SISTERS
Amala finally fell asleep at dawn and didn’t awake until nearly noon, which meant she’d missed breakfast and would likely miss lunch if she didn’t hurry and get dressed. She felt sure that Paulina or her mother would have peeked in on her and found her sleeping and left her undisturbed; they both had enough insight to realize she probably hadn’t slept well.
Impulsively, Amala decided to wear some of her new Indian clothing, and she was grateful when Lekha came to her room to offer assistance, as if she’d been sitting in the next room waiting for evidence that Amala was awake. When Amala came right out and asked, Lekha admitted she had been reading in a comfortable chair in the sitting room adjacent to Amala’s bedroom.
Lekha helped Amala with the new clothing, explaining how to drape the pieces of fabric appropriately in order to be sufficiently covered but also to wear them according to tradition. Amala loved the feel of the fabric, and she loved even more the way she felt about herself when she looked in the mirror and observed the transformation.
“Oh, you look so very lovely, memsahib,” Lekha observed with enthusiasm.
“It feels very good,” Amala admitted. “And again . . . you don’t need to call me that.”
“You said it was a lovely word to hear spoken; therefore, I will speak it at least some of the time.”
“Fair enough,” Amala said.
While Lekha helped Amala with her hair—insisting that she do so because it was something she enjoyed doing very much—Amala asked the woman questions about herself. Lekha loved reading very much, and the fact that she’d been given permission to read anything from the library in the house felt like a miracle to her. She also loved England and expressed great humility and gratitude for being given the opportunity to now live in this new country. In that way, Amala understood her completely. They both loved their homeland and could appreciate its beauty, but they had also both observed its many challenges and were glad to live a more peaceful life than any they would have been able to live in India, given their lack of family or money prior to being taken in by such a generous English family. Amala was glad that Lekha had been able to come here with her husband and father-in-law, which meant she had family of her own who shared her racial genetics. In that respect, Amala couldn’t deny some degree of envy. It seemed Lekha had gotten the best of both worlds. Amala would have gladly taken on the work required of Lekha in order to have a fuller life. But that choice was not open to Amala, and she needed to remind herself that she had already come to terms with that.
Amala felt as if she could have talked with Lekha all day, but it was time for lunch, and she hurried off with the promise that they would continue their conversation later. In the dining room, Amala found her parents and Paulina were already seated but had not yet begun to eat. Henry was eating lunch upstairs with Kat, and Amala wondered if the fact that Kat remained in her room so much of the time was due to her pregnancy or the cancer-related pain Henry had told her about.
Paulina and Amala’s parents were very complimentary about Amala’s apparel, and she couldn’t deny how comfortable it was in contrast to all those corsets and petticoats, as Henry had put it.
After lunch, Amala went straight to Kat’s room. Now that she’d had some time to get used to what was happening, she felt a strong need to just be with her sister, even though it meant avoiding any talk of cancer. They had always been close, had always spent a great deal of time together. And now Amala had been gone a very long time and Kat was married. But their sisterhood had not changed, and Amala wanted Kat to know that. She also wanted to spend as much time with her sister as she possibly could without intruding upon Kat’s time with her husband. She knew that Henry was with Kat now, but she at least wanted to check in on her sister and find out when it might be a good time for them to catch up.
At the top of the stairs, Amala turned a corner and nearly bumped into Henry, who was coming from the other direction. Before either of them could even exchange a hello, she saw his eyes widen as he took in the way she was dressed, and he said, “You look . . .”
“What?” she pressed when he didn’t finish.
“So . . . comfortable; at home. I was searching for the right words.”
“I like it,” Amala admitted, pressing her hands down the soft, blue silk she was wearing. “I want to thank you . . . for being so thoughtful. It means more than I can say.”
“I think I understand,” he said.
“Yes, I think you do.”
“And you’re welcome.”
“I . . . was just going to check in on Kat,” Amala said. “Is she resting? Should I wait to—”
“She’s more comfortable lying down, but she’s often restless. I’m certain she would enjoy your company.”
