Page 43

Interlude

Iris

The room is completely white. Sterile. Gauzy curtains blow softly in the open window. At first Sadie thinks she’s back in the California house. But she’s not. This is a dormitory. Or a hospital ward, much like her room at Elm Ridge. She turns to see Marguerite seated on a cot, reading from a book, her skin unnaturally pale. She lifts her head, looks directly at Sadie, and smiles. “You’ve finally come,” she says, her voice musical.

“I have.” At first, Sadie thinks Marguerite has seen her, but it’s Florence who speaks. Sadie whirls to see her grandmother, dressed in striped summer poplin, a wide-brimmed hat perched on her blond curls. “Stand up, sister, so I can have a proper look at you.” Marguerite stands, her nightgown fluttering to the floor. Her belly arches out from her slender body, convex. Unmistakably pregnant.

“It won’t be very long now.” Florence crosses to Marguerite, places a hand on her belly, her wedding ring glinting in the light. “James has the nursery ready.”

“I’m afraid, Flor,” Marguerite says. “Will it hurt?”

“Yes. But our bodies are made to do it. And the pain stops once the baby comes.” Florence sits on the cot, drawing Marguerite down with her. The hem of Marguerite’s nightgown lifts, exposing painfully swollen ankles. “Next year, this will all seem like a dream. I’ve already spoken to Papa. He’s willing to send you to Europe for your grand holiday.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Florence strokes the side of Marguerite’s face. “You’ll be able to see all the places you’ve dreamed of going. Work on your art.”

Marguerite takes Florence’s hand. “You’ll let me see her, won’t you?”

“Of course I will. As often as you’d like. But remember—you must promise to never tell her the truth, darling. She needs to believe she was always mine. Do you understand why that’s important?”

“I . . . I think so.”

“Good girl.” Florence presses a kiss to Marguerite’s cheek. “I’d better go, for now. But I’m staying here, in town, until your time comes. I’ll visit you again tomorrow.” She moves toward the door, bustled skirts swishing in her wake.

“Is James here? With you?” Marguerite asks. “If so, I’d like to see him.”

“No, I came alone this time.”

Marguerite’s eyes narrow. “Is he here, then? Is that why you’re rushing off?”

A shadow falls over Florence’s face. “That isn’t your concern.”

“It is , Florence. If I’m to give you my child, I want to make sure she grows up in a happy home. Where is Gracie?”

“With our nurse.”

“In Kansas City?”

“Yes.”

“I see. And does James suspect anything?”

Florence sighs, her hand clutching her parasol handle. “If he does, he’s never said as much. I know James. He won’t.”

“Tell me the truth, Flor. Is Gracie James’s, or Weston’s?”

Florence whirls to face Marguerite, her face suddenly livid. “How dare you ask me that?”

“You don’t know, do you? You’re lucky she resembles you,” Marguerite says, smirking. “Lucky you can’t have another child.”

“ Lucky? I should hit you for that, Marg.”

“Do it.” Marguerite stands, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “You’ve already destroyed my life. Taken Hugh from me. All out of spite.”

“You can’t see it now, but I’ve protected you. From dishonor. From a life lived in some shameful tenement or a shanty. Hugh couldn’t have given you the sort of life you want.” Florence is shaking now, her barely contained rage near the surface. “He only wanted to take what he could get. And you were so willing to give it.”

“I think you’re talking about Weston now, not Hugh. Isn’t he taking what he can get? From you? It disgusts me to see him stringing Claire along. Making promises he has no intentions of keeping. You’re selfish, Flor. Hateful. Someday you’ll reap what you’ve sown.”

Florence’s arm snakes out, the resounding slap on Marguerite’s skin like a thunderclap. Sadie covers her mouth, shock and anger and betrayal flowing through her as the truth settles into her marrow.

Marguerite slumps onto her cot, presses her palm to the handprint seared on her face.

“You are still such a child,” Florence says, seething. “You don’t have any idea how the world works. I should have let you run away with him. Let you see your folly, on some godforsaken trail out West. I’ve saved your life , Marguerite.” She spares a final glance at her youngest sister, then flounces out of the room, letting the door slam behind her.

Marguerite bursts into tears, sobbing so hard her shoulders shake. Iris comes in a few moments later, dressed in a white gown, reed thin with hollow, young eyes. She goes to Marguerite and gathers her in her arms.

“I ... don’t want to give her up,” Marguerite wails, her hand clutching her belly. “I can’t.”

“I know, darling. But we must think of what’s best.”

“I’m what’s best for this baby! I am, Iris. I can do this!”

“How? Without a husband? Without your family’s help? You know as well as I do that your papa will stop sending you money eventually.” Iris knits her fingers with Marguerite’s. “At least she’ll be with family. Your sister. You’ll be able to see her grow up.”

“You don’t know Florence. She’s wretched. She lies about everything.” Marguerite stands, goes to her dresser, removing folded clothes. “I’m leaving tonight. After Nurse makes her rounds.”

“And you’ll go where?” Iris stands, incredulous. “Marguerite, think! Do you plan on having this baby in a hotel room? By the side of the road? I’ve been through it, remember? It can be dangerous. The cord was tangled around Victor’s neck when he was born. If the doctor hadn’t been there ... he might have died.”

