So she waited.
For a moment, they only rode in silence. Perhaps Alexander was organizing his own thoughts, and feelings. She could not blame him nor did she wish to push.
“She went into early labor,” he started again, a slight husk to his voice now. “There were more issues than expected, and much uncertainty about whether she would be able to deliver the child.”
“Alexander,” The words slipped out of Penelope’s mouth before she could stop herself. It was the first time she had referenced him using his name.
He seemed to be lost in his own world though.
“I remember it was early in the morning when the midwife came to me,” he admitted. “She told me that I was the father to a girl. But Helena had not survived the birth.”
Penelope gasped.
“She died giving birth to Odette. There was nothing I or anyone could do.” His voice wavered on the final words.
Tears sprang to Penelope’s eyes.
“I am so, so sorry. She was brave. To bring life into the world...” Her voice broke. “Odette is a wonder, Alexander. You should be proud.”
“I’ve often wondered what would have happened if things were different. If she had lived... I think she and I might have been friends,” Alexander admitted softly.
Penelope felt a lump in her throat. She remembered her own mother, whom she had lost so long ago; how it felt to carry a fragment of someone inside you. “She would have been proud of Odette,” Penelope said softly. “She would be happy to know her daughter loves these woods, and that she has you, Alexander.”
“Helena,” he said in a near whisper, “if she had lived, I know she would have been proud of how you care for Odette now. You have given Odette more love and happiness than I ever could alone.”
Penelope took a breath. “Do you really think so?” she asked. “Do you truly believe Helena would approve of me?”
“I think so,” Alexander mused. “She had little interest in being a married couple, so it is not as though she would have taken any issue with you.”
Penelope tried to imagine what things would be like if Helena was still here. By all probability, it would have meant that she would never had married Alexander.
“Fate had other plans then,” Penelope sighed.
It took her a moment to speak again.
“I suppose I understand what it means to lose a mother before one is ready.” She looked down at the reins in her hands. “Mine passed when I was quite young. I don’t remember all that much. Just the feeling that... things were quieter after.”
“It wasn’t spoken about much in our house,” she continued, “But it was always something that hung in the air. I suppose that is why I am able to understand Odette so well, because I know what it feels like to grow up with an ache you can’t quite name.”
Alexander looked at her for a long moment. “I’ve done my best to fill the spaces Helena left behind. But I know I haven’t always succeeded.”
“You’ve done more than most would,” Penelope replied softly. “But we can only learn as we go through it, not before.”
“I don’t know how you manage to do this,” Alexander muttered under his breath. “But you have this uncanny ability to make the heaviest of things feel light.”
Penelope did not know what to make of it, but she felt a warmth spread in her chest at his words. It was nice to be acknowledged.
“But enough dwelling on the past,” Alexander said firmly. “I would much rather enjoy the morning.”
“You do not need to tell me twice,” Penelope nodded, racking her brain for a change of topic, “Isadora wrote this very morning that she expects the two of us at her estate for dinner next week.”
“Oh?”
“The invitation was very kind. I should like to go. It would please Isadora, and I think it would do me good to mingle beyond these trees.”
“Then we shall go,” Alexander affirmed.
Odette trotted up, carrying a basket. “We found the picnic basket. Everything’s ready,” she announced proudly. “Sandwiches, lemonade, even sugar cakes.”