“We have a great deal of catching up to do,” Amala said.
“I’m certain you do.” Henry smiled, and it was easy to pretend there was nothing wrong. “And since I have promised to help your father with some estate business, I will leave the two of you to gossip and giggle to your hearts’ content.”
Amala laughed softly at his words, mostly because she couldn’t deny it was true. She suddenly felt the deprivation of being away from her sister for so long; she was surely in need of a great deal of sisterly gossip and giggling, and she had to assume Kat was as well.
Before they parted ways, Amala hurried to say something she’d wanted to say to him long before she came home, but there had been so much drama taking place. “I was so sorry to hear about Everett.”
Henry looked down and heaved a deep sigh. “Yes, it was difficult. He was a very good friend to me.”
“And to me,” Amala said and allowed their shared memories of his part in their relationship to speak for itself.
“I still find myself wishing I could go out there and talk to him,” Henry added.
“Yes, I’ve been feeling that way myself since I got home,” Amala said.
Henry told her a little about the funeral service her father had arranged. They talked for another minute or two before Amala hurried on to Kat’s room while Henry went down the stairs. She found Kat propped up with pillows, reading a book, but her face brightened to see Amala enter the room. She raved about how beautiful Amala looked in her new clothes and went on to declare that she personally didn’t feel suited to the Indian clothing, but she loved seeing Amala dressed that way.
Amala sat in the middle of the bed in a way that had always been common for her and Kat, but she loved the comfort of the clothes she was wearing, recalling how her most relaxed conversations with Kat had usually occurred when they’d both been wearing their nightgowns. Kat was still wearing what she had slept in, but Amala was glad to not be wearing a corset and petticoats.
Their visit stretched all the way to teatime while Kat asked all kinds of questions about Amala’s travels, and she also shared details she’d not written in letters about how she’d grown to love Henry and about their courting and getting married. Amala initially felt a little disconcerted to think of the relationship she’d once shared with Henry, but she’d come to terms with all of that and it only took a minute or two to feel completely comfortable with hearing all about the love that Kat and Henry had come to share. Amala was not at all surprised to hear Kat describe what a kind and loving man he was and how her observance of many other men in her social circles had quickly drawn her to the conclusion that she would never find a better man than Henry Beckenridge. She had been thrilled with Henry’s idea to sell his home and combine his resources with those of her own family, and Amala loved hearing of how her parents had burst into joyful tears when Henry had presented the idea to them. In spite of their pleasure over Henry and Kat getting married, they had both been dreading the thought of Kat living elsewhere; even with regular visits back and forth, it just wouldn’t have been the same.
Pearl brought tea to Kat’s room for the two of them, along with a message from their mother for them to visit as long as Kat felt up to it. The entire family knew that the sisters would have much to talk about. Amala loved every minute with Kat as the strength of their bond was rekindled. She knew these years apart had been absolutely necessary—in ways Kat didn’t know about—but Amala was glad to have now come home and to renew her sisterhood with Kat. And for now she chose not to think about how what they were sharing would be temporary. Later, when she was alone, she could cry if she felt the need. While she was with Kat, she was completely all right with following Kat’s example of enjoying the present and making the most of the time they had together.
* * * *
Suppertime was drawing near when Henry went to the room he shared with Kat to see if she felt up to going to the dining room or if she preferred to have a tray brought up. Some days were more difficult than others, and he never knew exactly what to expect. However, he suspected that the bad days would become more frequent until she would never be able to leave her bed at all. But he couldn’t think about that. He just had to keep moving forward, day by day, and not think about the past or the future. He could only think of the present and try to do as Kat had pleaded with him to do: make the most of what they had.