“I’ll figure it out. I’ll find Hugh. We’ll go to a doctor. Or find a midwife.”

“How?”

“I ... I don’t know. But I’ll find Hugh. I will.”

“And what if you do? Your father accused him of rape. Do you think his family will open their arms to you, after what they’ve gone through? I know the Irish. They’re a proud, stubborn people.”

“Then we’ll run aw—” Marguerite suddenly stills. She clutches her head, wincing. “Something’s wrong.” She staggers to the bed, a grimace of pain shooting over her face. “Oh God, my head ...”

“I’ll get the nurse.” Iris runs from the room.

The scene shifts. Marguerite lies on a gurney, nurses surrounding her. Florence is there, too, in the same poplin dress, clutching Marguerite’s hand as she strains and cries out, her hair dark with sweat.

“We have to get this baby out,” the bald doctor says to one of the nurses. “She’s in eclamptic distress. Mrs. Knight, you’ll need to leave the room.”

“But I . . . ,” Florence protests. “I can’t.”

“We’ll call for you soon, ma’am.” One of the nurses guides her from Marguerite’s side. “It won’t be long.”

Once Florence is out of sight, a nurse climbs atop Marguerite, pressing both of her hands on Marguerite’s stomach. “When you feel the pains come again, push with all you’ve got, love.”

“I want my baby,” Marguerite says, panting. “Please don’t let them take her.”

“Now, now. Enough of that.”

The contraction comes. Marguerite pushes, and the nurse atop her pushes, too.

“There, that’s it!” the doctor exclaims. “One more push should do it.”

Marguerite collapses back against the pillows, weak, frightened. She turns her head and looks at Sadie. This time, Marguerite sees her . Truly sees her. “Who?” Marguerite whispers. “Who is that, in the room?”

“What, dear?” The nurse looks over her shoulder at Marguerite, giving a quizzical look.

“That woman. In the corner. Who is she?”

“There’s no one there. She’s hallucinating,” the doctor says, his voice rising. “We need to get this baby out, nurse. Give it all you’ve got this time.”

Marguerite squeezes her eyes shut as the next contraction sets in, a throttled scream escaping her throat as she bears down. The nurse presses hard on her belly, elbows locked.

“Aha!” the doctor exclaims. A thin, reedy cry floats over the din, the excitement in the room palpable as the doctor raises the baby up where Marguerite can see. “A girl. You’ve done well, Miss Thorne. You’ve done well.”

Marguerite raises herself onto her elbows, her eyes lividly green against her pale face. “Let me have her. Please.”

The nurse clambers off the cot, takes the baby from the doctor, and swaddles her as he clamps and cuts the cord. The baby is red-faced and angry, her bright copper hair contrasting with the linen sheath they’ve wrapped her in.

Sadie is crying, watching her own mother come into this world, watching her take her first, greedy gulps of air, all the puzzle pieces of the past slotting together in this singular, shocking moment.

“You’re bright as a fresh-minted penny!” Marguerite exclaims, clucking her tongue at the little girl, who soon quiets in her mother’s arms, puckering her lips. On instinct, Marguerite opens her gown, brings the babe to her breast. The nurses and the doctor are too distracted to notice, busy as they are with delivering the afterbirth.

And then suddenly, as if time has sped up, the room goes quiet. It is nighttime. Only a single nurse keeps vigil, the room lit dimly with oil lamps.

Florence and Weston enter. Sadie startles at the sight of him, her fear and her dread as one, but he doesn’t seem to notice her, not in this timeline. She’s as invisible to him as she is to Florence.

“Why is he here?” Marguerite growls. She holds the baby closer.

“It’s nighttime. I needed an escort.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have come. You can’t have her. I’ve changed my mind.”

“Marg, please,” Florence entreats, extending a hand to Marguerite. “It will only be harder, the longer you wait.”

The nurse rises from her chair, clears her throat, her dark eyes creased with care as she goes to Marguerite’s bed. “Miss, if you’ll give her to me now, I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Get away from me.” Marguerite’s eyes go wild. The baby cries, softly, in her sleep.

“Now, don’t make this more difficult than needs be.” The nurse’s voice grows stern. “We’ve given you long enough with her.” She reaches for Laura—for Penny—and Marguerite strikes her. The nurse steps back in shock.

“I’ll claw your eyes out if you come any closer,” Marguerite threatens, baring her teeth.

“You signed the papers months ago, Marguerite,” Florence says, her voice wavering. “You can’t change your mind.”

“Can’t I?” Marguerite swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands. Weston and the nurse surge forward. Everything happens so quickly. The baby wakes, cries. Weston swears, and the nurse gives a frantic shout as Marguerite thrashes like a wildcat. An orderly rushes into the room, wrestles Marguerite to the gurney, holds her down as the nurse transfers the baby into Florence’s arms.

Marguerite screams her baby’s name, then a string of curses as the nurse hurriedly ushers Florence and Weston from the room. The scene fades, grays out around the edges, and Sadie finds herself standing in the library with the morning sun flaming white through the windows.