“Deirdre! It’s Ebba.”
Oh, how happy the bright sound of Ebba’s voice made her! But Ebba couldn’t know about this baby. No one could know about this baby.
“Deirdre! I know. I have known about the baby all this time. Open this door!”
She crawled to the door and pressed her forehead to the cool wood. “Is there anyone with you?”
“No.”
Deirdre cracked open the door. Ebba stood there, an angry look furrowing her brows. She clutched a hatchet in her hands. Deirdre’s eyes widened.
Ebba shrugged. “To cut the pain. Or cut down the door if you refused to open.” She strode past Deirdre. Shoved the little ax beneath the bed, then went to Valerie’s cradle and began rocking it with her foot. “You are stupid, doing this by yourself.”
“How did you know I was with child?” Deirdre worked her way slowly to the bed and crawled atop the eiderdown.
Ebba tapped her head with her finger. “I know things and see things. Just like you.”
Deirdre moaned as another cramp claimed her breath. She opened her knees. “Come have a look, down there,” Deirdre managed. “Tell me if you can see the baby’s head.”
Ebba washed her hands in the basin, then knelt between Deirdre’s legs. “Yes. I see her hair. Almost time?”
“Yes. Almost time.”
Within minutes, Deirdre was trembling from head to toe. The urge to push overrode everything. Ebba urged her on, with gentle words and singing, until, with a triumphant last push, the baby slipped free. It was a girl, just as she’d known it would be. Deirdre rubbed the baby briskly to warm her and brought her to her breast, unexpected tears springing to her eyes. “Fetch the scissors, over there, Ebba. Pour boiling water over them, and bring them, along with a length of twine. You remember what we did with Hannah?”
“Ja. Tie the cord in two places, tight. And cut between the knots?”
“Yes, I’ll help you through it.”
An hour later, Deirdre was weary, but wrapped in a kind of drowsy, lovesick fog. She looked down at the perfect baby sleeping in her arms, her crisp cupid’s bow mouth, and the feathering of blonde eyelashes resting on her cheeks. She had little hair, but what she did have was fair as Ebba’s. She wasn’t a monster at all—just another sweet, innocent babe who had never been asked to be born. Deirdre stroked her cheek gently, pushing back the stab of bittersweet pain that coursed through her. Her eyes darted to the corners, searching among the shadows, dreading the glint of silver she might see lurking there. But thankfully, blessedly, Gentry did not appear.
Valerie woke and gave a short, sharp cry. “Bring her to me,” Deirdre said. “I can feed her from my breast now.”
Ebba rose from the rocking chair next to the bed and brought Valerie. Deirdre guided her to her breast. At first, the baby seemed unsure what to do, as Deirdre had only ever fed her the goat’s milk from a false teat. But soon, she’d latched on, her little mouth fierce with hunger until she was milk drunk and satiated.
Deirdre’s mind spun with possibilities. She might raise them like sisters. Twins. She could tell people their father was dead—a young man she’d met out east and married there. After a time, no one would be able to tell they were three months apart. She could even leave Tin Mountain and start fresh somewhere else with both girls, but with no money and no husband, it would be hard going. Esme had not responded to Deirdre’s letters, but Deirdre felt no animosity. That chapter in her life had closed. She was on her own. Always would be.
Keeping the babies wasn’t a possibility. She would steel herself and do what must be done. The grimoire had shown her. The sooner she followed things through, the easier the loss would be to bear.
Deirdre opened the grimoire, lit a candle for each cardinal direction, then stood next to Ebba on the wide, flat rock where she and Robbie used to tryst. The moon shone high overhead, casting enough light to see by. Her baby lay sleeping in the center of the stone, swaddled in white fabric, and protected by the pentacle she’d drawn across the stone with salt and imbued with prayers to her mother’s God and the Virgin who bore Him, and to the older gods of her ancestors.
She hoped it was enough to keep whatever darkness might be lurking in the shadows well away.
Deirdre held a knife high to the heavens, where the blade might catch the moonlight and be purified by it, then read the incantation from the grimoire, written in Anneliese’s hand.
“I stand today and ask for the gods’ favor and the blessing of the eternal Mother. I mark a sign of my sacrifice with willing blood, so that they might find my purpose true and strong.”
Deirdre drew the knife across her palm, once, then again, in the shape of a cross, blotting out the scar she’d made when she’d bound herself to Gentry.
Ebba sang out in Swedish, raising her hands heavenward.
“As the Virgin blessed her own beloved Son, I bless my own flesh and bind it with my blood. For protection and a shield against those who would seek to harm her—in body or in spirit.”
Deirdre knelt on the stone, and using her thumb, made the sign of the cross on the sleeping infant’s forehead. “My shield I place on you, for as long as you live, my daughter. May you be protected and hidden from evil, as long as you live.” She kissed her baby’s small hand, and stood, turning to Ebba. “Give me your hand, my friend. Swear to me that you will keep your vow of silence for all of your days.”
“I swear it, Deirdre.”
Deirdre made a shallow cut on Ebba’s palm. The girl winced, then smiled. They pressed their bleeding palms together, locking eyes. “By the blessed mother Mary,” Deirdre said.
“And the blessed mother Frigga,” Ebba echoed.
“So mote it be.”
Deirdre and Ebba stood looking at one another for a long moment, the heaviness of their oath lingering between them. They were sisters now, bound by a blood covenant.
Finally, Deirdre spoke. “Tomorrow will be harder.”
Ebba nodded, her eyes filling. “Hidden things have a way of turning up, Deirdre. But we will try.”
“We will. We must.”
By night, St. Louis was silent, the city hunching over the river and its barges. Deirdre stepped from the paddle steamer. Ebba followed, carrying Valerie. “The orphanage is around that corner, next to the cathedral. I can see the spire from here,” Deirdre whispered, low enough that the few people on the pier wouldn’t hear her. “St. Mary’s.”
They walked solemnly, in silence, until the cathedral loomed in front of them. Next to it was a three-story brick building, with a statue of the Virgin Mary behind its gates. A single light shone through one of the downstairs windows. They went up the steps. At their knock, a world-weary sister answered, blinking at them with tired eyes.
“May I help you?”
Deirdre motioned toward Ebba. “I’ve brought my sister’s child, and my own. As neither of us are married, we are destitute and cannot afford to raise them properly.”
The nun raised a suspicious brow. With Ebba being only twelve, the lie was a little far-fetched. “We’ve only room for one infant, not two. With the winter being as harsh as it was, we’ve too many orphans and not enough beds.”