“But my life has been decided by others. That is not what my life is to be.”
“Who says such a thing? That to be truly loved and cherished is not to be your life.”
Thoughts and feelings jumbled up inside her so she couldn’t form a sentence in response. Finally saying the truth from her heart, “How I feel matters little.”
“Oh, no!” Ruth shook her head as if Brighit had been caught in a lie. “How you feel matters the most.”
“Are you about changed?” Peter asked.
Both women turned toward the door.
“One more moment, please,” Ruth said. “Now gather your wits about you and keep this between us. You will see that I know of what I speak.”
She jerked the door open, smiled up at Peter, and continued back toward the chapel.
Peter searched Brighit’s face. “Have you stopped your tears? Dare I suspect you may even have been smiling?”
She dipped her head to her chest so he couldn’t see her joyful expression.
Keep this between us.
Hiding her emotions, she faced him. “Yes, Sir Peter. I will be fine.”
He offered her a reassuring smile along with his arm. She hesitated but a moment before placing her hand there. Her butterflies took flight.
“Let us go offer our repentance to the Lord together,” he said.
“What do you have to repent for?”
“I was ready to split the priest in two when I realized what he did here. Does it not say in the Holy words that evil thoughts are the same as evil acts?”
Peter’s brown eyes rounded in anticipation, a light growth of hair on his chin giving him an unkempt look. His soft touch on her hand sent ripples of pleasure through her. He was a handsome man and his undivided attention was on her. Surely there would be no harm in appreciating that for these few moments. To stand alongside him in the chapel as if her destiny had been shifted from a solitary life to one filled with marriage and family.
Brighit turned aside, hiding her face and the smile threatening to erupt at any moment. She pressed her lips together before answering him. “Yes, let us go to the chapel together.”
Chapter Nineteen
Screams erupted from the hall when Brighit and Peter left the chapel. It sounded like Ruth, but surely she was abed by now.
“What is that God-awful sound?” Peter reddened, perhaps at his choice of words.
“It sounds like Ru—the baby!” Excitement danced along her arms. Ruth had told her she was due any time and surely this was the time.
Brighit ran toward Ruth’s room. She passed as the curtain where Martha slept was pushed aside. They exchanged knowing smiles.
“It sounds like her babe is ready to be born,” Martha said.
When they entered Ruth’s room, the sight before them was of her sitting up on her pallet, her gown pulled up to her bent knees, sweat dampening her nightgown, her face reddened from the exertion.
Martha checked the progress of the babe.
Brighit went to stand beside the laboring woman. “Your time has come?”
Ruth’s body went rigid. Her face scrunched up in pain, as bright as an apple, but she nodded with quite a bit of enthusiasm.
Brighit brushed the hair away from her face. “We are here, my dear.”
“This babe is coming fast.” Martha’s head was obscured by Ruth’s knees. “Yes, that’s the head. This child has no patience.”
