A weak moan roused Lea from a deep sleep several nights later in the Gilbert’s cabin, a tiny, helpless sound that tore at her soul. Groping around in the dark, she made her way to the crib, her fingers searching until she found Emma. Shock ran through her at the searing heat that emanated from the tiny baby’s body.
“Nap,” she cried. “Wake up. I need light. Emma’s sick.”
Nap fumbled for the matches. “What’s happening?”
“She’s burning up!”
Nap broke off a match, then struck it, a glow lighting the room.
Lea pulled off the child’s mittens and examined her. “Her hands are freezing. Quick, go build the fire. We need to keep it burning all night.”
Napoleon rushed to the stove and laid the kindling inside. Soon, heat radiated in the cabin, but the baby still made the soft, pitiful sounds.
“Why don’t you try feeding her?” he asked.
Lea lifted her nighty, and positioned the baby, but Emma wouldn’t latch on. Instead, she arched her back, let out a feeble cry, and vomited.
“Oh, no!” Napoleon reached for fresh rags to clean her up.
Lea’s heart raced. What’s wrong? She searched her memory. What would Maman have done back home in Belgium? If only she had listened when other women talked about their children’s ailments. She paced around the room, jiggling Emma. Then she remembered what the doctor had said on the ship when she’d been sick. “We need cold compresses to keep the fever down.”
“I’ll get one.” Napoleon took another clean rag, dipped it into the half-thawed snow on the stove, and handed it to Lea.
Lea covered the baby’s head with the cloth. Emma gave a pathetic cry, then burst into a fit of trembling.
“Keep the rest of her body warm,” said Napoleon.
“That’s what I’m trying to do.”
To add to their troubles, Palma’s cry erupted from the crib.
“Here, give me Emma so you can feed Palma,” he said, reaching for the sick baby.
Lea handed him the child and took the other twin into her arms, relieved Palma showed no signs of fever. When she’d finished nursing her, she changed both girls. Emma’s nappy was dry.
“I’m going for Dr. Lupien!” said Napoleon.
“We should all go together.”
“No. It’ll take too long to prepare the sleigh. I’ll go with the mare.”
“Hurry, then!”
Napoleon dressed quickly and left the house. Lea heard his feet crunch through the snow and the barn door slide open. A few minutes later, she listened as the sound of the mare’s hooves broke from a trot to a canter. Looking out the window, she saw Napoleon gallop away. He hadn’t even saddled his mount.
The wait was torturous as Emma grew weaker and fussier. By the time daylight crept in, Nap and the doctor hadn’t arrived yet, nor had Emma’s fever diminished. Lea applied more compresses with little effect. She tried to hold the baby closer, but Emma fought back, her angry fists clenched.
“Please, God,” Lea prayed, “make them come soon.”
As the skies brightened, Lea’s desperation grew as she held Emma in her arms while Palma slept in her basket by the stove. The thudding of horse hooves in the snow announced Nap’s arrival. Peering outside, she was dismayed to see he was alone. Lea hurried to the door and flung it open. A cold, biting wind assaulted her, tiny pinpricks that stung her face.
“What happened?” she cried. “Where’s Dr. Lupien?”
“He’s out delivering a baby. Madame Lupien invited me to stay inside until he returned, but when it started to get light out, I told her I had to leave. I figured you’d need me home. She says she’ll send him our way as soon as he’s done.”
“Oh, Nap!” Her voice trembled. “Emma’s not getting better. I’m afraid she may die.” She looked to him for reassurance, but when their eyes met, she saw the same cold, helpless fear reflected back at her.
“You mustn’t think that way,” he said, turning away.
“But I can’t help it.”
Napoleon tsked. After an uncomfortable silence, he glanced at the main house. “I’ll go and see if the Gilberts can help.”
“All right. Hurry!” Lea watched as he disappeared into the barn to put away the mare, then plodded through the snow to the older couple’s home.
Madame Gilbert came immediately, carrying her own bottles of remedies. When she laid eyes on Emma, her face fell. “How long has she been throwing up?”
“Since the middle of the night.”
Madame Gilbert glanced about, then flew into action. “We have to get some fluids in her.” She grabbed a clean rag, soaked it in water, and wrung it out. She coaxed the corner of Emma’s mouth with it.
Emma whimpered and turned her head.
“She’s been refusing milk too,” said Lea.
“Let’s try again.”
She took the corner of the cloth and gently coaxed another spot on the child’s lips, but Emma merely fussed all the more and vomited again.
The women hurried to clean her up while Napoleon stood back, clutching Palma in his protective arms.
It was just after three o’clock when Dr. Lupien arrived, his eyes sunken as though he’d been up all night. Napoleon ran to the door, relieved.
“I came as soon as I could,” said Dr. Lupien. “Where’s the baby?”
“Over here.” Lea handed him the hot little bundle.
Dr. Lupien’s face turned to ash when he saw her.