Henry knocked lightly, not certain if Amala might still be here with Kat and not wanting to intrude on their sister time. When he heard no reply he opened the door carefully and peered into the room to see that both women were asleep. They were facing each other as if they’d drifted off in the middle of relaxed conversation. Beyond that, the only thing they had in common was their bare feet. There was no similarity in their appearance or coloring, nor in the way they were dressed. Kat had changed from her nightgown into a red dress since he’d last been in the room; Amala must have helped her. He carefully closed the door and leaned against it, just taking in the sight as if it were a painting that he never wanted to forget. Sisters, he would have called it. And the stark contrasts in the two women made the bonds they shared all the more beautiful.
Henry didn’t want to disturb them, but he knew that if he didn’t remind them that supper would soon be served, someone else would do so. He sat carefully on the edge of the bed next to Kat and pressed a kiss to her face while at the same time letting his fingers comb through her golden curls. She turned to look at him and smiled, so he kissed her lips.
“Sorry to wake you,” he said, “but it’s nearly suppertime. Do you feel up to coming downstairs?”
He saw her shift slightly, which he’d come to recognize as an indication of her pain. He was pleased when she smiled again and said, “I would love to come downstairs. Is Amala . . .”
She paused when he pointed to the other side of the bed, and Kat turned her head to see Amala sleeping.
“Oh, my,” Kat said. “The poor dear must be exhausted.”
“It was a long journey to get home,” he said, and didn’t add that he suspected she likely hadn’t slept well last night, given the news she’d received. “I’ll let you wake her,” Henry whispered. “I don’t want to embarrass her. Would you like me to wait for you in the hall or—”
“We’ll see you in the dining room,” she said and kissed him again. “Let them know we’re coming.”
“Don’t be long,” he whispered close to her ear. “I’ve not seen nearly enough of your beautiful face today.”
Kat laughed softly, and Henry slipped quietly out of the room. He wondered for a moment—as he often did—what it would be like when she was no longer here. But a moment was all he allowed himself before he forced his mind to the present and went down the stairs.
* * * *
The weeks of summer slipped by while Henry often felt as if he were an observer of his own life, looking at it somehow from the outside in. Everyone in the household was pleased—although no one more than himself—when Kat’s pain seemed to have reached a plateau. She was troubled by it more some days than others, but it wasn’t worsening, and she was actually getting around quite well and living a fairly normal life. Seeing Kat like this made it easier for everyone else in the family to follow her example of pretending that nothing was wrong, even though Henry couldn’t forget for more than a few minutes that all of this was temporary, and he knew the other members of the family felt the same. They talked about it amongst themselves here and there when Kat wasn’t present. Being united in their love and support of Kat, they had all agreed that they should express their feelings and concerns to each other when they felt the need, rather than holding them inside. And so the days became a balancing act between living life in the present—with Kat at the center—and making the most of it, pretending it could go on this way forever, while at the same time contending with feelings too frightening and horrible to comprehend. Having others who shared those feelings proved more invaluable every day, but it sometimes felt like a game of cat and mouse to make certain Kat never caught any of them expressing their grief or talking about her illness and their feelings about it.
Henry made a point of spending time alone with Kat every day. They would lounge in the library or sometimes just in their rooms, and occasionally they would walk in the gardens or even go on a picnic when the weather was fair. He knew it was important for himself—and for her—that they spend this time together. He didn’t want to have any regrets in regard to his marriage in spite of—or perhaps especially because of—its brevity. And he could easily see that Kat was happier and more at ease when she was given regular doses of evidence of his love for her. The theory certainly went both ways; he felt as if he were starving for every morsel of her love and her life, and he could feel the sand running through the hourglass of her time in this world. He wanted to hold that sand securely in his hands and not let it fall, but every day he felt it slipping between his fingers while he could do nothing to stop it.
