would say such a thing, because I don’t wear her out on purpose. Anyway, I’ve been here playing alone without anyone having to correct me or tell me what to do.”
“I’m proud of you. It’s a good trick to be able to play by yourself.”
“Did you play alone? When you were a boy?”
“That’s correct. I was an only child just like you. And it was only Grandmama and me.”
“Were you lonely?”
I shook my head. “No, not really. I had friends from school. Books too.”
“Are you lonesome now?”
“No, goose. I have you and Grandmama. How could I be lonely?”
Her eyes dulled, and she looked down at her hands.
“What’s this about?” I asked gently. “Did someone say something to you?”
“I overheard some ladies talking and they said you were lonely and how sad it was that your wife was a nutcracker.”
“Nutcracker?” My chest tightened, and a surge of anger warmed my neck. People should be more careful about what they said. Children heard so much more than we thought they did. Especially children like my Clara. “Are you sure that’s what they said?”
“Nut something.”
“Nutcase?” I asked.
“Yes. That’s it. Why would they say that and what does it mean?”
“Remember how we were talking about your mother being unwell?”
“Yes.”
“Sometimes when someone is feeling poorly in their head, people call them ugly names like nutcase.”
“What kind of nut? Pecans are my favorite.”
“It’s just slang. They’re not really talking about nuts.”
“Slang,” Clara said, saying it very much the way one would take a bite of a cookie, full of wonder and expectation. She wrapped her skinny arms around my neck. “I’m glad you’re not lonely, Papa.”
“Thank you, doll.” I kissed the top of her head. “I could never be lonely with you around. You make my heart very happy.”
“Papa, who is the lady in the guest room? Is she sick?”
Her question startled me. I hadn’t realized she had seen Stella. “She’s a new friend who needs our help.”
“Will she have to go the asylum like my mother?”
“What? No. She’s a different kind of sick than your mother, and she’s going to be fine. We need to look after her for a little while longer.”
“Can I meet her?”
“When she’s feeling better, yes.”
“I’m glad she doesn’t have to go to the asylum,” Clara said.
“I am glad about that too.”
Clara rested her cheek against my shoulder and played with the lapel of my jacket while I stroked her silky hair. The chaos of my world disappeared in moments such as this, reminding me that the most important thing in my life was right here. My daughter. Every decision must be made for her benefit, including taking care of her mother for however long was needed. What kind of man would I be if I couldn’t tell my daughter with assurance that I looked after the woman who had brought her into the world? I had to be a man Clara was proud of. Even if it meant that I was lonely. Deeply so.
Life was cruel. If I could keep Clara from hurt and harm, then I would.
10
Estelle
I awakened to the scent of whiskey and leather. Opening my eyes, I was surprised to see Percival by the window, bathed in the last orange light of the day. He must have sensed my waking, because he turned. Seeing that I was awake, he rushed to my side.
“Stella, how are you feeling?”
I tried to lift myself up to a seated position, but I felt as if a boulder lay upon my chest. My head ached, and the light hurt my eyes. However, the pain from childbirth had dulled some, feeling more tender than the throbbing pain that I’d felt earlier.
I fell back to sleep. Some time later, I woke to Percival sitting next to the bed. He placed his warm, dry hand on my forehead. “Hello there. Are you feeling better?”
“Yes, a little. How long have I been here?” I managed to croak out.
“I brought you here yesterday. You’ve been in and out of consciousness since yesterday evening.”
“Am I dying?” It certainly felt like it.
“You had me worried earlier. Whoever helped deliver your baby did a sloppy job. Some of the placenta was left inside your uterus and you developed an infection, which caused a high fever.”
“Placenta. Is it still in there?”
“No, I was able to clean everything up. You’re going to be fine now. It was touch and go over the last twelve hours.
“Thank you.” I closed my eyes, mortified. What had Dr. Bancroft had to do down there? What had he seen? “You know I had a baby.”
“That’s right. It was obvious when I examined you.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak without crying.
“We kept you as cool as possible with cold compresses. You came in and out of delirium. Do you remember anything?”
“No.” Had I said anything embarrassing? “What was I saying?”
“You asked for your sister. And someone called Mireille. Who is that?”
I turned away, overcome. Mireille. My baby girl. She was very much alive. Not stillborn as I’d told Penelope. Ashamed of my lies, I couldn’t look Percival in the eyes. “My baby.”
“I suspected as much.”
I stared up at the ceiling, avoiding his gaze.
“Your fever broke just an hour or so ago,” Percival said in a soothing tone. “Since then, you’ve been resting peacefully.”
Mrs. Bancroft scurried into the room, her heels clicking across the hardwood floor. “She’s awake?”
“Yes, and much improved,” Percival said.
Mrs. Bancroft hurried over to the other side of the bed where another chair had been placed. “Miss McCord, you’ve given us quite a scare.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
“No need to thank us,” Mrs. Bancroft said. “The important thing is that Percy found you and brought you home. Otherwise, you might have died.”