“What is it?” asked Lea.
Sitting down, the doctor carefully removed her little hat. When his eyes met Lea’s, his expression was grave.
“What?” asked Lea again.
“Your daughter has meningitis.”
“What’s that?” asked Napoleon, his voice weak.
“It’s inflammation of the brain. See, look. You see the fontanelle?”
“Yes,” replied Nap.
“It’s bulging. That means, her brain is swelling.”
“Well, what can we do for her?” Nap asked. “Give us the medicine we need. We don’t care about the cost. She’s our baby girl!” His voice cracked on the last two words.
Dr. Lupien turned away, his eyelids blinking rapidly as he bit down on his lip. He took a deep breath as though composing himself, then uttered the diagnosis Lea couldn’t bear to hear. “There’s nothing we can do. We just have to wait until God takes her.”
“No!” cried Lea. “That’s impossible!” She bent her head toward Emma, hugging her tightly and sobbing.
“Lea,” said Madame Gilbert, laying her arm around her shoulders. “Many of us lose little ones. I know it hurts, but there’ll be others.”
“But they’re not my little Emma. I love her so much.” Her sobs were uncontrollable.
“I know. But you still have Palma.”
“But I want both my girls!” Lea shrieked.
The hours were interminable as they waited for death to claim the baby girl. Her breathing grew more and more ragged. Lea whispered prayers as life slipped away from her child. Shortly before eight, Emma took a final breath and lay still. Napoleon handed Palma to Madame Gilbert and collapsed on the couch beside Lea. Together they shared destitute tears as they held the little lifeless body they’d soon bury in the cold ground.
“I’ll send Mr. Gilbert to inform your family in Wide View as soon as we know the date of her burial,” said Madame Gilbert.
“Okay,” replied Lea, her shoulders heaving. “But I don’t know what to do with her now.”
“You’ll have to keep her in the cellar until the day of the funeral.”
“But it’s too cold down there,” Lea cried.
“You have no choice,” said Madame Gilbert.
“But—”
“Let’s prepare her first.” Napoleon rose, grabbing the tub from where it hung on the wall and filling it with water.
When all was ready, they bathed Emma for the last time and dressed her in her baptismal dress, tying one of the new hats around her head, and placing crocheted mittens on her tiny hands. Lea placed the little girl in her basket, but instead of laying her by the stove as she usually did, she handed the baby back to Napoleon who carried her like his most cherished possession down the cellar stairs.
“Good-bye, my sweet Emma,” said Lea, squeezing her tiny hand for the last time. “I’ll see you in the next life.”
After they had closed the trap door, Nap disappeared into the barn, his face intent with purpose while Lea retired to their bedroom. She opened the drawer of the dresser and looked at all the beautiful baby clothes she’d received only a few days earlier, her eyes clouded with tears. Tracing the smooth satin ribbons in one of the sweaters, she hiccoughed. Then rage filled her. Grabbing the tiny, hand-knit garments, she tossed them about, sobbing bitterly.
“God! You stole my child! You stole my baby girl! How dare you! You’re a thief! A common thief!” She threw open the closet that held her wedding dress, resolved to tear it to shreds, then stopped. Fingering the fabric, she examined the tiny flowers embroidered into the navy blue cloth. She knew what had to be done.
Nap returned from the barn late that night and laid the small casket he’d built on the coffee table. Bending down, he reached for the handle of the trap door.
“Wait,” Lea said.
She returned to their room and came back with the dress and her sewing kit. She measured the box, then the fabric of the skirt. Within an hour, she’d made the perfect lining and a small pillow for Emma’s casket.
When they laid the child inside, Lea said, “There, my sweet little girl. Now you’ll sleep more comfortably.”
***
The funeral was set for three days later. But on the second day, Palma succumbed to the same ailment. The child was laid in the same casket as her sister, wearing her matching baptismal dress, and the two were buried in the churchyard to sad hymns sung by the very people with whom they’d just celebrated the girls’ christening.
***
January cut cold and deep. Lea moved about her daily chores and routines, mindless, kneading dough to a rhythm without melody, cooking food to a poem without words. And when the bread was baked and the meals had been prepared, she sat before the window, staring at the snowflakes whipped by the wind, at the drifts forming, her thoughts empty save for the sadness of her daughters stolen by a merciless god and the absence of her family an entire world away in Belgium.
Napoleon moved the crib and the baskets into the barn and boxed the tiny baby clothes so nothing would remind her of their loss, but still she noticed the empty spaces, and it made the void in her life all the larger. She’d lost her two greatest loves, and the people closest to her weren’t even there to console her.
Napoleon tried to cheer her up with warm embraces and thoughtful gestures. Each day she met his actions with silence, as though he were a ghost, a mirage of something that had once been. She caught the occasional worried glance he cast before leaving when morning’s light called him to work and heard the soft mutterings of anxious conversations with Mr. Gilbert.
