9
David’s thoughts flew to the obvious.
Prosperity had not returned home to Nantucket.
Was she waiting for a ship headed north? Hadn’t he given her enough to cover the fare? Regardless of the reason, here she stood, so beautiful and so vulnerable that every fiber ached to go to her. Her presence filled the room with radiance and his heart with regret. He could not hold her, could not console her. They would never rejoice in the birth of their son or daughter. He had thrown that away.
Still, his lips formed her name. He could not look away.
She wavered, and her eyes shut. He stepped forward, but the physician reached her first.
“Miss Jones?” The doctor eased her into a chair and urged her to breathe.
She smiled feebly. “I’m sorry. I feel better now.”
“Do you need something to drink?” The physician, whose name had escaped David’s mind, hovered over her.
“The patient!” the midwife demanded, her gray-streaked black hair wild about her shoulders.
Aileen screamed as if to emphasize the need, and David shuddered. She could not know that Prosperity sat in David’s parlor. In their parlor.
“Go,” Colonel Stormant barked. “I’ll send Dora over with tea. That’ll revive the girl.”
David balked. Prosperity was not an ordinary girl, but there was no one to accept his protest. The doctor hurried up the stairs behind the midwife, who filled him in on every horrifying detail. The colonel barged out of the house, presumably to request tea.
That left David alone with Prosperity.
Her owl eyes stared at him.
What to say? What could he say? No apology could erase the pain he’d caused. Words and gifts fell terribly short. Faced with the opportunity he had longed for, David found himself speechless. He swallowed. He never expected to see her again. Why tonight of all nights? He reached out to her.
She jumped to her feet and stepped beyond reach. “I must attend the patient.”
“Yes.” Her voice mesmerized him. “Thank you.” So inadequate.
“Dr. Goodenow expects me.” Yet she did not move.
“You? Are going to help?”
“I will comfort . . . your wife.”
The words slapped him. His wife. Prosperity would help Aileen. The irony was too bitter to bear. “You don’t have to.”
“The doctor expects me.” Again she did not move.
“Do you work for him?” The words came out harsher than he’d intended.
“He helped me find a position at the marine hospital.”
“As a nurse?” Though she had nursed her mother many years, no physician he’d met would allow a woman to nurse men.
He finally noticed her chapped, red hands. “You shouldn’t have to work.”
“I always have.”
“I wanted to give you more, a life of ease.”
She turned away, a simple move yet laden with meaning. She rejected him.
“Prosperity.” He reached for her, desperate to touch her once more.
She skirted around him, heading for the staircase.
“Don’t leave,” he begged. “One minute longer.”
She hesitated at the bottom step, her expression unreadable.
Upstairs, Aileen screamed.
“Your wife needs me.” She turned her back to him and ascended the stairs.
Where Prosperity got the strength to climb the steps, she could not say. God must have answered her prayer, for under her own power, she could not have walked away from David.
He had reached for her.
How often she had longed for his touch. For months and years, but especially since arriving in Key West. Part of her wanted to believe that every obstacle could be washed away if only he returned to her. Foolishness! He had married the woman who bore his child. Soon he would become a father. He would hold his son or daughter in his arms and kiss his wife. No one could tear them apart.
Except death.
Her wicked heart had leapt at the thought. It had urged her to accept one tiny moment of tenderness with the man she loved. No one would see a simple clasping of hands and think the worst of it. How tempting, but even if no person alive saw that embrace, God would. And not only the action but the tarnished heart from which it sprang.
So she stepped out of reach and climbed the staircase while David’s wife cried out for him. Over and over the woman screamed his name. Each scream pummeled Prosperity. She wanted to run, yet onward she climbed.
The steps creaked beneath her weight. The polished railing slid under her fingers. As she drew closer, the voices of doctor and midwife grew clearer while David’s receded. Their urgency drew her even as fear pulled her back.
Two rooms led off the dark and narrow hallway. The closest door was ajar, and light streamed through the opening. She hesitated.
What if her appearance did not comfort? The woman’s triumphant air in announcing her bond with David suggested deep pride and possessiveness. Prosperity’s hand trembled on the doorknob.
“Daaaaavid,” the woman shrieked, followed by a string of obscenities that made Prosperity recoil.
Childbirth was hard and painful, and she had heard a woman could lose her mind.
The vulgarities ended with sobs and murmured voices.
“You be all right,” the midwife consoled.
The patient—it was easier to use that term than to think of her as David’s wife—answered with more vulgarities. Such a woman would definitely see Prosperity as a rival.
Prosperity could walk away now. Dr. Goodenow did not know her history here. He did not realize what effect her presence might have on a struggling patient. He had able assistance in the midwife. Moreover, he would expect her to remain downstairs until her head cleared. She could claim continued dizziness, but it would be a lie.
Moreover, David waited at the base of the stairs. He would pace the room, anxious for word. If she descended, he would plead for news, for hope. He would reach for her again. His desperate need for consolation must come from anguish. At each scream, he’d flinched.
He loved his wife.
If Prosperity had doubts before, they were answered in that moment.
“Fetch Miss Jones,” Dr. Goodenow barked from inside the room. “I need her help.”
The doctor needed her.