I could have died. I’d gotten out of bed and run away before my body was ready. Maybe that’s what I wanted. To be punished or put out of my misery? Either one would be reason enough. I shifted slightly and almost howled in pain. My breasts were heavy and full and painful.
“What is it?” Mrs. Bancroft asked.
“My chest hurts.”
“Your milk will dry up in a day or so,” Mrs. Bancroft said. “Until then, we’ll keep you bound. I checked earlier and Penelope did an excellent job. I’ll have one of the maids bring ice, which will help with the pain. It did for me, anyway. After I lost Molly.”
“You lost a baby?” I asked before I could take it back.
“Yes, dear.” She paused, drawing in a deep breath that told me everything I needed to know. The pain of losing a baby had stayed with her. There was strange comfort in knowing I was not alone, even though I would not have wished it on my worst enemy. “You mustn’t push yourself too hard. Let us take care of you.”
“I’m grateful. Truly. I don’t know what would have happened to me if your son hadn’t gone out of his way to help me.”
“I told her you would not have forgiven me if I’d not tried to help someone in trouble,” Percival said.
“We’re Christian people,” Mrs. Bancroft said. “What would it say about us if we turned you away? Jesus certainly wouldn’t have.”
“Even though I’m a sinner?” I whispered more to myself than them.
“We’re all sinners,” Percival said.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Mrs. Bancroft said.
“You need nourishment if you’re to make a speedy recovery,” Percival said. “Do you think you could stomach some warm broth?”
“I think so,” I said.
“Good girl,” Mrs. Bancroft said. “You must build up your strength.” She rose to her feet. “I’ll be back with a tray of food and tea.” She brushed a clump of my damp hair from my forehead. “We’re so glad to see you looking a little better.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I can say it a thousand times and it wouldn’t appropriately convey my gratitude.”
“No need, dear. Just rest and get better. That’s all the thanks I need.”
“I’m sorry,” I said to Percival after she left. “I’ve caused you all so much trouble.”
“Nonsense. I’m a doctor. This is what I do.” He rose up to pour a glass of water from the pitcher. “Now, I need you to sit up and drink this. I’ll help.”
I was too weak to fight. He adjusted the pillows and then helped me to rise up enough to sip from the glass. Water had never tasted as sweet or as refreshing.
“Your recovery’s somewhat of a miracle,” Percival said. “There was a lot of praying going on in this house.”
“You were praying for me?”
“That’s right,” Percival said.
Touched, tears filled my eyes as I whispered, “Maybe it would have been better if I’d died. What do I have to live for?”
He clucked his tongue and drew closer, smoothing the quilt that lay over me. “I can’t answer that for you. We all have to find our own purpose. My guess? God clearly has more plans for you. Once you heal, physically and emotionally, you’ll know more about what you’re to do next.”
“I wish I knew what that was now,” I said, wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my dressing gown. “At the moment, I feel utterly lost and alone.”
“I understand. It’s easy to say to someone else, and God knows, I’ve struggled with this myself, but you must have faith. Even in the darkest of hours, we have to believe light will find us again. Sometimes it’s all we have to cling to.”
My hands were outside the quilt, resting at my sides. He placed his hand over the one closest to him for a few seconds. “You’re not lost. I found you. My mother and I are here.”
“And brought me home like a stray puppy?” I asked, smiling through my tears. “I still don’t understand why.”
“As I said before, Mother and I have both experienced loss and heartbreak. None of it was because of anything we did or didn’t do, which makes it hard to understand. When we sense tragedy in someone else, our natural instinct is to help. Perhaps this is the best part of us. The only good that comes from heartbreak. If everything had always been easy, we would not be as sensitive to others’ pain.”
He left me soon thereafter, only to be replaced by Penelope with a tray of beef broth and a chunk of soft, warm bread. Although I wasn’t hungry, I forced myself to eat the broth and a portion of the bread.
Soon, I fell back asleep.
I woke in the late afternoon to the sound of feet clicking on the hardwood floor. Rolling to my side, I saw Mrs. Bancroft shut the bedroom door behind her and then come sit in a chair next to the bed.
“Ah, you’re awake,” Mrs. Bancroft said. “Some of your color has returned.” She sat in the chair by the bed, folding her hands in her lap as if she were afraid they might fly off and do something on their own. She was an attractive woman, tall and angular, with a proud countenance. I’d not noticed before, but her gown was simple, made of gray wool like that of a shop worker or teacher. “How do you feel?”
“A little better, thank you,” I said.
She took a glass of water from the bedside table and brought it to my mouth. “Please, drink. It’s important you get a lot of fluids.”
I took two dainty sips, the water cold and refreshing, before sinking back into the pillows.
“Penelope told us about your fiancé dying shortly before your wedding,” Mrs. Bancroft said. “Did you love him very much?”