While Henry believed that his personal time with Kat was absolutely essential, he also felt it was equally important for her to spend time with her family. Her parents, her sister, and even her aunt, were all struggling with their own grief over the prospect of losing Kat, and they all wanted to share in the present with her as much as possible. It would be ridiculous for Henry to think he could give Kat everything she needed. Every member of her family loved her and contributed greatly to her happiness. And he felt happier when he observed her father teasing her, her mother fussing tenderly over her, her aunt regaling her with tales of her adventures around the world, and he was especially pleased when Amala strengthened her with the bond of sisterhood they shared. He was quite in awe—though he figured he shouldn’t have been surprised—by how integrated Kat and Amala were in their relationship and how Kat thrived on her time with Amala. Even while he gave them their deserved privacy, he often couldn’t keep himself from checking on them or hovering nearby. He never eavesdropped, but he regularly overheard them caught up in girlish laughter, or sometimes he heard them crying together. He hoped that meant Amala might be helping Kat come to terms with her impending prognosis, but he didn’t ask either of them about their conversations. He just gratefully put his wife into the care of her sister for a few hours every day, and he dreaded the time when they would have nothing to do but talk about all the things that had been said and done when Kat had been alive and with them.
Very few visitors came to the house. Dr. Cowell came once or twice a week, and his bedside manner was as welcome as his medical expertise. He always made Kat laugh and helped put the matters of her health into perspective. From all the evidence he could gather, the cancer growth wasn’t changing much, and the baby was growing at a normal rate and everything appeared to be progressing well in regard to the pregnancy. Everyone agreed that prayers were being answered, since they all had the sincere hope that the baby would be born normal and healthy in spite of the cancer. Henry had difficulty even comprehending there would be a baby. He could admit that he found it challenging to place too much hope in that eventuality when he was so focused on wishing that Kat would somehow escape the evil menace of cancer and have a miraculous recovery. He knew that Kat’s greatest hope was to give this child life before she lost her own, but Henry couldn’t tell her that the idea of having a child without her around to share in that child’s life just didn’t hold any appeal for him at this point. He could only pray that if it turned out that way, his feelings would change and he would be given the strength to get through it. For now he simply appreciated the doctor’s regular visits and how he had a way of lifting Kat’s spirits.
Besides Dr. Cowell, there were only a few local people who came by to visit occasionally. These were the friends of Oliver and Viola who had no problem with the fact that they had an Indian daughter and that their household now included Indian servants. These people also appreciated the Indian cuisine that was sometimes served when they might stay for a meal. As friends of Kat’s parents, they had been made aware of the cancer, but that meant they were also sworn to the household pact of not discussing it in front of Kat. Henry liked these people well enough, but he most often left the older generation to visit with them, and he was most comfortable when there was no company in the house.
In fact, it was becoming more and more evident that choosing to remain mostly isolated from the world was a character trait he shared with the family he had married into. Paulina was the exception in the way she seemed to need regular social interaction outside of the family, and she sometimes went into the village just to be among people, eat at one of the pubs, or do a little shopping. She usually took Miles or Ivy—or both—with her, and they often came back with little gifts for Kat, Amala, and Viola. And sometimes for the servants. Henry’s admiration and respect for Paulina grew the more he got to know her, and he could understand why Amala had grown so close to her. She was wise and kind and confident in her own place in the world as an unmarried woman who chose to live a full and happy life, seeing only the good and handling difficulties with courage and dignity. She had much in common with Amala, and he could see that her influence on Amala had been nothing but good. And Paulina’s presence in the home through this time of crisis proved to be a blessing in numerous ways. Kat always loved her time with her aunt, and Paulina had a unique knack for making Kat feel pampered and cared for.
The family all attended church together on Sundays; Kat was able to attend about half the time, although Henry knew she would gradually become less able to go out. Henry had no illusions over the kind of man the vicar really was; he’d seen for himself the evidence of this man’s prejudiced and judgmental attitudes, which made his sermons on the teachings of Jesus feel nothing but hypocritical to Henry. But he couldn’t refuse to attend church without appearing offensive to Kat and her parents, and he couldn’t very well explain the reasons for his intense dislike for the man. So he learned to allow his mind to go elsewhere during the sermons, trying in a way to come up with his own version of how Jesus Himself might have taught—and shown by example—the principles of love and kindness to all people. And he secretly felt rather proud of himself to think how scandalized the vicar would be if he came to their home and saw how much the servants—both English and Indian alike—were all treated more like friends and companions. The man would be appalled! He would also be horrified with the way members of the household often wore Indian clothing while at home. The thought made Henry smile. He knew it was perhaps prideful for him to believe that Jesus would likely be offended with this man for preaching sermons that contradicted his own behavior toward his fellow men. But Henry believed it anyway.
