Nicholas was gone when she awoke, the bed beside her cold and empty. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, placing her palm on the pillow where he’d laid his head. His scent still lingered, a balm to the raging fire in her heart.
Noelle was still heartbroken, and she still cried whenever she was reminded of what could have been, and what she’d lost. Her eyes were sore and dry, her tongue thick in her mouth and devoid of any moisture. She was also sure she smelled like stale bread and dust bunnies.
Noelle rose onto her elbows, looking around the naturally lit room, in search of any trace that Nicholas was just down at the kitchen, but his boots were gone, and there was no tell-tale clattering of skillets to keep her company. She frowned, trying not to be too disappointed. She had grown so accustomed to him being here, it was almost a sad sight to see the vacant spot where his things always were. Noelle supposed it was also time for her to ask him to leave and get his stuff, and never leave again. If she were to throw out Henry’s things—
The thought made her cheeks blush immediately, the red stain of shame, guilt and embarrassment leaving a stain down her neck and chest. Noelle almost drew the covers over her head, trying to hide from her own thoughts and lack of empathy. It was one thing to not feel guilty about his death, but quite another to think about throwing away his things to make room for another man. Another husband. Granted, Nicholas was much more to her than just another man in her life; but the principle still stood.
Noelle threw the covers back and padded over to the washroom, almost gasping at the sight of herself in the small mirror that hung above the basin. Her cheeks and eyes were gaunt and shadowed by the darkness of despair. Her hair hung limply from her shoulders, and her nightgown was crumpled from having been in it night and day for days now.
Noelle left the washroom, hoping to find some purpose by cleaning her home, or trying to do something she’d enjoyed before she had shared her hobbies with Carol. But when she got downstairs, the home was empty and clean. No trace of dirt or messiness lingered anywhere, and no trace of Carol or Nicholas to keep her company.
She wandered through the halls of her home, trying at first to find something amiss that she could fix, and then knitting. But when she thought of the day she’d knitted the hat for Nicholas, how she and Carol had shared so many laughs, she almost dropped the needles like they were on fire. Aimlessly, Noelle wandered her home, searching for something—anything—to do. Eventually she found herself back in the washroom, staring at herself again, trying to find some semblance of determination left. She supposed she could straighten up a bit, seeing as there was nothing else she could, or wanted, to do.
She splashed the cold water in her face, the icy temperature like a balm to her swollen and sore face. Next, she brushed her hair, gritting her teeth against the matted bits that pulled relentlessly against her scalp. However, with every stroke of the brush, and every rinse of her teeth, Noelle felt closer and closer to being human.
The ache was still there, and she still felt her eyes sting every time she thought of Carol; but she felt better physically. Moments later, she was dressed and layered against the cold, her hair in loose waves around her shoulders to keep her ears warm from the cold. Not bothering with jewelry or the beautiful pin Nicholas had gotten her for Christmas, Noelle stepped out onto the porch.
The winter air bit at her nose and cheeks, the skin of her hands tightened immediately, and a shiver cascaded through her body. But despite the intruding cold, the day was beautiful. Snow fell softly to the ground, glinting off the bit of sunlight that shone through the clouds.
The pine trees that surrounded their home were capped with snow, birds nestled in their depths, singing cheerily in the morning despite the winter threatening their lives. It truly was a beautiful morning, even though Noelle didn’t want it to be.
Grief was a strange thing. And she was grieving Carol, like she hadn’t grieved Henry when he’d passed. Noelle wanted the earth to stand still while she mourned, the very wind to stop blowing while she just caught her breath for a moment. She wanted the serenity in the air around her to cease existing, and to bathe the day in gloom. Noelle wanted the earth to mourn with her, wanted it to acknowledge what she had lost and just grant her a moment to feel whatever it was she needed to. And this cheery winter morning would not grant her that.
She’d taken this walk with the purpose of finding some peace and quiet from the thoughts in her head, pressing and pressing. The same thoughts that left her crying herself to sleep, and her head pounding in the mornings when she woke. But with every step, her mind wandered farther away from the clarity she so desperately sought. Thoughts fell from her subconscious like snowflakes from the sky, littering her consciousness like the snow-covered branches littered the forest floor her boots walked on.
