Addie could see the wisdom of this. They had just received word that Celeste had delivered, weeks ahead of schedule, but even Harrison wasn’t talking too much about it. Because of what happened with Clementine, Addie reasoned, they were in seclusion with this one, not wanting anyone to intrude on their all-too-fragile family. Addie understood the notion of holding something so precious closely, carefully, as though the idea of exposing this new little life to the outside world might cause it to flee from its harshness. She didn’t even know whether the new Connor baby was a boy or a girl. Ah well, she’d find out in time.
Truth be told, Addie was glad for the admonishment to stay home. She didn’t feel much like expending the effort to make a social call. She had been so tired for the past few days. Although she was trying to convince her husband not to worry about this trip, she was filled with trepidation about being left alone. She couldn’t forget that odd sensation when a voice inside her head had told her that she was in danger. Leave this place! Addie Stewart! Hear me! You are going to die on April 24 if you don’t do something about it! That date was but one week away.
It has to be some odd reaction to impending childbirth, Addie tried to tell herself. It was simply too horrible to be true. She could shrug it away; that voice in her head hadn’t recurred. She held Jess tightly and prayed to her great-grandmother’s spirit to give her peace. Now that he was leaving, she dreaded the lonely nights ahead.
“I’ll stay right here, reading by the fire,” Addie promised her husband. “I’ll not even go to the market. Nor to the library. I’ll simply count the days until you get home.”
“As will I,” Jess said to her.
Soon enough, he was gone to catch the train, and Addie felt very much alone in the house. She sat in the rocking chair, the one they had purchased for the baby, and rocked back and forth, back and forth, rubbing her belly and wondering.
Two days passed without incident, then three, then four. For Addie, the nights were filled with worry, but the days seemed soft and effortless and peaceful, as though the light of day evaporated the demons that arose when the sun went down.
Ginny, the maid from the Connor household, arrived faithfully at ten o’clock every day and did the washing, the cleaning, the marketing, and even most of the cooking, always setting a simmering pot of something on the stove for dinner when she left promptly at three. One day, she even brought a basket of hot bread, jam, and several books for Addie to read, with the Connors’ compliments. Her visits were enough company for Addie, who tired easily and wanted nothing more than to sit in her rocking chair, reading and staring at the wide expanse of water that lapped at the edges of their sloping backyard.
On the seventh day, Addie arose from her bed with great difficulty, letting out a monstrous moan as she heaved her body to its feet. She was more than ready for this baby to arrive, unwieldy and unbalanced as she felt now. She smiled as she thought that it had been only two weeks since she and Jess had trekked up the hill to the Connor mansion for dinner. There was no way she could have attempted that journey now.
Ginny arrived promptly at ten o’clock, filled with chatter about the town, the market, and the weather.
“Something’s in the air, Mrs. Stewart,” Ginny said as she was washing the supper dishes from the night before. “Amos at the market says all of the fishermen are staying off the lake today. Might be a storm, he says.”
Addie opened the kitchen door and stared down the long slope to the lake. There was a humidity in the air that was unusual for that time of year. Springtime in Wharton was usually a muddy, rainy affair, quite unlike spring in her hometown of Great Bay, which, although it was not so far away from Wharton, was typically still covered in a soggy, sloppy layer of snow in early April. Addie wasn’t quite used to the seasons in her new home, the warm winds of winter preventing much snow from accumulating, and the crisp zephyrs of summer sucking all the humidity out of the air.
But today, the air felt different, as though it had been displaced from another season, lost on the wind and unsure of where to turn. It hung, heavy as a blanket, over the lake. Where water and air met, it seemed to sizzle and crackle like a thousand invisible bolts of lightning were hitting the water’s surface, just out of sight. The sky above was an unsettling shade of blue, but in the distance it looked angry, threatening, and green.
Addie waddled out to the backyard to sit on the bench on the crest of the hill. Here, away from the bustle of the city docks, the lake was as still as a sheet of ice. Indeed, it looked so solid that Addie felt sure she could walk on it. She knew, from her lifelong love affair with this lake, that its waters would soothe and protect her on a day such as this—oh, how her aching muscles were crying out for a swim—but she had long since promised her husband that she wouldn’t go into the water until after the baby was born. Silly, superstitious man that he was.
“I thought I’d make a pot of stew for you tonight, ma’am,” Ginny called out from the kitchen doorway.
“Oh, don’t bother, Ginny,” Addie called back. “I’m not in the least bit hungry. In fact, I still feel full from breakfast. Please don’t trouble yourself.”
“Are you getting on all right, ma’am?” Ginny walked outside to where Addie was sitting on the bench, a concerned look on her face. “Is your time coming?”
Addie smiled and rubbed her belly. “No, my time’s not coming. This baby is still warm and safe and snug just where she is. She’s not wanting to come into this world just yet.”
“She, said you.” Ginny smiled. “You think it’s a girl, then?”
Addie nodded. “I do. I just have a feeling.” Then, turning to look at Ginny, she asked, “Is the Connors’ new baby a boy or a girl?”
“I don’t know, ma’am,” Ginny said. “None of us in the house know, excepting Martha, Mrs. Connor’s maid. And she’s not saying.”
“Whyever not?”
“Superstition,” Ginny said softly, looking up and down the lakeshore and drying her hands on her apron. “Whispers around the house are that the baby is a little wisp of a thing, blue when it was born, fragile as a snowflake. Martha won’t repeat its name, nor nothing about it, lesting that the devil come in and steal its soul.”
“Oh no.” Addie shook her head. “You know that’s just a silly superstition, don’t you, Ginny?” The girl shook her head, and Addie continued, “In any case, I pray that the poor thing grows stronger.”
“As do we all,” Ginny said. “We’re all on pins and needles up at the big house, everyone deathly quiet, as if a noise would disturb the baby’s slumber. Even Mr. Connor is padding around silent as a lamb. Me, if I had my way, I’d be banging and clanging and getting that baby to cry as hard and loud as it could. My mam always said that crying gives a baby strong lungs and a strong spirit. Strong enough to keep death away. Maybe that’s why I chatter so much.”
Addie smiled. It was true this girl had the gift of gab. And a strong spirit to go with it.
“Mrs. Connor is lucky to have you.” Addie took Ginny’s hand. “As am I. I’ve been so grateful for your help, Ginny.”