His belief was strengthened by the fact that the entire community was aware that Kat had cancer and it was serious, but not once had the vicar or his wife come to call on the family to inquire about the situation and to see what they—or their congregation—might do to offer support. Henry knew they were blessed as a household to have everything they needed and more. But he believed in prayer, and he would have liked to think that a clergyman could offer support and compassion and urge his congregation to pray for someone in such a situation. Henry believed that if it was a person’s time to go, expecting a miracle to change that would be foolish. It was more accurate that he believed prayers and faith could strengthen and sustain the people facing severe challenges. He would have liked to think of people praying for them, but as it was, he knew there were only a very few outside of the household who were, and they were the loyal friends of his new family. Still, he felt enormously blessed to be part of such a family, and he devoted a great deal of mental energy each day to counting his blessings.
As Kat’s pregnancy progressed, Henry found himself more able to think of what it might be like to have a child. The baby was moving a great deal; he’d even felt the evidence himself and marveled at the miracle. With the cancerous growth not appearing to be getting any larger, and Kat’s belly growing much larger, the baby took over his thinking and helped him be less preoccupied with the cancer. The family all took on much the same attitude, and many of the servants became caught up in the excitement of the pending arrival.
A room across the hall was cleared out, and the walls received a fresh coat of paint in a pale yellow color that offered the effect of sunlight, even on cloudy days. The room was then gradually filled with all the furnishings needed to care for a baby, and after that, little clothes and diapers and blankets began accumulating. Paulina never came back from one of her shopping excursions without bringing one more thing for the baby. All of it made the idea of a baby more real, and Kat loved to sit in the nursery in the comfortable rocking chair there and just talk about the baby. Henry knew that Kat often had Amala or her mother take out all of the little pieces of clothing so they could look at them and speculate over the joy the baby would bring to their home, and together they’d refold everything and put it back. Henry found the ritual endearing, and he could only hope and pray that the cancer had not caused problems they couldn’t see or imagine, and that this baby would be born whole and strong—and that Kat would be strong enough to deliver the baby safely and not be set back by the ordeal too greatly. His fears regarding childbirth would have been inevitable even without this dreadful cancer issue intermixed with it. As it was, he felt engaged in a nearly constant battle within himself to counteract his fears by counting his blessings and focusing on the good of the present, and hoping and praying the future would offer him something worth living for.
* * * *
As the expected arrival of the baby drew ever closer, Henry became keenly aware of the shift in Kat’s habits. She stopped leaving her rooms at all and rarely got out of bed for more than a few minutes at a time. Dr. Cowell had explained to Henry that most women found the final stage of pregnancy to be difficult and uncomfortable. As the baby growing inside of a woman became large enough to consume every tiny bit of space, women naturally experienced much discomfort, and often pain, and in that regard Kat’s symptoms were normal. But the doctor suspected that the cancer growing in Kat likely contributed to her pain. Even though the cancer hadn’t been visibly growing for a few months, there was no way of knowing what it might be doing out of view inside of Kat’s body, and there was evidence that Kat experienced pain from it, even if she did well at trying to conceal it.
With the approaching birth of the baby, Henry couldn’t help but grow more and more anxious over the matter. Dr. Cowell’s kindness and candor in their private conversations meant a great deal to him. He would far rather feel educated and informed about Kat’s condition than be kept in the dark and taken off guard. There was so much the doctor did not know, but he talked to Henry about things he’d personally witnessed in regard to cancer, and he also talked to him in detail about what childbirth typically entailed and how it might—or might not—be different for Kat. There was no way of knowing until it actually happened, and then the doctor admitted he would do everything in his power to help her safely through with as little pain as possible. He told Henry about some relatively new methods of helping a patient be safely unconscious during painful procedures, or if used more sparingly, it could at least help a patient remain more relaxed and less conscious of the pain. He explained that while a woman needed to be conscious enough to assist in pushing a baby out, he felt confident he could monitor her closely through the ordeal, and he promised Henry she would not suffer any more than absolutely necessary in order to bring the baby into the world. And they could only pray that the baby would be born without any ill effects from the cancer.
