The Life She Wanted: A Novel(59)

She made her way into the living room as a new pain came, stronger than the last. She debated calling Dr. Bancroft, but she thought it was probably a false alarm. She’d call Adele instead.

“I’m coming over,” Adele said when Pandora explained how she was feeling.

“I’m sure it can wait if you’re busy,” Pandora said, her stomach tightening into a hard ball.

“Babies don’t wait for anything,” Adele remarked. “Try to relax until I get there.”

Pandora leaned against the sofa cushions, and tears welled in her eyes. Over the past few months, she and Harley had been happy. She had thought their agreement would work. Archie was in England, and she and Harley had grown closer. They had spent a whole weekend working on the nursery. Pandora learned to make flapjacks the way Harley liked them, with whipped cream and extra butter. On Sundays, after church, they strolled through Hyde Park and admired the babies in their prams. And Harley was always so enthusiastic about her designs. Sometimes in the evenings, he’d bring Pandora her sketchbook and a pitcher of lemonade and sit beside her while she made new sketches.

And yet Harley was willing to risk everything they had built to be with Porter. Her mind went to her night with Archie before the wedding. Wasn’t she guilty of the same thing? If Harley found out, he might never trust her again. The scandal could ruin all of them.

But that had been only one night, brought on by too many brandies and feeling like she wasn’t good enough. Harley was meeting Porter on a regular basis.

Adele arrived and hung her coat in the closet. She wore a checkered wool dress with a scarf knotted around her neck.

“Put your feet up on the coffee table,” Adele instructed her. “I’ll make some tea.”

When Pandora moved, she found something wet on the cushion. A pain stabbed her, and she cried out.

“What’s wrong?” Adele rushed in from the kitchen.

“I must have sat on something,” Pandora said, catching her breath. “The cushion is wet.”

Adele put down her tea towel. She studied Pandora closely.

“Your water broke, you’re in labor.”

“I can’t be in labor, I’m not due for two weeks.”

“I’ve given birth four times. You are in labor,” Adele replied. She walked to the phone. “I’ll call Dr. Bancroft.”

Another pain shot through her, sharper this time. It went through to her back, and she arched over and groaned.

“Please call Harley at the bank,” she said through gritted teeth. “He won’t want to miss out.”

“Dr. Bancroft will be here soon,” Adele said when she hung up the phone.

“And Harley?” Pandora asked, another contraction catching her unaware. The last one had barely finished when the next one began.

“I called the office. He hasn’t returned from lunch; he had afternoon meetings.”

Meeting with Porter at the brownstone in Greenwich Village. Pandora wouldn’t think about that now. The contractions seemed almost on top of each other. Each pain felt like a giant wave, dragging her down and refusing to release her. She grabbed the arm of the sofa and moaned.

“Hold on to me and count to fifty.” Adele offered her arm.

Dr. Bancroft arrived, accompanied by a nurse. There wasn’t time to get to the hospital—the baby would be born at home.

He carried her upstairs and laid her on the bed.

The contractions came faster, and her cheeks were sticky with sweat. Every time she thought she couldn’t face another, it bore down on her, and she groaned in agony. Adele didn’t leave her side. She wiped Pandora’s forehead and assured her she was doing fine.

When it came time to push, Pandora longed for Harley. Dr. Bancroft assured her that women had babies without their husbands all the time. Pandora shouldn’t worry about Harley, she had to use her strength to get the baby out.

“It hurts too much and I’m too tired.” Pandora moaned, the pain encompassing her whole body.

“You can do this.” Adele’s voice came from somewhere. “You’re stronger than you know.”

Then a different kind of pain filled her, fierce and cutting her to the core. She gripped the side of the bed and pressed against it.

She heard a whooshing sound and felt a surge of relief.

“Congratulations,” Dr. Bancroft announced. “It’s a girl.”

Pandora didn’t know how long it took for the baby to be placed in her arms. But when she held her, when she breathed in the sweet baby scent and admired the dewy baby cheeks, she had never been so overcome with emotion.

“She’s beautiful,” she gushed.

“She has to be.” Adele stood beside the bed. She touched Pandora’s arm, and her green eyes shone with delight. “She looks just like her mother.”

The baby opened her eyes, and they were the same shade of blue as Pandora’s. Her few wisps of hair were blond, and even the shape of her face was the same as Pandora’s.

Pandora glanced from Adele to the baby in awe. She had done it. She was a mother, and everything was going to be all right.





A few hours later Pandora rested against the headboard. Adele had gone home to Blythdale, and the baby was sleeping.

There was a knock at the door. Pandora hoped it was Harley, but it was Virginia.