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ELIZABETH
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AFTER MY PARENTS’ DEATHS and my subsequent move to Montreal, I stayed in close contact with a few people: William Morgan, my fellow architect and the owner of an art gallery, his wife Hannah, who I’d known from our post-grad studies in Italy, and Madam Olga Nikolaevna, my former piano teacher and our neighbor.
The descendant of a wealthy Russian aristocratic family who’d emigrated to the States in 1919, Madam Nikolaevna had been educated at the Sorbonne, spoke several languages and had traveled the world. She had never married and didn’t have close family. A few years younger than my mother, she’d been the closest thing to an aunt I had. And vice versa—I was like a surrogate niece to her.
Thanks to Madam Nikolaevna, I’d become fluent in Russian, fallen in love with Russian classics and learned how to play piano. Not as well as cello since the lessons had been informal, irregular and free of charge. Busy with school, fencing, ballet, horseback riding and cello lessons, I could only devote so much time to piano.
Yet, I’d loved spending afternoons in Madam Nikolaevna’s house that smelled of lavender, vanilla and black tea from the samovar. Between sipping tea from the exquisite porcelain cups and nibbling on tiny almond cookies, speaking only in her mother tongue, Madam Nikolaevna had effortlessly succeeded not only in teaching me the Russian language and piano, but also how to sit and walk and talk like a proper lady.
She wasn’t surprised when I phoned and asked if I could spend a week or two in her cottage in Linden Hill, a village about fifty miles west of Boston.
“What’s going on, Yelisaveta?” she asked as we sat in her living room, drinking strong black tea.
“Heartache,” I said, smiling at the Russian version of my name. Madam Nikolaevna had never called me anything else.
“Sometimes you have to go through lots of heartache to feel lots of joy. Let it hurt, there is no way around it. But not for too long. And don’t think too much. Overthinking creates problems that aren’t there.”
“I know, Madam Nikolaevna. I won’t stay long. I need another favor, though. May I borrow one of your cars? I’m not sure if mine is ready to hit the road.”
“My car” was my parents’ old Mercedes. I wasn’t ready to sell it—it still smelled of my mother’s perfume and my dad’s cologne. It was too big for me to drive it. When I rented the house to the Norwegian Consulate, Madam Nikolaevna offered for me to keep it in her spacious garage. She understood my reluctance to get rid of it. Her elegant house was filled with family history: paintings, furniture, heirloom jewelry, beautiful decorative objects.
She eyed me suspiciously. “Your car is in perfect condition. Are you hiding from someone, Yelisaveta?”
I sighed and told Madam Nikolaevna everything I could about my relationship with Brian. “I need to be alone for a while. Brian has, er, friends, who can track down my car.” Providing they knew about the Benz, that is, since it wasn’t mentioned in Lily’s report. But knowing her, it wouldn’t surprise me if she’d found out and already filled that gap.
“Take the Chevrolet,” Madam Nikolaevna said. “I don’t drive it much anyway. I like my Corolla better.”
“Thank you. I’ll be back in a couple of days.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
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I ARRIVED IN LINDEN Hill in the early afternoon. Madam Nikolaevna’s wooden cottage, where she still spent every July and August, was a small and cozy place.
As I unlocked the door and stepped in, I realized it hadn’t changed much since I was young and traveled to the village with my parents to spend the last week of Madam Nikolaevna’s retreat as her guests.
It was clean and warm. A big fire burned in the fireplace thanks to Madam Nikolaevna’s next-door neighbor, who took care of the cottage over the year.
I unpacked my suitcase and walked with Luna to the center of the village to buy some food for us.
Some friendly villagers recognized me, greeting me.
Back home I gave Luna her kibble and made myself a sandwich, but unlike my faithful companion, I didn’t have an appetite. My stomach was queasy, I was tired and sleepy. I took the plate with my food to the living room, nestled on the sofa and turned on the TV. Luna jumped up and sat beside me, her head in my lap. She sensed my sadness and tried to comfort me.
To make it worse, I stumbled upon the latest version of Jane Eyre, which triggered a long cry.
It didn’t stop when the movie was over.
What had I done? I thought, miserably. I had my peace and quiet. I had time to think, Brian had to time to think, yet I missed him with such intensity that I couldn’t breathe.
It was hard to imagine Brian just sitting and contemplating my leaving. He would be out of his mind with worry. I should stop this nonsense.
But I knew I wouldn’t call him. Not yet. I couldn’t even explain why. It looked like some weird emotional test, necessary to find the answers. Maybe I hoped Brian would find me even though I’d made it almost impossible, using prepaid phones, cash and Madam Nikolaevna’s car.
Or perhaps ... It was hard to explain it rationally. I’d give my life for Jacob Wakefield, and I was grateful and relieved Brian had been able to save him. But, but, but ... I was pitiful, selfish, I felt small and unworthy, but I couldn’t help but think how easily Brian had put his wolf under control to help Jacob and Molly. Yet, he couldn’t have done that for me, letting me travel back and forth between Rosenthal and Copper Ridge and bring myself to the edge of exhaustion. Not even the “Christian factor” was motivating enough. Brian hated me working with Christian, he was jealous and possessive, yet it wasn’t enough to tame his wolf so that he could join me in Rosenthal.
And then, there was Ennis. He knew I hated her constant presence in our lives and her endless renovation projects in the house, which I loved as it was. Yet, he hadn’t done anything about it. He had to be aware of her attraction to him as I had been of Christian’s to me. Had he done enough to discourage her?
The words he’d said to me that condom-incident night kept coming back to my mind, bringing with them that dreadful feeling of betrayal: We don’t need that kind of complication now.
