Page 53

Interlude

Marguerite

Sadie watches as Marguerite clambers out the window of the sanitorium. She drops her carpetbag on the ground and works her way down the side of the building, using a long trailing vine of Virginia creeper as support. When she reaches the bottom, she’s out of breath, her young face reddened by exertion. She picks up the carpetbag and runs, her gait hindered by her swollen belly.

“Stop!” Sadie calls. “Marguerite!”

Marguerite’s head jerks toward Sadie. She freezes for a moment, her eyes narrowing in recognition. She turns and hurries down the road. When Sadie catches up to her, she can hear the stridor in Marguerite’s breathing.

“Stop, Aunt Marg. Please. I know you can see me.”

Marguerite slows but walks on, her jaw set. “Go back, Sadie. I’ve made sure everyone else got their happy ending. Now I want mine.”

“But don’t you know what will happen if you leave here?”

Marguerite stops to catch her breath, clutching her belly. “What are you talking about?”

“Your labor. I saw your swollen ankles. Dr. Gallagher told me what that means. You have a condition—something called pre-eclampsia—and if you try to deliver the baby on your own, you might die, and so could Penny.”

“How can you know that?”

“I can’t. Not for sure. But I’m fading. My memories are full of holes. There’s something wrong with me. And there isn’t much time left. No time for gambling with these kinds of odds.”

“I know I’m dying. I can feel it. My body is trying to pull me back, even now.”

Sadie takes her hand. “Aunt Marg, do you trust me? Because I’m afraid if you leave, you’ll die in this timeline, too. As a young woman. Penny will die, and I will completely cease to exist.”

“But ... but I could find a doctor to deliver the baby. Somewhere else.”

“There isn’t time for that, Aunt Marg. You’re about to go into labor, and I’m very sorry, but you must deliver Penny tonight, at the sanatorium, and then give her to Florence. It’s the only way to make sure I’ll be born someday.” Sadie’s hand rests on her belly. “Doc Gallagher says I’m pregnant. I’m going to have a baby, too. You’ve tried to make things right, by going to the past, and you have—in some ways. I think you even managed to save Claire. But in this timeline ... this chronology of events, nothing can change without risking your descendants. Things must remain as they were. Otherwise, there’s no guarantee Mama will meet Da. And if they don’t meet ...”

“You won’t exist.” Marguerite sighs. “Isn’t there some way I can keep her?”

“It’s too risky. We can’t take the chance. Once you pass away, we won’t be able to change things. It will be too late. We already know Laura will survive and grow up, living with Florence. And I deserve to live, too, Aunt Marg. My baby deserves to live. My brother and his children, too. Let me be the one to fix things, going forward. With my children and grandchildren. You’ve taught me so much about life. About love. About what’s most important. I promise I won’t take any of that for granted.”

Marguerite’s lip trembles. “You’re asking me to break my own heart again. To give up the most precious thing I’ve ever loved.”

“Yes. I am. But it will also be the most selfless thing you’ll ever do. The bravest.”

“I was going to find Hugh. Raise Penny with him. We were going to be happy.”

“I know. And I’m sorry you didn’t get that chance. I’m so sorry.”

“Will you find Hugh after I’m gone, and tell him everything?”

“Yes, I promise I’ll try my best to find him.”

Marguerite smiles at Sadie, squeezes her hand. “I remember it all now, you know. All of the memories I’ve lost through the years. All of it. And I’m so proud of you, Sadie. So very proud.”

“I know,” Sadie says, tears streaming down her face. “I know.”

The scene shifts, suddenly, and they’re in the delivery room once more, the same bald doctor stationed at the end of the bed, Florence at Marguerite’s side, clutching her hand. “We have to get this baby out,” he says to the nurse. “She’s nearing eclamptic distress. Mrs. Knight, you’ll need to leave the room.”

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

“I want my sister,” Marguerite says, panting. “Please don’t make her leave.”

“I’m right here,” Florence says, stroking Marguerite’s forehead. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

Marguerite grips her elder sister’s hand. “I’m sorry, Flor.”

“It’s all right. I’m sorry, too. For everything. Things will be better from now on. I promise.”

“Your sister can stay,” the doctor says, patting Marguerite’s knee. “But please, Mrs. Knight, keep near the head of the bed, out of the way. This may be upsetting for you. Nurses, watch to make sure she doesn’t swoon.”

The same dutiful nurse from before climbs atop Marguerite, placing both of her hands on Marguerite’s stomach. “When the pains come again, push with all you’ve got, love.”

When 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, a weak smile playing on her lips and love in her eyes. “It was all worth it. For you.”

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

“I’m talking to Sadie. There, in the corner.”

“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. Florence’s knuckles blanch white as Marguerite grips her hand. The nurse presses hard on Marguerite’s belly, elbows locked.

“Aha!” the doctor exclaims. A thin, reedy cry floats over the excited din. The doctor holds the baby up for Marguerite to see. “A girl. You’ve done well, Miss Thorne. You’ve done well.”

Marguerite raises herself onto her elbows, her eyes a livid green inside her pale face. “Let me see her. Please.”

The nurse clambers off the bed, 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.

“Would you like to hold her?” the nurse asks.

A tear trails from Marguerite’s eye. “No. Give her to my sister. She’s Florence’s now.”

Florence eagerly accepts the baby from the nurse, swaying and cooing softly, taking Laura’s tiny fingers in her own and kissing them. Marguerite looks across the room at Sadie, one last time, and closes her eyes.