Page 23 of Lady of Milkweed Manor
Because of the deep roots, successful transplantation of mature plants is difficult. Attempt it only with small offspring of the mother....
— J ACK S ANDERS, T HE S ECRETS OF W ILDFLOWERS
I n his office in the manor, Daniel rested his palm on the infant’s small chest in silent benediction. “I am sorry,” he said quietly to the child’s father. “There is nothing else to be done.”
Harris stared up at him, clearly not able or not willing to comprehend.
“He is gone,” Daniel added gently.
“Give him to me,” Harris ordered tersely, and for a moment Daniel feared the man might continue with vain attempts to breathe life into his son’s small body.
Daniel wrapped the child securely in a donated blanket and reverently handed him over to Charles Harris, who reached both hands out to receive the bundle.
When the weight of the infant’s body filled his hands and arms, it seemed the child became real to the man all at once.
He stared down at the little face and buckled over as if struck hard.
He cried out in anguish. A cry that must certainly be echoing throughout the manor.
The man sank to the nearest chair and held the bundled child to his chest, face contorted, tears streaking from his eyes.
A different man indeed from the smug man Daniel had sparred with only a short time before.
His heart tore for the man, his loss. He could not help but imagine himself in the same situation, if his own wife or soon-to-arrive child should die during childbirth.
His answering tears were for himself as well as for Charles Harris.
“Katherine will not bear it,” Harris whispered.
“Of course the loss is terrible, but in time ...”
“No, you don’t understand. Katherine feared this might happen.
She insisted I should plan to have her locked away immediately should the child die.
That she would go insane with grief—want to die herself.
I promised her everything would be all right.
Nothing would happen to our child... .
” The man’s grief rendered him unable to continue.
“It is not your fault, man. You did everything you could.”
“I did nothing.”
“Your wife will want her time to say good-bye to him. We should take him back to her before—”
“No! Did you not notice her state? I have never seen her like that. I cannot bring home a ... lifeless ... child... .”
“It will be painful, yes, but in the end it will help her overcome her grief.”
“No.” He spoke the word with less vehemence, shaking his head thoughtfully, staring at nothing. Suddenly he looked up, startled, his face alight with manic purpose.
“Where is Charlotte?”
Instantly, panic, dread, and profound fear struck Daniel Taylor with full force. He could see what was coming, should have foreseen it an hour before. “Mr. Harris, whatever you are thinking, I beg you to put it from your mind.”
“What am I thinking?”
“I forbid you to approach Miss Lamb on this. You are grieving, I realize, but—”
“You cannot keep me from seeing Charlotte.”
“Actually I can. I am her physician and she is still in recovery.”
“She will want to see me.”
“Will she? Even when she discovers your purpose? I cannot believe you are thinking to ... I cannot conceive of a more cruel offer.”
“Cruel? What is cruel about offering my son—my other son—a decent life? You said it yourself, if I do nothing, he will grow up with nothing—no advantages, no opportunities, let alone the basic necessities of life.”
“I never said ...”
“How many other fatherless children could hope for such as I, as we, could provide?”
“But your wife ...”
“Need never know!”
“You offer only because your own son is dead. Had he lived ...”
“Then you and I would not be having this conversation, I grant you. But he did not live, did he? And here I stand, not—what?—a few steps from my own flesh-and-blood living, breathing son? I say it’s providence.”
“I say it’s heartless and selfish.”
“But it does not really matter what you say. It only matters what Charlotte says, does it not?”
Daniel shook his head, arms crossed, head pounding.
“Please, man, I beg of you. Let me at least see her!”
Daniel stared at the man, but instead saw a younger Charlotte, smile beaming, looking up into the face of this man before him. Would she want to see him? Consider his wretched offer? Daniel longed to protect her, but who was he to make such a colossal decision?
Daniel insisted on entering Charlotte’s room first, on having a few moments alone with her. To prepare her, somehow—as if such a thing were possible.
He sternly waved Harris back, waiting until he was hidden in the shadows several steps down the corridor, before knocking softly on Charlotte’s door.
“Yes?” she answered after only a moment’s hesitation.
Pinning Harris with a “stay there” stare, he opened the door a few inches. “Charlotte? It’s Daniel Taylor. May I come in a moment?”
“Of course.”
He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, his lamp held low at his side, hopefully providing her some modesty should she need it.
