Page 6

“My birfday is coming, my birfday is coming!” James said more loudly than he ought when he came bounding into Elizabeth’s room early in the morning.

Darcy sat up and rubbed his tired eyes as he chided his son, “Shhhh, we must be quieter.”

James climbed onto his father’s lap, a large smile across his lips, as he said in an excited whisper, “My birfday is coming!”

“Is it March already?” Darcy said with a hint of a smile.

“It is! My birfday is in March.”

“Yes, but we still have a few weeks more to count down, do we not?” At James’ nod, Darcy looked over towards his wife’s bed.

James looked over as well, then with a confidence only a child could possess, he proclaimed, “Mama will have to be awaked now since my birfday is coming.”

A part of him wished it could only be so simple. His heart broke. Did he dare tell his son that her future was looking more foreboding with every hour that passed? Having lost his own dear mother at only twelve years of age, this was not something he would ever wish upon a child.

Before Darcy could decide what to say, James jumped down from his lap, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and eagerly announced, “We are going to play in the snow. Unca Charles says we can make a snow fort and frow snowballs! And we have to let David pway wif us too even dough he is younger. Unca Rickard says he will help me and Henry. Aunt Jane says we cannot frow dem at Casandra or Rose dough. She said we must be wittle gentlemen . Do you want to come too Papa? You can be a wittle gentleman too!”

He chuckled at the misuse of words as his son spoke. James had always been a talkative child, even if he could not pronounce things properly yet. “No, thank you, son. Someone must remain here with your mother. However, if you play on this side of the garden, I can watch you from the window.”

James leaned closer and whispered loudly, “Me and Henry pwayed…”

“Henry and I,” Darcy corrected.

“Henry and I—we pwayed for Mama yesterday at church. I know she will be awaked up soon, Papa.” With that the boy bounded from the room, closing the door a little too eagerly and making Darcy jump.

He stood and went to the window to draw back the curtains.

Today was one of those rare days of winter when the sun was shining brightly in the sky above.

The children would have fun in the newly fallen snow.

From the looks of it, going by how far it came up on the topiaries outside, it might be to the boys’ waists in the drifts.

He chuckled with the memory of he and his cousins playing in the snow when they were young.

Darcy opened the window and took a deep breath of the fresh air.

It was invigorating. He knew Elizabeth would long to be outside on a beautiful day like today.

Over the last five years they had spent many a day exploring and enjoying the grounds of Pemberley.

Below, he saw his son and nephews trying to run out into the snow, Bingley following after the three boisterous boys, two-year-old Rose in his arms, with Jane and the slightly younger Cassandra watching on from the portico.

He chuckled – of course Rose would want to venture out while her cousin Cassandra would not.

The sounds of the children’s activities filtered up through the window and he couldn’t help but smile.

James stopped and looked up at the window, shouting his greeting as he waved his little hand vigorously.

He looks just like Elizabeth, with his cheeks bright from the exercise, Darcy thought.

He leaned against the window casing and crossed his arms over his chest as his thoughts went back even further to the day he was visiting Netherfield with Bingley, and Elizabeth arrived to check on Jane, who had become ill the evening before and was set up in a guest room by Miss Bingley.

Elizabeth’s eyes were brightened by the exercise of walking the three miles from home, her cheeks aglow with that familiar pink tone he had come to adore, just as their son wore on his face now.

Darcy’s thoughts jumped to his first proposal, and her subsequent refusal.

If only I had realized my feelings that day at Netherfield, we would not have had such a tumultuous start, he thought.

But, then again, I learned to be a better man because of her refusal.

His next thought went to the memory of the day Elizabeth finally accepted him. They were walking alone and discussing each of their parts in their past dealings, when Darcy spoke of his abhorrence to the letter he had written after her refusal many months before.

“I am since convinced that it was written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit,” he had said to her.

Elizabeth’s response was charity itself when she said, “You must learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.”

A chill ran through him and he realized he had stood with the window open too long. He closed it and went to stoke the fire, adding enough coal to warm the room sufficiently and quickly. He returned to the chair beside the bed.

It was difficult not to smile at the memories, but they did not offer much hope for the future. Having lost his mother at a young age and his father just ten years later, he knew all too well how quickly a loved one can be taken from you.

“Oh, my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth – how I wish I could give you the strength you need to come back to me.”

With her hand held tightly in his own, he leaned down, his arms resting on his legs and his head bent down as sorrow overtook him and tears formed in his eyes.

He kept whispering over and over again, “Please come back to me. Do not leave me. You must fight through this darkness. Do not leave us. Please, Elizabeth…”

She felt a blast of refreshingly cool air blow across her face and she tried to turn in that direction. Oh, how she longed to be outside and feel the air as it whipped around her. The icy blasts would leave her cheeks red, but it was worth it for the enjoyment of a winter’s day.

Someone was now holding her hand. It was the same man whom she had heard before.

He was becoming very familiar, even if she did not know who he was.

It was obvious he was very distraught over her condition.

She had mulled over who he could be, and at times had thought it might be a doctor or a parson, but there was something more familiar in his address that made her think it could not be them.

Something wet hit her hand. A tear. He is crying. Who would cry over me?

“Please come back to me. Do not leave me.”

Her heart broke for the anguish in his voice.

“You must fight through this darkness. Do not leave us. Please, Elizabeth…”

I am trying! She found herself wishing she could give voice to the words she was screaming in her mind.

Everything within her longed to assure him that she was doing her best. This darkness had such a grip on her.