Henry always shared with the family a general summary of the doctor’s regular reports, and he also shared them with Kat, even though she preferred not to talk about it. In this one way, Henry ignored her edict, believing she needed to understand what was happening to her own body. “We don’t have to talk about it and analyze our feelings over it if you don’t want to,” he’d told her more than once, “but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be informed about what’s going on and why. If your highest priority is giving birth to a healthy baby, then you need to know what the doctor is doing to help make that possible.”
She didn’t protest his reasoning, but she still had very little to say. Henry knew her well enough to know that she was likely terrified of what childbirth would be like—as any woman would be. But she had the extra complication of not knowing how this painful cancerous growth might affect the process, the level of pain, and the outcome. He did his best to reassure her that many people were praying for her, and they had to believe that everything would be all right. Every time Henry tried to offer such reassurances, he felt somewhat hypocritical. If Kat was able to safely deliver this child without too much trauma, they would all consider that a triumph. But then what? Everyone knew that cancer would take her life; they just didn’t know how long before that happened or how much she might suffer before God took her home. Henry sometimes wondered whether that was gradually becoming his own version of believing that everything would be all right; when this was over and Kat was no longer suffering, would everything be all right? For her, perhaps. For him, facing that day only felt like the beginning of a long and dreary existence of attempting to make it through this life without her. But he couldn’t think about that now. He had to focus on being there for his wife, and he offered frequent and fervent prayers that all would go well with the birth of this child. If something was wrong with this baby, or it didn’t survive, it would surely break all of their hearts—most especially Kat’s. He far preferred to imagine Kat leaving this world with the satisfaction of having left a part of herself behind. And Henry wanted that too. If he couldn’t have Kat, then he at least hoped God would be merciful enough to leave him a child that would be living, breathing proof of the love they’d shared and the fact that Kat had lived a meaningful and valuable life—however brief it might have been. And even though the priority of passing down titles and wealth was of little importance to Oliver and Viola, they had both admitted that with Kat being their only child by birth, the idea of their bloodline ending with her was disheartening, to say the least. For that and many other reasons, they were all praying the baby would arrive safe and strong.
Kat’s labor began on a rainy, autumn afternoon. The doctor was summoned, and the maids saw to every preparation according to previous instructions. Then all they could do was wait. For the first few hours, Kat’s pains were not terribly severe, and she had time between each one to relax and take deep breaths according to the doctor’s instructions. Henry sat next to her and held her hand, trying to remain positive, talking about how wonderful it would be to have a baby in their lives and teasing her about ridiculous names they might give the child, which would always make her smile. Amala and Viola were also nearby, offering support but allowing Henry his moments of privacy with his wife. But as Kat’s pains became more intense and closer together, Henry was sent away—as he’d been forewarned would happen—to wait downstairs with Oliver and Paulina. While a part of him longed to remain with Kat, he couldn’t deny his relief in not having to be in the room and witness her suffering, wondering if something awful might happen and she might not even come through alive. He was well aware that even women without cancer sometimes didn’t survive childbirth, and the very idea made him ill. He had accepted it was a possibility that he’d shared his final communication with Kat in this world, but he didn’t think he could bear to be present and witness whatever might be happening.