“Good evening,” he said, striving for normalcy. “Please forgive the lateness of the hour.”
“I was still awake, watching him.”
He noticed that a candle burned on her bedside table. He set his small oil lamp atop the chest near the door, causing large shadows to quiver on the room’s walls.
She sat up on the bed, facing him. “Is everything all right?”
He stood awkwardly clenching his hands, then realizing he was, stuffed them into his pockets. In the bed beside Charlotte the babe awakened, fussing a bit. Charlotte leaned over and picked him up. She leaned back against the headboard, bouncing him gently in her arms.
“There, there. You cannot be hungry yet, little one.”
When the infant relaxed back to sleep, Charlotte smiled up at Daniel, her tired eyes alight with a look of maternal wonder at, perhaps, her unexpected skill with her child.
Her smile held a touch of pride; her face, glowing in the golden light of the candle, beamed with deep contentment.
What a lovely portrait she and her babe made at this moment.
He smiled at her in return, and felt another pricking at the back of his eyes and a tightness in his throat.
He feared that this was the last time she would ever look this happy again.
“Have you decided what to call him?” he asked, putting off the inevitable.
“I believe I have. I found the task much more difficult than I would have imagined.” She laid the child on the far side of the bed beside her, securing him with a pillow.
“Why is that?” The moment the question left his mouth, he knew it was a stupid one and wished it back.
“Well, because normally I should name him for ... his father. At least that is customary. But there is little customary about this situation.” She straightened a blanket over the babe. “Or I should name him for my own father. But given the circumstances... .”
“Yes, I see what you mean.”
He cleared his throat.
She turned to him. “Is something the matter?” she asked gently.
“Yes, I am afraid there is something. Something that might—potentially—trouble you.”
“What is it?”
“There is someone here who wishes to see you.”
“Now? Who is it?”
“It’s, um ...”
“My father?” she asked, surprise and, he could not miss, a note of hope in her voice. His heart ached dully at disappointing her.
“No, I’m sorry. Not your father.”
She stared at him but didn’t reply. He took a deep breath and continued.
“It’s Charles Harris.”
“Mr. Harris?”
“Yes, you see, his own child ... that is, his wife Katherine’s child was born this night.”
He saw Charlotte’s face harden at his words, and for a moment he was relieved. He hoped she might rebuke the man without a second thought.
“But he lived for only a short time,” Daniel continued. “I revived him but was not successful in keeping him alive.”
“Poor Katherine.”
“Yes, though Mr. Harris is distraught as well.”
“Is he?”
The door creaked slowly open and both turned to look.
“Charlotte?” Harris’s voice was both plaintive and determined.
“Sorry, Taylor, I could not wait any longer.” He stepped into the room, closing the door quietly behind him. “Charlotte, I had to see you.”
He approached the bed, hat in hand. “What has Taylor told you?”
Charlotte stared up at him. “That your ... that Katherine’s newborn child died this night.”
“Oh, Charlotte. I am laid low indeed.” Charles dropped to his knees beside the bed and grasped her arm, his hat falling unnoticed to the floor. Now he looked up at her with tear-streaked eyes.
“A little son—did he tell you?”
Charlotte nodded mutely.
“I held him in my hands as he died... .” A sob broke through his throat, and Daniel looked away from the painful scene. Still, Harris must have suddenly remembered that he was standing there. “Taylor. Give us a moment, will you?”
Daniel wanted nothing more than to flee from this room, filled with one man’s pain and likely to soon flood with another’s.
But he feared the older man might pressure Charlotte, who was clearly susceptible to his persuasion.
And given her fragile emotional condition as a new mother .
.. No, he couldn’t leave her to face this alone.
“I am staying.”
Charlotte looked over at him, clearly surprised. She opened her mouth as if to argue but then closed it, saying nothing. She returned her gaze to Charles Harris.
“Katherine will be insane with grief as you might imagine.”
“Any woman would be.”
“She does not yet know. The nurse sedated her while Taylor here tried to revive him.”
She stared at the man, clearly perplexed. “I am sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. That means a great deal to me. I know I made an immense mistake where you are concerned. That you could still say that, well, I thank you.”
Her brow wrinkled as she listened to him, perhaps trying in vain to follow his line of thought.
“And you, Charlotte? How do you fare?”