He was dumbfounded, watching as Remington unbound the child, revealing stick-thin arms and legs, wriggling about.
“She wasn’t breathing, Remi, I swear it,” he said helplessly. “She did not move when I touched her.”
Remington stared at the tiny baby flailing about on the bed beside her. “Thank God! Look at her; she’s moving!”
He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He would have sworn on his mother’s grave that the babe was dead. But the tiny, skinny body before him was not dead in the least.
“I thought you did not believe in God,” he leaned forward on her, reaching out a finger and touching the babe. His finger was bigger than one tiny arm.
“I do when I look at her, when I look at you,” she whispered, fatigue and weakness overtaking her. “Wrap her up, please. I cannot.”
Concern surged through him. “What’s wrong, Remi? Are you feeling worse?”
“Just… tired,” she breathed.
He wrapped the babe up as best he could, knowing it was nothing like the experienced swaddling of the nuns. He picked the infant up, clutching her to his chest and saying a silent prayer of thanks. Mayhap God would hear him, just this once.
De Tormo and the prioress were hovering near the door when Gaston opened it. Their faces were glazed with concern and apprehension.
Gaston smiled weakly, handing the babe over to the prioress. “She is unhappy. Mayhap she is hungry.”
The woman accepted the child, confused but focused on the infant. “Is… is everything all right? You cried out and….”
Gaston put up a hand to stop her words. “Everything is fine. I think Remington could use some nourishment, too.”
De Tormo watched the nun walk away, turning back to Gaston. “She’s not dead? We thought that when you yelled, she had passed away.”
Gaston was feeling his great fatigue and sagged against the doorjamb. But there was a faint smile on his face. “Nay, priest, she is not dead. In fact, we have had a most wonderful conversation.”
De Tormo was amazed. He peered around Gaston, into the dim room where Remington still lay with her feet pointed skyward. He thought she was asleep until she raised a weak hand to him in acknowledgement.
“God be praised,” de Tormo whispered, crossing himself. “Sister Baptista has come through once again.”
Gaston pushed himself off the jamb. “I would be alone with her now, but I want to baptize both girls before dusk.”
De Tormo nodded. “I already baptized Arica after she was born, but Adeliza has not yet been christened.”
“She will be before the sun sets,” Gaston said, his voice scratchy from all of the crying he had done. As de Tormo walked away, Gaston suddenly reached out and stopped him. “You know, I truly hated you when we first met, priest. How is it that you have become such a part of Remington and I?”
De Tormo cracked a smile. “I am not such an arrogant, pushy little bastard after all, am I?”
Gaston grinned, hearing his own words reflected. “You have your moments. I will be forever grateful for bringing me to my senses. I owe you a great deal.”
De Tormo actually looked humble. “I am a romantic at heart, I suppose,” he eyed Gaston warily. “But since you have declared your thanks, mayhap you will not be angry when I tell you that I took the liberty of giving Arica a middle name when I christened her.”
“You did? What?”
“Why, Christine, of course. Arica Christine de Russe,” de Tormo snorted. “We must honor the man who made her life possible, mustn’t we?”
Gaston returned the snicker. “Then I suppose we should throw Henry’s name in there somewhere, as well.”
De Tormo sobered seriously. “What of the annulment now? Yours is complete– what about hers?”
Gaston sighed heavily. “I shall send word to Henry tomorrow. We begin proceedings all over again.”
De Tormo glanced at Remington. “What about…?”
Gaston shook his head. “Not to worry. Dane will not be part of the terms, I can guarantee you that.”