When a month had passed, Napoleon, his face contorted in anguish, confronted her, standing tall and formidable like the soldier he’d once been. “Madame Gilbert wants you to come for tea. She says it’s been a while since you’ve visited her and Cécile.”
Lea gave a blank nod.
“Apparently, this is the time of year to be making clothes. She says she’s bought new fabric you might be interested in.”
Her ears perked up at the mention of the fabric. For a moment, her eyes met his. “What time?”
“After lunch.”
“All right, then I’ll be there.”
“And could you please do some laundry this morning? I’m out of shirts. This one smells so bad I’m sure there’s a green cloud following me along.”
A stray, lifeless giggle escaped Lea. “Whatever you want.”
Napoleon hauled in the snow and melted it for her on the stove.
After he left, she proceeded to do the laundry, mechanically scrubbing it as she usually did, but when she hung it all to dry, the missing nappies filled her with emptiness again.
The women welcomed her graciously, placing warm arms about her when she knocked on the door of the main house that afternoon.
“Wait until you see the fabric I ordered at the general store,” said Madame Gilbert, her voice overly-animated as she unrolled a length of floral print. “See how pretty it is?”
“Yes, it is.” Lea gave a dull smile.
“I said we should all make matching dresses!” Cécile laughed.
“And show up for Easter mass like triplets,” added Madame Gilbert.
A slightly amused curve formed on Lea’s lips. “But I left my patterns back in Belgium.”
“Well, you won’t need them here. We make our own…from scratch.”
“Really?” Lea arched an interested brow.
“Yes. You see, the fashion nowadays is straight dresses, as you know. So all we need to do is measure your hips, bust, shoulders, and length, then add a bit to each side to make the seams. Like this.”
Lea watched as Cécile took Madame Gilbert’s measurements and then transferred the numbers to the fabric, drawing lines with a pencil and ruler. After cutting out the forms, they set about doing the same for Cécile.
“I’m going to add a few more inches to this one.” Madame Gilbert patted her daughter’s stomach. “Just in case.”
“Oh, Maman.” Resentment creased Cécile’s forehead. “Do you always have to be going on about having grandchildren?”
“Well, you can’t hold it against me now, can you? They say being a grandparent is one of life’s most precious experiences. If only your husband would stay home from time to time.”
Cécile let out an impatient huff. “Maman.”
Madame Gilbert ignored her and finished drawing the dress. Then she turned to Lea. “Let’s measure you now. I’ll make yours wide as well, but with a belt. Never know when you might need some extra space too.”
A brief flicker of hope filled Lea.
After cutting all the fabric, they stitched until the light grew too dim to work anymore, sipping tea and eating cookies as they sewed. Lea admired Madame Gilbert and Cécile’s work and hoped her garments would turn out as well as theirs. That’s when it dawned on her that for the first time in a month, she was interested in life again.
When she returned home that evening, she gave Nap the warmest kiss he’d received in a long time.
“Did you have a good day?” he asked.
“Yes, I did. Thank you.”
“I’m so glad. By the way, you got news from home.” He handed her a letter.
Lea grabbed it and read the return address. “It’s from Palma.” She ripped it open.
Dear Lea,
I’m so sorry to hear about your dear little girls’ passing on. I had so looked forward to meeting my namesake, little Palma. What nicknames we could have invented for her. We all cried when we heard the news, especially Maman. She so misses you. Had I been a bird, I would have flown to your side immediately. But of course, boats can’t fly. If only they’d invent planes that could travel over the Atlantic.
But oh, have I got news for you. I’m married! Yes, can you believe it? I’m actually married! As you remember, I was terrified at Papa’s suggestion to wed old Mr. Georgini, but when I was taken to his home, it turned out it wasn’t him at all, but his son Dino that I was to be engaged to! And let me tell you, he’s one handsome fellow. Well, I stopped balking at the match and we were married two weeks later. I’m as happy as a clown in a circus. We’ve rented an apartment, and I’m enjoying getting to know him. When things are settled, in a year or so, I may suggest to him that we emigrate to Canada.
I pray for you each day.
Palma
Lea burst into laughter.
“What’s so funny?” asked Nap, his eyes wide with astonishment at her change in mood.
“Palma’s married! Turns out it was the old guy’s son. And look.” She reached into the envelope. “Here’s their picture.”
Nap, seized the photo. “And here I was trying to put money aside for her.”
“You were?”
“Yes, I was going to surprise you when I had enough. I’m so relieved.”
Lea squeezed his arm. “She says she’s still thinking of immigrating here. I wonder how you and Dino would get along. Maybe Maman and Papa could come to Canada too.”
“That would be great.”
For the next few weeks, Lea spent each day at the Gilberts, sewing more and more clothing. It was on one of those days, she noticed a familiar sea sickness as she worked the cloth. Lea raised her head from her work and smiled. Another baby was on the way!