Noelle didn’t know if she walked for minutes or hours, but soon, she didn’t see the forest around her, didn’t hear the birds chirping cheerily from their warm nests in the crooks of the trees around her. All she heard and saw were memories of her life before and after Carol’s arrival in her life. She thought of Henry, and the charming young man he’d been when her father had sold her to him. Then she thought of the fateful night it had all changed, and he’d returned home drunk from the saloon for the first time, and hit her so hard she’d awoken the next morning with a split temple and a headache that lasted for a day.
Since that night, it had become a habit; a sort of game, between them. She was always the loser, and he was always the victor that got out unscathed. Noelle wondered if she had told her father then, when she was still young and Henry had not yet stolen the most precious years of her life, if he would have done something to help her. She doubted it, but perhaps it was the little girl deep inside her that still held some semblance of hope that things could have been different for her.
What would have happened if she had met Nicholas instead of Henry? She would have been happier, without a doubt. But would she have met Carol then? Who knew pain and heartbreak as she did?
Or would she have her own horde of children and not worry about someone else’s? It did not take Noelle long to realize that it was not her body that rejected her children, but their father that beat it so relentlessly that it was unable to keep them alive. Noelle wondered if she had the choice between a life with Nicholas from the start, or a life with Henry that would lead her to such despair and eventually to Carol, which she would choose for herself.
A sprawling building came into view as Noelle ducked beneath a low-hanging branch, her heart ceasing its beating when she realized just where she was. The mine Henry had worked at sprawled before her, a looming presence that represented much more than just the hard-working men of their town. Noelle sank to her knees in the snow, barely feeling the increasing wetness of her dress as the snow melted beneath her.
This mine represented the looming shadow of him over her, just as the building hid the sun from her now, casting her in coldness and darkness. Henry had stolen her life from her. Not only the years, but also the girl she had been—so full of love and laughter and joy, she had been compared to sunlight many a time before her marriage to him.
Soon, people had started to notice her rapid “maturity” and increasing silence; chalked it up to married life and the same path that all unhappily married women walked. Instead of looking deeper, people had turned their cheeks, selling themselves the illusion that she herself had also indulged in.
Noelle had been convinced that it was only her childish nature taking its leave, making space for the woman she was on her way to becoming. Never suspecting that it could have been that exact childlike naivete that would make her accept behavior that had no place in the loving and warm home she was desperately trying to build for herself, and for her future children.
Tears, scalding hot on her frozen cheeks, dripped into the snow below her. A wail escaped her, swept away by the wind that seemed to blow right through her. It served as her friend now, carrying her sorrow away from Henry’s phantom that stood posed to gobble it up once more.
Noelle was sure she didn’t hate the man, but she also did not love him as a wife should love her husband. She did not feel one ounce of heartache for him, did not contribute one tear to his loss. No. She felt the heartache for herself, cried these tears for the girl she had been, so incredibly in love with the idea of love, she’d let a man ruin her.
Noelle cried for herself, let every wail voice the despair she had felt for years, let every broken piece of her manifest, and be felt in this cold snow. She let it all out, every single broken piece of her heart, every single shattering he had caused and reveled in, and felt it all.
Every bottled scream, every stitch she’d sewed into her mouth, every broken bone she’d had to mend on her own, every single cut and scar he’d left on her body. Noelle let herself feel every bruise, and every ounce of fear she’d had to push down in these years.
And when she was done, when her tears left dry streaks of pain on her face, and her heart cleaned every festered wound; she stood from the snow. Her dress was soaked, the hem of it icy cold with the evidence of her emotional release, but she stood taller than she ever had before.
