“Ma’am?” Paulina said from the doorway. “What’s going on? What can I do?”
“Nothing,” my mother said, waving her away. “Gisela will take care of it.”
She watched my every move as I peeled her many layers off until I reached the soiled nightgown and removed it from her emaciated body. Wetting a cloth to clean her, I returned to the bathroom at least a dozen times to rinse it or get a new one when the other became too dirty to continue using. When she was clean, I pulled a fresh nightgown, socks, and several other items from her large walk-in closet and dressed her as she pretended not to be bothered by the indignity of the situation. But the goose bumps covering her pale skin, the shivering, and the little mewls of pain gave her away.
Once she was clean, I helped her to one of the armchairs and covered her with a blanket before beginning the task of removing the linens from the bed.
“You look...” Her voice trailed off and I glanced over at her, wondering if she’d fallen asleep midsentence. But she was peering at me, her pale eyes scrutinizing as they always had.
“I look what?” I asked.
“Come here.”
It was the oft-snapped command of my childhood.Come here. Stand still. Don’t make a face. Be strong. Don’t make a fool of me.The list went on.
Sighing, I set the pillow in my hands on the bed and went to stand before her, watching as she reached out with her curled, boney fingers, running them over my stomach.
I flinched. I’d hated being touched by her for as long as I could remember. She’d never had a kind word for me after her scrutiny and physical examination of my hips, stomach, thighs, and ass. No doubt I would hear something demeaning now too.
Her hand rose, cupping one of my breasts, and I took a step back.
“No,” I said.
“It’s heavy,” she said. “And your belly is soft.”
“I’m hardly fat, Mother,” I said, wanting badly to roll my eyes, but stepping away from her instead and going back to work on the bed.
I was the thinnest I’d ever been. Though she was right about my breasts. They had felt strangely heavy for the past few days. And they ached.
But she still peered at me, suspicious, her lip suddenly curling in a way that reminded me of getting caught being naughty as a girl.
“Have you done something even more stupid than leaving here ten years ago, girl? Have you gone and gotten your traitorous self pregnant by the enemy?”
“Of course not,” I said, unfurling the clean top sheet.
“I hope not. Your father would roll over in his grave if you tarnished his family name.”
“He already did that himself,” I said, tucking the sheet in and then grabbing a fresh blanket.
“Don’t speak ill of your father.”
I bit my tongue to keep from arguing. This conversation was pointless and I knew it. Instead, I kept working, placing a second blanket on top of the first before hauling a clean quilt from the closet and placing it on the bed as well.
But her words circled my mind. Pregnant?
“Ready?” I asked her, and then leaned down to help her to her feet, across the room and back into bed.
I tucked the covers in around her and then turned my back on her and headed for the door.
“Come back here!” she yelled after me. “I need things!”
“I’ll send Paulina,” I said as I hurried out the door and practically ran to my room.
I heard her shout my name, but I ignored her, closing the door and slowly moving toward the full-length mirror.
One by one I pulled off my layers until I stood only in my underwear, staring at my reflection. I’d ignored it for weeks now, but I could feel it. The shift in my body. My breasts were larger, my stomach softer, there was more weight in my face, and a fullness inside me. Not to mention the morning sickness I’d tried to convince myself was exhaustion mixed with a stomach bug. But I could no longer hide the truth from myself.
I was pregnant. I was going to have William’s baby.