Prosperity pushed open the door. The dim light of a single lantern could not hide the horror of the scene. Bloody linens were heaped on the floor. The midwife looked up, her exhaustion evident. Dr. Goodenow appeared worried. The patient clung to the iron bedstead, pale as snow, with yet more bloodied linens affording a small amount of modesty. Her red hair was matted and snarled. Her swollen abdomen arched with agony as a birth pang ripped through her.
Then she noticed Prosperity. Her lips curved into hatred. “Get. Out.”
Prosperity fled.
David jerked out of his muddled thoughts at the sound of footsteps hurrying down the stairs. He pivoted away from the windows in time to see his beloved rush out the front door.
“Prosperity!”
He ran after her, his boots clattering on the veranda, but she did not stop. Her black skirts billowed in the breeze, and her bonnet bounced against her back. Then darkness closed around her.
“Prosperity! Stop!”
She could not leave at this hour, alone and unguarded.
He hastened his steps, but she had always been fleet of foot. He could not catch her, not in the dark. No matter how many times he called her name, she did not stop.
Colonel Stormant stepped in front of him and caught his arm. “Let her go, Lieutenant.”
“But she is alone. It’s dark.” His words came out in gasps. “Need to escort her.”
“Your wife needs you.”
Wife. David’s thoughts careened back to the agony inside his quarters. Neither the doctor nor the midwife had followed Prosperity down the stairs. That meant Aileen’s trials were not over. He did not have a child yet.
“But Prosperity—Miss Jones—cannot walk alone at this hour.” David could not stand by and watch her walk into danger. “Ruffians will be out, and there’s no moon to guide her steps. Anything could happen.”
“I will find her. Return to your wife, Lieutenant.”
His wife had doctor and midwife watching over her. Prosperity had no one, and David doubted the commander could catch up to her. “She has a head start.”
“My carriage is at the ready. Do not fear. I will find her. Now return to your wife. That is an order.”
“Yes, sir.” David fought disappointment.
“My wife brought tea and some cakes.” The commander clapped him on the shoulder. “Everything will turn out for the best.”
David managed a weak smile. “Yes, sir.”
He reluctantly returned, pausing in the doorway to confirm that Colonel Stormant had indeed fetched his carriage. Across the parade ground, Prosperity stood in the light of the guardhouse lantern for but a moment before vanishing into the darkness.
A piercing cry from upstairs drew his attention to the struggle inside.
David entered the parlor. Mrs. Stormant paused while pouring a cup of tea. Upstairs, the squalling continued with barely a gasp for air.
The commander’s wife smiled. “At last, praise the Lord.”
“At last?” Realization dawned. “The baby.”
“Yes, you have a son or daughter.”
He dropped to his knees.
Thank You, Lord.
His child had survived the ordeal. Exhausted, he buried his face in his hands, overcome by emotion. A child. Elation soon gave way to the huge sense of responsibility. A new life depended on him. He must feed and clothe and train this child. He must instill honor and integrity in him or her, even though the baby’s mother displayed neither virtue.
Such a difficult road to travel. Nothing like what he had envisioned back on Nantucket Island. Now he must set the sternest example so the babe did not fall into the mother’s ways.
“Lieutenant?”
The midwife’s voice pulled David to his feet. She stood at the top of the stairs holding an impossibly small bundle that must be his child. The physician, dressed again in his black frock coat, descended the stairs, his expression grim. David’s hopes sank.
“Will the baby . . . will Aileen . . . that is, are they all right?” David stammered out.
The doctor did not smile. “It’s too soon to tell. Your wife is resting now, but she has lost a great deal of blood. The baby appears normal, but the labor struggle might have adversely affected him.”
“Him?” Despite the grim news, David caught onto that promise.
“Yes, you have a son.”
His somber expression sent a shiver up David’s spine.
“Good night, Lieutenant. Send for me if problems arise.”
“What problems? Where do I find you?” David must have been introduced to the man, but he didn’t recall the physician’s name, least of all where to find him.
“Forgive me. The night has been long. I am Dr. Clayton Goodenow. My office can be found on Fleming Street. Good night, Lieutenant.”
The physician departed, and David closed the door behind him. A son. He had a son.
“Congratulations.” Mrs. Stormant eased past him. “Send for Evie if you need anything. I will let myself out.”
“Would you like to see him?” The midwife must have descended the staircase while he was bidding the doctor good night, for she stood by his side.
Mrs. Stormant glanced at the baby and hurried out the door.
Odd reaction.
He looked down at the little bundle and staggered backward. “Is it . . . is it normal for a baby to be darker than his parents?” He hoped the coffee-colored skin and dark hair were a result of the traumatic birth.
The midwife hesitated.
David pleaded with his eyes. Tell me this isn’t a mistake.
“Sometimes they lose the hair, and it grows in again in its proper color.” She pulled the baby close.
“Then there’s hope. And the skin color? Will it get lighter?”
She looked down at the child. “Sometimes they’re a bit . . . darker at first.”
“But?”
She didn’t answer.
That’s when David knew. He and Aileen were extremely fair-skinned. This baby was not. It couldn’t be his. It had never been his.
He turned away, sick.
Aileen had deceived him.