They shattered my confidence in his feelings for me. What if we had conceived a baby that night? He’d offered to marry me, that’s for sure, but would he truly love me, or would he feel trapped?
I closed my eyes, too tired to think. It was easier to cry, although tears wouldn’t bring relief.
So, I cried and cried and cried until there were no tears left. And then I cried some more.
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IT WAS MORNING, THE second week into my voluntary exile. Feeling a tad better than the night before, I put on my terry robe and padded to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee, my first after days of ginger tea.
By the time I came out of the bathroom, the coffee was ready. I poured myself a cup, added a little bit of sugar and a splash of milk and took a sip.
Bile rose in my throat. I spit coffee into the sink, retching. Nothing came out; my stomach was empty.
I rinsed my mouth and, holding my nose, poured the coffee down the drain.
So deeply I believed I had serious fertility issues that it took me forever to admit to myself what was truly going on.
I didn’t have a stomach migraine. They didn’t last that long. They didn’t feel like that. It wasn’t a stomach bug either.
I leaned against the kitchen counter and thought. I’d been sick every morning for quite a while. I couldn’t stand some food. I was sensitive to smells. I was tired and sleepy. My breasts were tender and bigger. My mouth tasted as if I had licked a penny.
And my period was very, very late.
The realization struck me with the force of a thunderbolt.
Dazzled, I walked back to my bedroom and sat on the bed, hand across my abdomen. Luna jumped up and nestled beside me.
“I’m pregnant,” I whispered as if in a trance.
The new life had taken hold in my womb, growing healthy and strong.
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WITH HER IMPECCABLE instincts, Luna made a happy bark, launched herself on me and showered my face with wet dog kisses.
“That uncanny woman, she knew right away, you know,” I blabbered. “Lottie always knows everything before you. And Lani was suspicious. She’s a nurse, she can recognize a woman in a hormonal grip.”
I laughed and cried, letting tears wash away the years of fear of infertility and anxiety because my biological clock was ticking, of panic that I wouldn’t have time to find the right partner or the right fertility clinic.
Then, a moment after, something strange and wonderful happened. The fog of emotional confusion and uncertainty lifted, and everything started falling into place.
I knew I would become a blaidd benywaidd. That’s why I had seen myself as a wolf in my dreams many times. My subconscious had taken care to prepare me for the big change lying ahead. I wanted my child—a half-werewolf—to be born in the werewolf realm, where he’d be safe and protected. Or perhaps she?
I understood Brian might never love me as much as I loved him, and that was okay. It was also possible he did love me as much as I loved him, only he wasn’t aware of it. And that was okay, too. He would know, soon.
Becoming his wife wasn’t important to me anymore. I wanted Brian’s heart, not his ring, and if he was ready to give me his heart, I didn’t need anything else.
I stood up and walked to the living room. I put on my coat, boots, cap, scarf and mittens. It was early December and it was bone-chilly outside, in spite of the crystal blue sky and plenty of sunshine.
I walked the short distance to the pharmacy. Luna, happy and excited with my happiness and excitement, cheerfully bounced around me.
I bought a bottle of prenatal vitamins and a pregnancy kit. Not that I needed confirmation, I just wanted to see that little plus sign on the pregnancy stick once I peed over it.
The cashier, a woman in her mid-fifties, smiled at me as she ran my items through the scanner.
“I’m pregnant,” I said with a beaming smile, my eyes misting again. And I knew, with absolute certainty that was coming from the still unknown depth of my soul and mind, that it was going to be a healthy pregnancy.
“Congratulations!” she said warmly. “Take care. And have a great day.”
My next stop was the village bakery.
“I’m pregnant,” I said to the middle-aged woman behind the counter. She gave me a motherly smile. “I’m glad for you, sweetheart. How far along are you?”
“Oh, it’s only beginning.”
“Take care,” she said and refused to charge me for the loaf of rye bread, adding that it might help with morning sickness in case I suffered from it.
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“WE’RE GOING HOME TOMORROW,” I said to Luna as we walked back to the cottage. “Soon I’ll need to see a doctor for the test and first check-up.”
That night I slept like a baby.
The morning had brought more changes. Or rather, now that I knew what caused them, I let myself notice and welcome them. Although I still had morning sickness, my skin radiated with a healthy glow, my hair regained its shine, my curls were back. I didn’t want to straighten them anymore. I liked it as it was, gorgeously wild. My breasts felt heavy, bigger, my nipples enlarged and darkened; my hips rounded a tiny bit. I’d never looked more beautiful to myself.
There was another, bigger change inside me, on the mental and spiritual level, a deep, fundamental shift.
I’d started sensing my future wolf.
My mind was insufficient to grasp the concept of changing from one species to another, so I let my spirit, my emotions and my instincts embrace it. I wasn’t afraid, only excited. I knew it wouldn’t harm my baby. He—or she—had initiated it, after all.
I had only my human words to describe it. It felt like the presence of another being inside me. I didn’t hear voices in my head; nobody controlled my thoughts or actions. I didn’t feel split. Just the opposite, I felt very much whole. It was as if my mind and my soul had found many other paths of thinking, feeling and experiencing, richer and stronger than before. I had questions and that other part had answers. I had fears and doubts; my other part soothed them. I was happy, and that part made me feel it even more intensely. I saw, felt and understood the world around me in a new, deeper way. The hiding was over. I didn’t know about Brian, but I had my answers. I knew what to do.
It had snowed a little bit the previous night, but the morning was sunny and relatively warm. As soon as the roads were clean and dry, Luna and I set back to Boston.
I’d call Brian from there and together we’d decide what to do.
No matter what happened, I knew we’d always have the child we’d made together.