Noelle looked up at the mine before her, stared it down like a giant posed to crush her beneath its meaty foot, and turned her back on it. She left Henry there, his spirit and his memory, left him with her pain so that he might not bother her again. And when she ducked beneath that branch again, she let it stand in the way of his lingering memory, adamant on following her for the rest of her life; let it serve as a barricade between her and the trauma she’d suffered. Noelle left that little clearing before the mine, decorated with her despair, and didn’t look back.
***
Noelle was cold and shivering by the time her beautiful ranch home came into view, a very worried and equally as beautiful man waiting for her on the porch. She smiled smally and gave him a small wave as she crossed the last of the distance between her and the porch. Her toes were close to falling off, her knees felt like they had aged at least seven years thanks to the cold and the wet dress, and she was also fairly certain that her nose was nothing but a dripping, snotty mess by now.
Nicholas rose from the porch swing, setting the blanket draped over his lap on her shoulders as she ascended the last step onto the semi-warmth of her home and her husband. He enveloped her in a bear hug almost immediately, rubbing her arms and back as he escorted her into their home. The fireplace was already going, bathing her in its warmth as she entered the foyer, immediately sighing at the relief from the biting cold of the outside.
Noelle took a seat on the sofa, sinking deep into the cushions as Nicholas draped another blanket over her lap. His face was set in a frown, his eyes traveling over her body as he set one last blanket on her lap for good measure. She smiled her thanks, not saying anything until he posed the question,
“I was worried about you. Where did you go?” Nicholas asked. His tone was anything but accusatory, and his concern for her warmed her heart. He sat across from her, intent on hearing her answer.
Noelle stared into the fire before she answered. “I just went for a walk. I needed to clear my head. It… it felt like I was drowning in my own thoughts.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, always concerned, always supportive. Always her dream husband. Noelle considered it, but decided that she did not want to give it another thought. She’d tell him in time, when she felt better and more up to talking about it.
Noelle shook her head, smiling softly to let him know that it was not because she did not trust him, but because she wasn’t ready to tell him that part of her history yet. She had only made her own peace with it an hour ago, and she was not ready to confront it again just yet.
Nicholas looked at her for a moment, contemplating what to say. He finally nodded. “Okay sweetheart. I’m just glad you’re safe. You want a cup of tea?”
She nodded again, unable to express her gratitude. He winked at her, and made his way to the kitchen. She listened to his clamoring, her mind finally silent enough for her to just… be. The vast emptiness in her still remained, as it always would without Carol here; but she could finally sit with herself, without feeling like bursting out of her skin with sadness or anger or despair.
Nicholas returned with her tea, placing the warm cup in her hand before he took a seat next to her. Noelle leaned into his embrace instinctively, making herself comfortable, as she could always be with him. Only him.
“Where were you?” She asked, more curious than upset. “You were gone when I woke up.”
Nicholas tensed suddenly, his body rigid against her back. He cleared his throat, the sound of his fingers scratching at his beard reached her ears. Noelle frowned, he only did that when he was nervous or unsure. But before she could jump to conclusions, he spoke.
“I hope you won’t be too angry with me,” he started, which already had Noelle tensing. “But I went back to the orphanage to talk to Sister Beatrice.”
Noelle sat upright, causing the tea in her cup to splash over the side. She turned to face him, her mouth fell open in shock and the utter disbelief made tears pierce her eyes.
“What?” She asked, breathlessly. Nicholas surged forward, cupping her cheek.
“Are you angry?” He asked uncertainly, but Noelle just cried.
“You did that for me?”
Nicholas’ face fell, softening as he realized it was not anger that made her sob uncontrollably again. He took the cup from her hands, set it on the coffee table, and drew her into his chest. Nicholas, her wonderfully selfless husband, held her as she sobbed. He rubbed her back, soothing her cries, and once again supported her when she needed him most.
Noelle had never felt loved like this, had never experienced the crushing embrace of a partner that cared as deeply for her as she did for them. She almost said as much, but a knock at the door spurred them both. They exchanged a look of confusion before Nicholas rose, taking a long-legged stride to open the door. Noelle almost sobbed again at the sight of Sister Beatrice, shivering and cold on her porch, and a softness on her face she’d never seen from the woman.