Evaleah's Wild Rose - A Short Story - Part 3

... I knew that I would always be welcome to Evaleah, but I feared her husband with the rough soot-stained hands.

Evaleah’s wild joy at finding that she was with child turned to a fearful despondency as the months left her weaker, paler, less able to see the years ahead. I found her one day curled beside the oak tree that towered over the cottage.

I sat beside her and pulled her up, picking the grass strands from her hair as she sobbed into my skirts. She cried until there seemed to be nothing left and then she looked up from my lap with eyes full of misery.

“Elise, I don’t think that I’ll live to see this baby grow.”

“What? Evaleah, what do you mean, you’re fine, you’re strong.”

I stroked her hair, but as I studied her I saw that she was weaker than I’d ever seen her, and thin beneath her loose, flowered cotton dress. But I attempted to raise her spirits anyway.

“A lot of women become afraid, Evaleah, at this strange new thing in their life, at carrying the child, at the birth…. You will be fine.”

She shook her head and gripped my hand tightly. “No, this feeling is different. It is something that I just know, I can’t explain it. It seems that each day that passes leaves me feeling farther away— as if I’m floating downstream and no matter how hard I paddle, I can’t get back.”

She lay her head back in my lap and watched the clouds pass overhead.

“What does Matthew say?”

Her eyes brimmed again, spilling over onto her white cheeks. “He becomes angry and says that I’ll be alright. He won’t talk about it at all.”

She knew that I became angry myself because she gripped my hand and added; “But it’s only because it frightens him, and it’s so, so hard for someone like him to admit they are afraid, Elise.”

What Evaleah said about slipping away became more evident with each month that followed. The last month before the birth she lay silently in the bedstead that Matthew had wrought from iron that he had pounded in the shed nearby. I had not been back in the bedroom of the cottage since their marriage, and one day when I visited to bring Evaleah soup, I heard her calling weakly from the back for me to come to her.

The small, mullioned windows were thrown open and the afternoon sun spilled onto the worn wood floor as I sat down beside her. For the end of February it was unseasonably warm and birds beyond the window sill sang in voices that made Evaleah smile as she watched the waving buds outside.

“It’s good to see you, Evaleah. I brought you some pastries and some soup that I just made this morning. There is enough for both you and Matthew. How are you today?”

I could see her summon strength to speak and I smoothed the blanket that was stretched over her swollen stomach. “Elise, the baby will be here soon.”

Evaleah’s eyes seemed transparent as they tried weakly to focus on mine. “I need to talk to you very seriously, Elise, please listen to what I have to say.”

I took her hand. “Of course, there’s no doubt that I would listen to anything you had to say. What is it?”

She smiled a smile that told me that she expected argument to whatever she had to tell me. But I squeezed her small, soft hand and waited.

“I want more than anything to see this baby grow up, to love it and to be with Matthew, but I know I can’t, it isn’t possible anymore.”

She weakly raised her hand to stop my eminent words. “Don’t argue with me now, Elise, just listen to me and, remember, when we were little, we promised to always be there for each other. I’ve already spoken to Matthew about this and he’s agreed and promised to do what I’ve asked him.”

She stared into my eyes so deeply that I tried to look away. All of her spare strength she seemed to place into that penetrating gaze.

My heart began to beat loudly and I found that my mouth had become dry.

“I want you to make a promise to me too. I want you to marry Matthew when I’m gone.”

(to be continued)