A Matter of Principle (32 page)

“
We will see you there.” Bronnie disappeared.

The carriage rocked forward, over the cobbled streets of downtown St. Louis.

“
You are with child?” Nicolas croaked.

Sydney winced, her eyes stinging with tears she did not wish to spill. “I don’t know. That’s why I need Annabelle.”

“
You don’t know?” Nicolas growled. “How can
that
be?”

“
Please, Nicolas. Please don’t ask me anything more,” Sydney begged. “I don’t—I can’t—”

There was nothing more to say.

At the apartment, Nicolas carried Sydney upstairs. He helped her disrobe, brought her water and towels to wash with, and waited with her until Annabelle arrived. But he didn’t look in her eyes. When the midwife arrived, he left.

Sydney sat on a wooden chair by the fire, a towel between her legs. The bleeding had slowed, but she was still cramping. Bronnie knocked softly, and slipped into the room.

“
How are you, Sydney?” she asked, her quiet strength a comfort.

“
We shall see,” Sydney answered. She slid forward in the chair and spread her knees.

Annabelle’s smooth, slender hands were cool from washing. “Relax, Sydney,” she whispered as she performed the internal exam. Her businesslike expression betrayed no emotion. Sydney found herself noting that, and wanting to remember if she were ever called to the same duty.

“
Can you bear down?” Annabelle asked. “Not too hard.”

Sydney knew what that meant. She pushed; a difficult task to perform without a baby’s head prompting her body.

“
Again.”

Sydney pushed again. She felt Bronnie’s hands brush through her hair, and rest around her shoulders.
Thank you.

Annabelle reached inside again, her sure touch was gentle. “One more, I believe.”

Sydney closed her eyes and concentrated her entire being on her womb. She squeezed every muscle that seemed the right one. She felt a gush of warmth. Annabelle pulled something from her.

Sydney opened her eyes, but whatever it was, was already wrapped in a bloody towel. “Can I see?” she asked.

Annabelle paused. “Rosie tells me you are a midwife now.”

Sydney nodded, her heart thumping in her ears. “I am.”

“
Because you are a midwife, and for that reason alone, I will show you. There may come a time when you will preside over a miscarriage, and you need to be prepared.”

“
Sydney has miscarried before,” Bronnie interjected.

“
But they were fully formed. Only too early. Five months or more,” Sydney added. “This is different, is it not?”

“
It is. Did you know?” Annabelle asked.

“
I could not be sure. I had some symptoms, but it wasn’t ever right,” Sydney tried to explain. “Then this morning I suddenly felt well once again.”

Annabelle nodded. “That is often the way. When the body gives up trying to grow something that will not grow, it lets go. The woman feels the difference.”

“
Are you sure you want to look, Sydney?” Bronnie’s sweet face wrinkled in concern.

“
Did you see it?” Sydney asked.

Bronnie shook her head, no. “I have no need, nor desire.”

Sydney pulled a deep breath and faced Annabelle. “Show me.”

Annabelle folded back the blood-soaked cloth. In her palm lay a tiny creature, not at all human in form. More like a tadpole. But the relatively large head was concave in back. And there was no hint of limbs on the crooked body.

“
Do you see the head?” Annabelle pointed. “It had no brain. No arms or legs. And here.” She turned the thing over. “Its spine is open. That is probably why it’s so crooked.”

Sydney stared at the lump. “It was never a baby.”

“
No, Sydney, it was not. It had no brain, no heart, no soul. It is only malformed tissue.”

Sydney lifted her eyes to Annabelle. “What do we do with it?”

“
I would dispose of it the same as we do the afterbirth.”

Sydney frowned. “Even so.”

“
You will bleed for a few days, the same as for your regular course.” Annabelle was already wrapping the bloody rag in a clean one.

“
Thank you, Annabelle.”

Annabelle collected her things. With a sincere, “God bless,” she was out the door.

Bronnie helped Sydney clean herself and tie on fresh rags. “Are you comfortable?” she asked as she plumped Sydney’s pillows.

Sydney sank back into the pristine comfort of the bed. “Yes, thank you.”

“
Shall I send Nicolas in?”

Sydney nodded, her heart ratcheting up its cadence. She had to face him sometime.

Chapter Twenty Four

March 26, 1822

St. Louis

Nicolas stood outside the bedroom door, one hand on the knob, and took three deep breaths to calm himself. Rickard’s brandies warmed his empty belly and helped steady him as well. But he had no control over the emotions swamping him now and didn’t know what he would say or do once in the room. Finally, he opened the door.

Sydney looked well; that was a relief. She sat up in their bed leaning against a stack of pillows. Her face was pale but for one red splotch on each cheek, like badly applied rouge. He approached the bed, wondering where to begin.

“
How are you,
min presang
?”

She relaxed at that; the splotches began to fade. “I am fine, Nicolas. Absolutely fine.”

“
May I?” He pointed at the bed.

“
Please.” She patted the mattress.

He sank onto the edge, afraid to jostle her. “Sydney, what happened?”

She looked at her hands, her fingers impossibly entwined on the blanket front of her. Her knuckles pressed white against her skin.

“
I miscarried.”

“
You
were
with child?” His heart lurched. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“
I wasn’t certain. It wasn’t right.” Sydney lifted tentative gray-green eyes to his. “I had some symptoms, but not others.”

“
Oh.” Nicolas tried, without success, to imagine what that might feel like. “But it was a baby?”

“
No.” Sydney shuddered.