They chose to wait in the library, since it had larger, more comfortable couches and it was closer to the stairs that went up to the room where Kat was undergoing an ordeal that Henry couldn’t even imagine. A light supper was brought to the library for them, but Henry couldn’t eat in spite of all of Paulina’s encouragement. Her presence kept his mood more light and positive than he felt sure it would have been without her, and he was grateful for that. Oliver was mostly somber and quiet. Henry knew all of this was very difficult for both him and Viola, even though they’d both been incredibly brave and stout over the whole thing. They likely shared a great deal of grief together privately, and they’d admitted that their dreams of becoming grandparents had never included the complications of Kat’s condition, and the knowledge that their daughter was dying. Henry had never imagined becoming a father to be complicated by such drama. But he had no regrets. He’d married Kat for all the right reasons and had given her his whole heart in every way he knew how. She was kind and remarkable, and he wouldn’t trade away anything of what they’d shared, in spite of the extreme challenges. The fact that marrying her had made him a part of the most wonderful family he’d ever known was an added bonus that he considered nothing less than a miracle. He was grateful beyond his ability to express to know that even when Kat finally left them, he would always be a part of the family and that their love and acceptance of him was no less than his was of them. They would be able to help each other through this, whatever happened, even if none of them could comprehend at this point how getting through such a loss might even be possible.
The evening turned to night, with a maid occasionally coming through the open doorway to offer a brief update, which mostly consisted of telling them that according to the doctor, labor was progressing normally and Kat was doing all right. Oliver and Paulina eventually stretched out on two of the couches with blankets and pillows that a maid had brought to the room earlier. But Henry couldn’t relax. Sometimes he could sit for a while, but he never could have slept. More often he was prone to pacing and wringing his hands, wondering if he would ever see his precious Kat alive again, wondering if their child would survive this ordeal and be born without any kind of deformity. Each time his mind wandered into fear, he fought to battle that fear with prayer, trying sincerely to trust that God knew the plan for Kat’s life—and his own—as well as that of this child. Without that belief he felt certain he would surely lose his mind. Overcome with exhaustion but too distressed to get any rest, he mostly sat with his head in his hands, trying very hard to remain positive and believe that his time with Kat was not yet over and that all would be well with the baby.
Not long after the clock in the library had chimed four, Henry heard footsteps enter the library and shot his head up to see Amala instead of a maid.
“What?” he demanded, bolting to his feet.
He didn’t say it loudly, but Paulina and Oliver both sat up, which meant they’d either been awake or only dozing lightly.
Henry saw tears in Amala’s eyes and undeniable strain in her expression, but he couldn’t tell if it was joy and relief in her countenance or if she had something unthinkable and grievous to report. He held his breath, grateful she didn’t hesitate another moment before declaring, “Kat is fine; the baby is fine.”
Henry fell back into the chair, made dizzy by the assault of relief. He silently thanked God while Oliver and Paulina laughed and embraced each other tightly. Henry looked up again at Amala when she added, “It was very difficult for her.” Oliver and Paulina both paused in their joy to listen. “But Dr. Cowell was wonderful, and it’s his hope that this will not set her back too terribly much.” Amala nodded at Henry. “You can go up now.” She turned to the others. “And you can see Kat and the baby in an hour or so, the doctor said. If you want to rest some more, I’ll come and get you.”
Henry hurried out of the room, barely muttering a thank-you to Amala over his shoulder before he fled down the hall and up the stairs, pausing a long moment outside the bedroom door to catch his breath and steady his composure. It was over, and Kat was still alive. For now, nothing else mattered.
Henry entered the room timidly, where Doctor Cowell greeted him with a smile, declaring in a soft voice, “Your wife is a brave, strong woman, Henry. She did remarkably well; childbirth is never easy, but you should be very proud of her.” His smile broadened as he added, “You have a son, and as far as I can see, he’s perfect.”
Henry only nodded in response, since he could feel his composure dissipating. The doctor motioned him toward the bed, and Henry crept tentatively closer. Kat was propped against pillows, looking so pale and still that for a moment he felt some strange presage to how it might be when she died. Her lips were the same unnatural whitish hue as her face. And even though she was apparently relaxed, the strain she’d endured was readily evident. She opened her eyes as he sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand, relieved at the evidence that she was very much alive.
