So stupid of me! To lose the most precious gift I have ever been given!
Just after breakfast, I decided to take a walk along the lane and down through the barracks. Though it is a trifling distance compared to my previous excursions, it lifts my spirits all the same. Not far beyond the Baileys’ home, I noticed a nest high up in the branches. I longed for a closer look, so walked the short distance into the trees. A few twigs and damp leaves had stuck to my hat along the way, so I removed it to shake off the bits.
It was only when I had returned to the lane and walked for a time that I realized the comb had fallen from my hair. Oh why did I wear it out of doors like this!
When I realized it was missing, I returned to the place where I thought I had removed my hat, but search as I may, I could not find the comb. A flushed panic overcame me and I was nearly to tears.
And then I spotted it! It was in the wet grass just across from the Bailey house. I was so glad, and was just beginning to walk toward it, when that raven?—?the one with the deformed leg that has been frequenting the yard?—?swooped in and landed just a few feet from the comb.
"Go on, shoo!" I shouted.
I don’t think I understood before just how large and intimidating these birds can be. It was the size of a house cat, and its black beak looked strong enough to snip off my fingers. It shook its wings at me and hobbled about in its strange way. I trusted that it would take flight. Instead, it stepped closer to the comb, and pecked at it once, twice. I yelled and waved my arms. And then, to my astonishment, it snatched the comb up in its beak! I lost all fear and was overcome with anger. I ran at the bird, but it flapped its wings, hopped, and took to the air. It flew toward a stand of trees, and I thought for a moment it might land on a branch and somehow drop the comb. Instead, the raven kept to the air, flew over the tops of the trees, and continued on his way. Flew away! With my lovely comb!
I am positively sick with guilt. It was a treasure to me, both as a gesture of Allen’s affection and for its own beauty. And I am afraid I attached some superstitious quality to it?—?I hoped to wear it every day until Allen returned safely.
April 2
I do not know that I have ever been so frightened. I am bleeding. It is slight, almost imperceptible, but oh so brilliantly red and terrifying. If these same drops were from a pinprick at my finger, I would not give it any notice, but this blood I cannot ignore. It was with tremendous dread, but when I discovered it, I asked Charlotte to please fetch Dr Randall.
Hope still lives. The minutes were agonizing as he searched with stethoscope, but at last he found the heartbeat. He conceded that if the bleeding soon stops, I may yet carry the child to term, but he offered little assurance. He has prescribed opium tincture, and has ordered me to remain in bed with my feet elevated day and night. I am to call for him if the bleeding does not stop. He says there is little else to be done, except to rest and wait.
When I asked how long this confinement might last, he said as long as I am so fortunate as to bear a living child.
And then, as he stood to leave, he placed his hand upon my beside table and looked down to see his book. He exhaled sharply, as if in surprise, then picked it up. For some time, he flipped through its pages, and I saw he lingered on a section. He then set it back down on the table, thumped it with his forefinger several times, shook his head as if I were a fool, and left.
If only I could hear your voice just now, Allen. What would you say to comfort me? But you are half a world away, and I must brave this alone.
April 4
“Does it make you happy, Mrs Forrester, to know all of this?”
Still I cannot answer Dr Randall’s question. To know that I am not whole, that my womb is deformed. To know the terrible odds. A flip of the coin, he said, and while it sounds cavalier, I suspect it is the truth?—?according to the book, half of such pregnancies thrive, the other half abort spontaneously. Often a rupture or infection kills the mother as well. How can I say I am glad to know this?
Yet would it be better to live in ignorance, to be coddled like a feeble-minded child? Isn’t knowledge in and of itself always good?
I uncovered the truth when I came come across a small piece of paper where, likely during my first visit to his office, he had marked a section in his book: “Malformations of the Uterus.”