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England had entered the third year of the dreadful war that by now had taken the lives of millions worldwide. As I stood before the mirror in my ninth month of pregnancy, nothing of substance had changed except my burgeoning belly. Infrequent correspondence transpired between Martin and Stefan while Benedict announced he would soon return for a long overdue leave. As an officer, he had been entitled to a leave every three months but had forgone that privilege for some time. I thought his actions ill-advised, but his patriotism and determination to help win the war hindered him from doing otherwise.
Celia had been a great comfort to me in months past as we kept our promises to keep Stefan in prayer. Naturally, I made sure to pray for Benedict in the same breath, lest she question my reasons. In her childlike trust, she witnessed in me no ulterior motives nor did she suspect I carried anything but friendly concern for her brother. Doctor Reyer, on the other hand, had remained aloof toward me during my pregnancy, and we never spoke again of the affair.
Olivia had insisted I attend her wedding, which I did to honor her request, in spite of my pregnant state. It had been a small, private affair instead of a large, lavish church wedding. Outwardly she appeared happy enough with her newfound husband. Her parents, of course, were delighted with her change of heart. Nevertheless, a part of me remained sorrowful over the loss of Thomas and her latest decisions.
On the day of Benedict’s arrival, I waited at home while our driver picked him up at the station. It had been a miserable pregnancy, and in the last weeks, my feet had swollen and my lower back ached with every movement. Florence and I invited the staff to stand out of doors to welcome his long overdue visit. Nervously I waited alongside his mother and watched the car approach and come to a halt. The chauffeur opened the door. Benedict’s boots slowly met the pebbled driveway, but with his hat and head bowed downward, I could not see his face. His movements appeared labored until gradually Benedict adjusted his posture and stood upright.
Nothing could have prepared me for what I witnessed. Compared to his first leave, Benedict looked in his sixties. The few strands of gray in his temples had blended into a noticeable white patch. Deep lines etched his forehead, and his eyebrows furrowed together as if they were positioned in a permanent frown. Benedict expressed no joy or pleasure when he glanced at his mother and me, his lips pressed in a straight line. Heartbroken at the sight of him, I stepped forward and greeted him with a soft kiss on his right cheek. He tilted his head away, avoiding a prolonged show of affection.
“Benedict, darling, welcome home.” His eyes scanned the staff standing at attention, and he flashed a noticeable scowl.
“Dismiss them,” he commanded under his breath.
Shocked at his attitude, I stepped away. He walked past me and headed for his mother. As he stood talking to her, I glanced at Carter who appeared as confused as I had been at my husband’s actions.
“You may thank the staff, but I think it is best they return to their duties.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Carter nodded at me and quietly dismissed everyone while I returned to Benedict’s side. He had already taken his mother’s arm and stepped through the threshold into the foyer. When Benedict halted, an air of irritation swirled in the atmosphere.
“I am exhausted, so if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to retire.” His shoulders drooped in a defeated manner, and I glanced at Florence, whose face displayed the same concern as my own.
“Let me at least walk with you to the bedchamber,” I offered. Surprised he didn’t protest, I climbed the stairs alongside him. He clutched the railing the entire way to the top and then halted after hearing me pant from being out of breath. It felt as if I were carrying a ten-pound sack of potatoes around my waist with each step.
“I’m sorry, Grace, I should have given you my arm.” His eyes lowered to my abdomen as his hand touched my rounded belly. “Boy or girl, you think?”
“Girl,” I quickly announced. “If it were a boy, I’d probably be carrying the load a bit lower. At least that is your mother’s wise conclusion.”
“Yes, I can see you are carrying this baby higher than you did Percy.” A small grin curled the corner of his lips. When our eyes met, his gaze appeared empty as if his soul had departed. I knew then the war had taken its toll in more ways than I could imagine.
“Why don’t you go to our room, get undressed, and climb into bed,” I suggested. “You look weary, Benedict.”
“I intend to,” he said. “Peace and quiet is what I crave.”
“I understand.” Purposely, I did not follow him as he opened the door to our bedroom suite and disappeared. A myriad of emotions stirred inwardly, resurrecting thoughts of Stefan still on the front lines. What, if anything, had it done to him by now, being back in the thick of fighting?
Filled with distress, I went downstairs and found Florence in the parlor staring out the window. After hearing me enter, she turned around. Her hands clutched together in a worrisome manner.
“Something’s wrong,” she blurted. “Benedict is not well.”
Sharing her concern, I agreed. “He appears exhausted not only physically but mentally.” My back ached, and I swiftly sat down to ease the discomfort. “Perhaps whatever rest we can give him while on leave will help restore him before he returns.”
“I do hope so,” Florence replied. “Honestly, I wish he would never return.”
While Florence was talking, the baby gave me a good kick. “Oh dear,” I moaned. “This child is anxious to be free of my womb.” My hand rubbed over the spot where the baby had announced its presence, causing me to smile. I thought perhaps I would have at least another week or two before birth, but a second later my water broke, gushing between my legs.
“Oh dear God in heaven.” I squealed. “Florence!” Seeping through my dress and running down my legs, the mortification snatched the breath from my lungs. Florence moved to my side and bellowed at the top of her voice for Carter. He entered the room in a tizzy, took one look at me, the puddle on the floor, and gasped.
