“They haven’t started yet. It may be some time.”
Eva had labored for two days. How would I stand it? Already, the room felt suffocating.
“I offered to fetch some supplies from the hospital so everything’s ready when the doctor arrives,” Matthew said. “If you’ll excuse us, Mum, I’ll get dressed.”
“Of course. I’ll be downstairs.”
As soon as Hannah left—leaving the key in the door, I noted—I began whispering furiously to Matthew.
“I’m not having the baby here. You have to call Dr. Westbrook and tell him we’re going to the hospital.”
How many times had I seen that caring yet bewildered expression on Matthew’s face? Maybe I’d cried wolf so many times he no longer bothered to believe me.
“I know it’s upsetting,” Matthew said. “But I’m not going against the doctor’s advice. We’ve got to think of the baby.”
The baby. Never me. Was that how it would be from now on?
Matthew walked over to his armoire and began pulling out clothes. Already his attention was wandering; whether to wear a plain white shirt or one with stripes appeared to be a more pressing concern than his terrified wife.
“Why can’t you send Hank to the hospital?” I asked.
“It’s Sunday.” Hank’s day off. “I’m the only one who can drive the car.”
Matthew walked into the bathroom, and I heard water splashing in the sink. I felt calmer, knowing he was close by. Husbands weren’t supposed to be hanging around birthing rooms; they were shooed away to play golf or smoke cigars with their friends. But I knew Matthew would stay if I asked him. He’d look out for me. I had a sudden, vivid image of Hannah swooping in and snatching the baby out of my arms. I even knew what she’d say: You rest and I’ll take care of the little one. It’s for your own good.
“You’ll come right back, after you’re done?” I called out.
Matthew came out of the bathroom in a clean undershirt and drawers. “Whatever you want,” he said.
I forced a smile. “I’d feel better, with you here.”
Matthew quickly pulled on his trousers and shirt and fastened his tie with a few flips of his wrists. “I’m off, then. Won’t be long, I promise.”
He leaned in for a kiss, and I grabbed his arms to pull him closer. Pressed my hands against his solid shoulders and back, reassured by his protection. Then he was gone, closing the door softly behind him.
Unlocked.
I slid out of bed and opened the door carefully to avoid any squeaks. No sign of Hannah. No maids scurrying down the hall. The only sounds I could hear were voices in the entryway, directly below.
“. . . give her something,” Matthew was saying.
Murmurs from Hannah. Then, “You know how she gets.”
“You can’t blame her for being scared.” Matthew, indignant. Taking my side.
Hannah again. “Not good for the baby. Quite dangerous if she becomes too agitated.”
A very long pause. Then Matthew. “Do what you have to. I trust your judgment.”
They were going to knock me out.
I slipped back into my room and began pacing in a panic. I’d made a point of speaking to Matthew in a calm, rational voice, yet he still trusted his mother over me. Still believed she had my best interests at heart. What easy prey he was, for women like Hannah and Marjorie! So eager to please, so anxious to make everything right.
I knew, deep down, that the baby was fine, that the story about its delicate health had been concocted to keep me under Hannah’s control. To her, I was a broodmare, meant only to pop out the next generation of Lemonts. How easily I could become one of those wives pictured on my dressing room wall, women who faded from history, leaving no trace of themselves behind. She wouldn’t hurt me as long as I was carrying the family heir, but what would happen afterward? Hannah wanted her grandchild raised at Lakecrest under her supervision. And the Lemonts always got what they wanted.
The only question was how she’d do it. A shot in the arm while I was distracted by labor pangs? I’d wake up and find the baby had already been whisked off to the nursery. Hannah would arrange a stay for me at a rest home, someplace I could recover from an ailment I didn’t have. Dr. Westbrook or Dr. McNally would produce a report that painted me as an unfit mother, and just like that, I’d lose my child. And lose Matthew. I’d be cast out of the family forever.
Or would she go even further? There are so many ways childbirth can go wrong, especially an old-fashioned home birth. I might never wake up. Complications, Hannah would say sadly. Matthew would be devastated, but his mother would be there to comfort him. To claim him back.
Shaky with nerves, I pulled on a silk robe and glanced at the clock. Nearly four in the morning. Hank would be arriving for work in a few hours. It wouldn’t be fair, asking him to risk his job for my sake. But he was the only person at Lakecrest who might be willing to help. I rushed to my dressing table and opened my jewelry box. It had been empty a year ago when Blanche gave it to me as a wedding present. Now it sparkled with gold and silver and glittering gemstones. Each piece was a token of Matthew’s love.
I’d put away money, too, after my illfated attempt to run home to Ma. A bill here and there taken from Matthew’s billfold or slipped out of the drawer where Hannah kept the household accounts. I flipped through the roll. Two hundred dollars, enough to cover at least a few months of Hank’s salary. I put the money in one pocket of my robe and a handful of diamond bracelets in the other. Hopefully it would be enough to convince him.