The pain relented, and I gulped for air.
“I may be a monster,” Hannah said, the words spilling out in a rush, “but everything I did was to protect the Lemont name. Your name. I know you don’t like me. Perhaps you never will. But I wasn’t born to this life any more than you were! The past you tried so hard to hide is gone—you are Kate Lemont of Lakecrest. One day, you’ll be hosting teas and planning your daughter’s debut at the Drake and shaking your head at your grandchildren’s fashions. You’ll be the person who holds this family together after I’m gone.”
I was dimly aware of voices outside. A commotion in the hall. I caught a glimpse of Alice’s face, tight with concern. I saw Dr. Westbrook enter the room, pushing a wheeled canister.
Hannah wiped my face. “Now, now. You’ll be all right. You’ll have a nice rest, and when you wake up, you’ll meet your new baby.”
Hannah was talking to the doctor, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Two hands pressed a breathing mask over my nose and mouth. I tried to push it away, but my palms were slippery, and I couldn’t grab on. The rubber edges dug into my cheeks. Flailing, panicking, I sucked in a breath. And another.
Then I didn’t feel anything at all.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Slowly, I opened my eyes. I saw the sheet pulled smooth against my chest and tucked under my arms. Matthew was perched on the side of the bed, looking at me expectantly.
It took me a minute to remember he was my husband.
“Darling.” He patted my cheek. Cautious. “How do you feel?”
I tried to identify the sensations scattered throughout my body. Throbbing head, tingling breasts. A dull ache further down. The vague sense that I was hovering above the bed, observing myself from a distance.
I looked around. I was in my bedroom at Lakecrest. The curtains were closed, the lamps lit. Nighttime. I heard the distinctive squeak of the door hinges, and Dr. Westbrook’s head appeared over Matthew’s shoulder.
“Ah! You’re awake.”
For one disorienting minute, I couldn’t put a name to his face, and I tried to hide my agitation. Then I remembered. I glanced down and saw how the covers were flat against my stomach.
“The baby,” I whispered.
“Hearty and healthy,” Dr. Westbrook assured me.
I reached out for Matthew, felt his hand in mine.
“It’s all right,” he murmured. “Everything’s all right.”
I tried to sort through the jumble of memories clouding my brain. Hannah, talking about Cecily’s dead body. Had I dreamed it? Why couldn’t I remember my own baby being born?
As if reading my thoughts, Dr. Westbrook said, “We had to put you under full sedation, Mrs. Lemont. You were quite agitated when I arrived.”
Agitated? Fragments of conversation flickered at the edge of my understanding.
She butchered herself.
I did what needed to be done.
You’ll be the person who holds this family together.
“No cause for worry,” Dr. Westbrook went on cheerfully. “Look who’s come to meet you.”
A high-pitched whimper made me turn. Hannah was walking into the room, holding a white bundle. She placed the baby in my arms, beaming, and I looked down at a tiny, red-faced creature.
“A girl,” Hannah said. “A beautiful baby girl.”
That’s when the tears welled up. All along, I’d expected a boy, a son for Matthew and an heir for the Lemonts. But this little girl would be mine. She wouldn’t be pushed into the family business or carry the burden of passing on the Lemont name. I could protect her.
All Matthew’s doubts about being a father seemed to have vanished. We smiled and laughed and cried, and I saw Alice, Edna, and Gerta in the doorway, basking in our joy. I felt weak with relief. With happiness.
“Stella, is it?” Matthew asked. “Or Holly?” We’d put so much thought into boys’ names that we’d never settled on a definite choice for a girl.
I stared into the baby’s face. She was so small, so new. How could I be sure what name would fit once she developed into her own person?
“Stella,” I cooed, and the baby twisted her face into what I took as agreement. Already, I was charmed by every movement of her lips and arms, and I pulled away the blanket to tickle her toes.
“I’ve brought my colleague, Nurse Gage, to take you through the feeding when you’re ready,” Dr. Westbrook said. “I find most patients prefer to do a few weeks themselves before the baby nurse takes over.”
“Time we left the new parents alone to get acquainted,” Hannah announced. “Kate, would you like something to eat? You must be famished.”
Surprisingly, I was. I nodded, and Hannah smiled with brisk satisfaction. Her entire confession felt like a distant memory, a story I’d heard years before. The woman who’d driven her sister-in-law to suicide, who’d kept the secret of Cecily’s death a secret for nearly twenty years, was still in control of everyone and everything around her.
Once we were alone, Matthew climbed up on the bed next to me, oohing and aahing over Stella’s scrunched-up face. With the ether wearing off, I was starting to feel sore, and I winced when he put a hand around my shoulder and pulled me tight for a hug.
“It’s all right,” I said when he tried to apologize. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“I always will be.” A gentle peck on my forehead.
I thought of us pushing a carriage along the lakefront path and watching Stella build sand castles on the beach. Perhaps she would be tied to this land as much as Obadiah was when he surveyed the edge of the prairie and built the estate that would be his legacy. I passed Stella into Matthew’s arms, and as I watched them, father and daughter, I felt almost crushed by my love for both of them.
I finally understood what Hannah had been trying to tell me. History depicts families as generations of men passing down talents and weaknesses along with their last names. But every birth is a blend of old and new, a mingling of the father’s blood with that of another line whose name is lost as soon as the wedding vows are said. Every great dynasty is an intricate stew of mothers and fathers, recreating itself with each generation.
The Lemonts’ reputation was formed by Henri’s ambition and Obadiah’s quest for wealth. But every Lemont had also been shaped by the family’s forgotten women. Matthew and Marjorie inherited their father’s arrogance and their aunt’s eccentricities, but they were also Hannah’s children, gifted with her perseverance and strength. Marjorie, for all her brittleness, had a fundamental decency she tried to hide, and Matthew fought to stay loyal and kind despite his troubled mind. Hannah hadn’t been a perfect wife or mother, but she’d done her best. In the end, her children had turned out better than Cecily and Jasper. My daughter with Matthew would do even better.
Stella let out a mewling sort of cry, and Matthew looked to me for reassurance.