“I’ll call the physician immediately,” he blurted in horror.
“Oh, Florence, this is too soon. I wanted Benedict to rest.” I groaned, feeling the first pangs of labor.
“Come along now,” she calmly cajoled. “We’ll put you in my bedroom to birth the baby and let him sleep through it all if he can.”
“You expect me not to scream when this child rips me apart?” I asked, struggling to stand on my feet. Already I felt like shouting at the top of my lungs for the inopportune moment the baby had chosen to arrive.
“You’ll do just fine.” Florence comforted me.
Nothing would be all right. Childbirth could never be a pleasant occurrence and was always fraught with the possibility of terrible outcomes for the mother and baby. Desperately I needed the comfort of a man and my husband’s reassurance, but once again, Benedict could not satisfy my need.
* * * *
AFTER A THANKFUL SHORT five hours of labor, my body finally released the child within. A little girl came into the world, screaming and crying with a shrill tone. When I had the opportunity to hold her in my arms, she was tiny compared to Percy, who had been a hefty boy at birth. The ruddy-faced girl who cried with her eyes closed felt like a soft feather pillow.
“She so small.” Concerned, I glanced up at our family practitioner, Doctor Radcliffe.
“Yes, she’s a bit underweight.”
Florence, who like an angel had been with me throughout my ordeal, gave me an encouraging smile. “Benedict will be so pleased.”
Benedict. I had barely thought about him during the delivery, and a pang of guilt stabbed my heart.
“Is he all right?”
“Yes, he’s waiting in the hall.”
Nanny Jane took the baby from my arms. “Let me clean her up,” she said. “Doctor Radcliffe wants to take a look at her.”
“Yes, of course.” I watched as he listened to her heart, checked every finger and toe, and apparently seemed pleased at her health. Nanny Jane helped clean up the afterbirth and bloodied sheets. Florence didn’t appear to care I had given birth in her bed because I knew she had given birth to Benedict in the same room over forty years ago.
Their fussing over me ended, and the baby came back into my arms. With love, I observed the adorable, swaddled girl. She had stopped screaming and peered up at me with brilliant blue eyes. Blond tufts of hair made her look like a porcelain doll. The babe held none of my dark-haired features or those of Benedict’s, and I feared he would notice.
“Let me go get him.” Florence said, seemingly unaffected by her granddaughter’s features.
“I wouldn’t worry about her size,” Doctor Radcliffe said. “She’s small but seems hearty enough. Keep her warm and well fed, and I’m sure she’ll put on weight soon.”
A few minutes later, Benedict entered the room with Florence. He ambled to the side of my bed and gazed down at the baby.
“We have a daughter. Would you like to hold her?” Waiting for him to respond, he merely stared at her with a blank expression on his face. He showed no emotion of joy at her arrival or aversion either. When he wouldn’t take her, I hugged her tightly to my breast.
“She’s tiny,” he somberly remarked.
“Yes, compared to Percy, she is a few pounds lighter.”
Suddenly Florence spoke as she came to stand by Benedict’s side. “She has my mother’s eyes and complexion. Even her little button nose.”
“Your mother was Swedish, was she not?” I asked her, hoping to reiterate the likeness.
“Yes, from Stockholm.”
“Then I am happy she carries your family traits.” Naturally, I would never really know if her fairness was due to Stefan’s genes or that of Florence’s mother. Nevertheless, the baby had arrived. “What shall we name her?” I asked. Benedict did not respond as he continued to stare at the baby. Turning to Florence, I asked. “Wasn’t your mother’s name Amelia?”
“Yes.” Her eyes brightened with a hopeful glint.
“Then I would like to name her Amelia Florence.” Looking up at Benedict, I entreated his agreement. “What do you think, darling?”
Suddenly the baby started to wail in my arms. Benedict stepped back and scowled. Her shrill voice caused him to bring his hands to his ears, and he shook his head.
“Make her stop that noise,” he pleaded.
“Honey, she’s a baby,” I cajoled him. “She’s going to cry.” My reasoning had no effect upon Benedict. He spun around, pushed past Florence, and left the room. Shocked at his outburst, Florence gawked at his behavior.
“I’ll go tend to him.” She sighed.
When she left, I spoke to Doctor Radcliffe, who was closing his bag and preparing to leave.
“Something is wrong with him,” I cried. “He hasn’t been himself since he came home from France earlier today.”
“When was the last time the baron had taken a leave?”
“At least nine months,” I answered, glancing down at the baby making a gesture.
He shook his head. “We’ve been seeing many men in the hospital who are returning with multiple symptoms. Depression, anxiety, sensitivity to loud noises. My peers and I agree it is some type of battle fatigue after being on the front lines for prolonged periods.”
Troubled that Benedict suffered this malady, I pointedly asked, “Tell me what I can do for him?”
“Rest. He needs quiet too.”
Considering my darling little girl in my arms, I didn’t want Benedict to go back to war. What I wanted was this war to be over and another chance to make things right in my marriage.
“Let me take her now.” Nanny Jane came to my bedside. “You need rest too, my lady.”
The fatigue of childbirth swiftly engulfed me, and I felt utterly drained.
“I agree,” Doctor Radcliffe firmly stated. “It’s time for you to do the same.”
When they left the room and closed the door, I promptly fell asleep.