Fight it, Elizabeth, she told herself . You must do this… for him and everyone else. You must.

It was with a sudden surge of the most enormous effort that she put her everything into moving her fingers. She felt them flex, but they did not move. Once more, she tried. Her heart soared when she felt a small jump from her finger. She did it! Now, to do it again.

She felt his grip begin to loosen. Please, do not leave me, she was saying silently, wishing she could scream it from her own lips. I am trying. I am fighting. Please keep holding me close. Do not lose hope.

Each time she tried it became a little easier, and by the fifth time she was able to squeeze the hand of whoever held onto her fingers.

Darcy’s sorrow was so great that his chest began to ache.

The tears flowed freely from his eyes, and his hands trembled so much he could hardly hold on to Elizabeth’s fingers.

Through the fog that surrounded him he thought he felt her finger twitch, but it must have been his imagination, he thought.

Suddenly, with just the smallest perceptible feeling, he felt her fingers tighten around his.

It was only for a second, but he knew what he felt.

His other hand reached for hers, his fingers caressing the back of it as he called out to her, “Elizabeth, I know you are there. I know you can hear me. I can feel you coming back to me. Please keep fighting. Please… for me… keep fighting.”

“Elizabeth, I know you are there. I know you can hear me.”

Yes! I can hear you! She wished to shout the words, but she could not.

“I can feel you coming back to me. Please keep fighting. Please… for me… keep fighting.”

I am trying; I truly am. I will come out of this darkness. Do not lose hope.

Every bit of her strength was put into squeezing his hand again, and she felt comfort in knowing he responded with such a loving caress.

Whoever he was, he wished the best for her.

If only she could remember him? His voice was so very familiar, even now in his sorrow, and yet she was still unable to remember his name.

It was no matter, for in this moment his name did not matter. All that mattered was that he was with her, encouraging her with his every touch and word to keep fighting. She would. She would overcome this darkness. She had to.

She was able finally to squeeze his hand substantially, and she could hear the joy in his voice as he continued to talk to her.

“Oh, Elizabeth, I never truly knew joy before this moment. You can overcome this malady that has nearly taken you from me. I know what strength you possess.”

His heart soared with every squeeze her fingers gave.

He could feel that she was trying. He continued to encourage her, but in just a few minutes time he felt her strength wane.

“Oh, Elizabeth, I never truly knew joy before this moment. You can overcome this malady that has nearly taken you from me. I know what strength you possess.”

She continued to hold tight, though her grip was growing weaker as the minutes passed.

“You have done well. It is time you rest now,” he whispered into her ear.

He felt her hand slowly release, but his own fingers remained tightly wound around hers.

Eventually her body relaxed and he could tell by the gentle rising and falling of her chest that she was asleep once more.

“You are coming back to me; I know it,” he said gently as he leaned in to kiss her cheek.

When she was relaxed enough that he could release her hand, he quickly went to the cord and called for Mrs Reynolds, telling her when she arrived what had occurred and saying he needed to get word to the doctor to come at once.

Within the hour the doctor was listening intently to Darcy’s story as he examined Mrs Darcy.

“Um huh, yes, I understand,” he said as Darcy gave him the details.

He looked into her eyes and felt her chest to check the rhythm of her heart.

His head nodded to the beats as he counted.

“Her skin has nice colour today,” he finally said after jotting down something in his notebook.

“Yes, her cheeks are pink and her lips are not as ashen as they have been,” Darcy replied.

“Well,” the older doctor said as he stood beside Elizabeth’s bed, “it is my belief that your wife may just come out of this lethargy. I have consulted every colleague I know, and none are very encouraging due to how long she has been like this, but today is a good day. A good day, indeed.” He nodded as he continued on.

“We should all be encouraged by this encounter. There may yet be a miracle for your wife, sir. Keep doing what you are doing.” The older man turned to leave, but at the door he looked back.

“Mr Darcy, I cannot help but notice that you yourself have changed in these last few weeks. Do not let yourself become ill. Please, let this be inducement enough that you will make your own health a priority as well from now on. You do not want her to wake only to find you withered away to nothing.”

This was often said by his family, but hearing this reproof from the doctor was enough to garner his attention. “For my wife’s sake, I will try to eat more.”

“See that you do, or I may be required here again, and not just for your wife.”

It was said in such a manner that Darcy knew he must follow the doctor’s orders. “Thank you.”

“I will return tomorrow, and I expect to see some improvement from both of you.” The doctor left the room with a nod to the three who remained in the hallway during his exam.

“She is getting there,” he said to them.

“I have also cautioned Mr Darcy to care for his own health. Perhaps this will encourage him to eat and rest better tonight.”

The doctor took his leave just as Darcy came out of Elizabeth’s room.

He looked first to his cousin, then to Bingley, and lastly his eyes turned to Jane.

They shared a moment of silence in which both knew of the significance of today’s events.

“Would you please sit with your sister for a few minutes, Jane?”

“Certainly,” she replied softly.

“I need to visit the chapel,” Darcy replied firmly.

Fitz stepped up beside him. “I will go with you.”

With a nod of thanks, they both turned and walked silently down the hall.

“He wishes to give thanks where it is truly due,” Bingley said to his wife.

“Yes; and we will all continue to pray for Elizabeth’s strength to grow.”

Bingley took Jane’s hand and kissed the back of her fingers. With a smile, he said, “Your sister will return to you. Come, we will both sit with her for a while.”