“
What do you mean, no?” Nicolas was trying to remain calm. “Can you not simply tell me what happened?”

“
I am trying to!” she snapped.

Nicolas clenched his jaw, then his fists. “If it wasn’t a baby, what was it?”

Sydney looked away. “It was malformed tissue. No brain, no heart, no soul.”

Nicolas narrowed his eyes. “You saw it?”

Sydney nodded.

Nicolas was horrified. “Was it human?”

“
Well it would have been! If it had grown correctly! But it did not!” she practically shouted.

“
And why didn’t it?” he practically shouted back.

“
Only God knows that answer, Nicolas!” She glared at him, chin trembling. “These things happen!”

Nicolas was torn, his very center rent in half. He wanted to pull her close and comfort her. But he was so angry. So scared. And there was a question to be addressed. “How long?”

“
What?”

“
Do not disrespect me, Sydney. How long did you carry?”

Sydney shrugged. “I don’t exactly know. My last course was unusual, so I don’t know if it began before or after that.”

“
Your last course? Why that was—that was the night you became ill at the Candidate’s Ball! That was nearly three months ago!” Nicolas was stunned. “I thought it was your normal irregularity!”

“
So did I. But for the bouts of nausea…” Sydney confessed.

Realization pounded into Nicolas’s consciousness. He broke into a sweat and had to get off the bed. He paced around the room, then stopped and faced Sydney.

“
I’m not sterile.”

She shook her head, ever so slightly.

“
Å min Gud!
I’m not sterile. Lily…”

“
To hell with Lily, Nick. This has nothing to do with her!” Sydney cried.

“
No. Maybe not.” He ran his hands through his hair. “But this could happen again.”

“
What?” Sydney’s eyes widened.

“
This! You! We made a baby!” Nicolas’s fears, founded in his first wife’s childbed death, rushed upon him; a wave of buried terror revived. He couldn’t breathe.

“
And?”

“
And?” He gasped, then bellowed, “And now we have this to deal with! Every time we—argh!” He was berserk, beyond words. “I’ll never touch you again without dreading the outcome!”

Sydney was out of the bed so fast he had no time to do anything but step back. It was not enough to keep her palm from landing against his cheek with enough force to toss his head aside. The ring of the slap hung in his ear, even after his face began to burn.

He was surprised, shocked, angry. His arm swung back out of pure reflex, but she did not flinch. He came sensible of his actions just in time and stopped before he walloped her in retaliation.

“
Look at me, Nicolas Reidar Hansen! Look at me!” she screamed.

Her face suffused red, her pupils so dilated her eyes were but black holes. “I am strong! I am healthy! I have birthed three babies and I am still
here!
”

She stepped forward and he stepped back. She pushed her finger in his face.

“
Damn your fears, Nicolas! Open your eyes! I AM
NOT
LARA!
”

They stood, so close that if he took a deep breath, his chest would bump her chin. He was shaking uncontrollably. Thoughts tumbled, confused, in his mind and he could not sort them out. What did he know?
What did he know?

“
I know you’re not Lara.” His breath caught; his throat thickened. “You’re not Lara.” Tears rolled down his cheeks and sobs shook his shoulders. He folded to the floor, fists on his knees.



Sydney knelt in front of him. She touched his wet cheek where the outline of her hand raised red, the white scar forming a stigmata piercing it.

“
I’m so sorry, Nicolas. I’m so very sorry.”

He did not respond at first. He cried, his face pinched and trembling. Then he shook his head and sniffed. “No, Sydney. I was completely out of line.”

“
I had no right to strike you.”

He gripped her hand and moved it to his lips. He kissed it. “You should be in bed.”

She pushed to her feet and he followed, tucking her into the blankets. He sat on the edge of the mattress, wiping his eyes.

“
We have more to discuss, wife. But it can wait until you are well.”

She nodded, not sure what he meant. Now was not the time to ask. “I am well, Nicolas. I’ll bleed like a regular course.” She smiled faintly. “Only less painfully.”

He considered her, disbelief shaping his face. “Truly?”

“
Yes. Truly.”

“
Well, is there anything you need?”

“
I’m very hungry.”

A look of revelation passed over his face. “You never finished supper.” He stood. “I shall fetch food. What do you want?”

“
Something hearty. I’m starving.”

Nicolas leaned over the edge of the bed and kissed her, soundly, on the lips. “I will go off the reel,
min presang
. And we shall sleep well this night. Tomorrow, we will address the rest.”

“
Yes. I love you.”

“
And I love you. I think more than you can comprehend.”

When he quit the room, Sydney rolled into a ball, and cried into her pillow for the child that never was.



Nicolas shut the bedroom door and faced a roomful of wide, silent stares. “You heard, I imagine.”

A cacophony of disclaimers rolled around the room, pushed by dismissive waves and shrugged shoulders.

“
Hmm. Well, I am assured that Sydney is going to be fine, but she is very hungry. Shall we get some food?”

“
I’ll stay here with her,” Bronnie offered. “I can make coffee while you’re gone.”

“
I’ll stay with Bronnie,” Rickard winked. “I’ll help her make coffee.”

Nicolas chuckled. “Leif? Vincent?”

“
I believe I should return to the Ball and assure them that your wife is well,” Vincent said. “I will dine there, if you have no objection.”

“
None at all. And that is a good consideration.”

Vincent paused. “What specifically should I tell them?”

Nicolas thought a moment. “Tell them that she miscarried very early in her term, but is in no danger. She is feeling well and taking nourishment.”