“My darling,” he murmured and kissed her brow. “It’s over.”
She smiled as if she’d never been happier and slowly turned her head, drawing Henry’s attention to the infant at her side, wrapped tightly in a little blanket. “He’s so beautiful, Henry,” Kat said, her voice weak and raspy. “He’s so perfect. And he looks like you. I can see it already.”
Henry could see no sign of life from the baby until an impossibly tiny hand reached up out of the blanket as if to stretch, and at the same time he heard a silly grunting sound that increased his curiosity. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been exposed to an infant of any size, but he’d never seen a newborn, and he had no idea what to expect. He’d been so focused on Kat getting through this alive that he’d not allowed himself to ponder what this moment might be like.
“Pick him up, Henry,” Kat said. “He won’t break. Meet your son.”
Henry leaned over to get a better look at the baby and gasped at his tiny, red face—amazingly adorable even for being wrinkled and puffy. He couldn’t see anything of himself in the face, but he felt the immediate connection of fatherhood surge through him as he carefully lifted the infant into his hands, marveling at how tiny he looked and how little he weighed. He considered a ten-pound sack of flour and knew his son was definitely smaller than that. He chuckled and adjusted the baby into the crook of one arm, cradling it against his chest while he used his other hand to touch the baby’s face and wispy blond hair, and those amazingly tiny hands.
“Ten perfect fingers and toes,” Kat said. “I already counted them.”
“He is perfect,” Henry said, looking at Kat. “I never imagined such a miracle.”
Henry saw a deep solemnity in her eyes and knew they were thinking the same thing. For all her positive attitude and his cautious skepticism, neither of them had known if this day would come, if she would be able to safely deliver a baby under the circumstances. But it had happened, and it was a miracle. No words were needed for both of them to acknowledge that fact, but Kat smiled and said lightly, “O ye of little faith.”
Henry smiled in return, saying simply, “Point taken.” He couldn’t deny that Kat’s faith was an inspiration to him, and her determination to give this child life—no matter what cancer might be doing to her body—made him agree completely with the doctor: his wife was a brave, strong woman.
Henry sat next to Kat on the bed and leaned against the pillows at her side so he could continue to hold the baby and they could admire him together. They had rarely discussed possible names for the baby, but now that he had arrived—a new living and breathing human being—they agreed it didn’t seem right for him not to have a name. It was Kat’s strong opinion that he should be named after his father, who had been given his father’s name.
“It’s a fine name,” Kat said. “Henry George Beckenridge . . . and he shall be the third.”
“It’s a big name for such a tiny baby,” Henry said.
“You do realize you were a baby when you received the name,” Kat said with a little laugh. He could tell she was completely worn out and sleepy, but she was determined to get acquainted with her son before she rested.
“I do realize that,” Henry admitted with a chuckle. “But how do we distinguish him from me? My father went by George, so it was easy, but this little man doesn’t look like a George to me.”
“I should like to call him Harry, a respectable form of the name Henry. And I think it suits him well.”
“I think I agree with you,” Henry said, attempting to comprehend the entire spectrum of how his life had just been altered permanently. He was a father, and this child would be taking his name and changing the lives of everyone who would have the privilege of knowing him. He refused to think of Kat leaving him to raise this child alone; such thoughts could wait for another day. Little Harry was surrounded by family who loved him already, and Henry would make certain he had a good life and that he wanted for nothing—most especially love.
“Harry it is,” Kat declared and let out one of her girlish giggles that he found so endearing. “I can’t believe how darling he is.”
“With such a beautiful mother,” Henry said and kissed the top of Kat’s head, “how could he be otherwise?”
“But he looks like you.”
“If you say so,” Henry said and chuckled as Harry grunted and stretched his arms again, his little face contorting in a way that was adorably comical. Henry absorbed the moment into his spirit, taking the entire experience deep into himself, wanting to hold on to this memory forever. In that moment, life had never been more perfect. He only wished it could last.