Wasting no time, I grabbed the handle and pulled back with a jerk. But the drawer was, indeed, stuck. I tried the same method again and again, each time with renewed vigor. I dug my fingers behind the corners of the drawer and attempted to pry it open. It wouldn’t budge.
“How long has he been in there?”
Peter rubbed his nose. “A long time.”
Panic set in wholly, making my heart thud in my chest and blood rush past my ears. A sick feeling of dread sent chills tingling down my neck. The drawer was sealed tight. Charles could run out of air.
I hardly noticed Mrs. Kellaway appear beside me, but she seemed to understand the situation immediately. She helped me pry at the drawer for a few seconds before rushing out the door again. I could only hope she was going to find a footman or someone stronger to help us. There was one in particular, Francis, who seemed strong enough to break open the drawer.
My breath came in shallow gasps, and I tried the handle again, pulling with all my strength. It didn’t succumb. I pulled again on the handle, prying with my fingers, wishing desperately for strength beyond my own weak arms and tired fingers. I repeated these futile attempts for several minutes, hating the sound of Charles’s desperate cries, but I wasn’t strong enough.
My mind reeled, struggling for an idea. The air was surely expiring in that drawer and I didn’t know how to open it. Where was Mrs. Kellaway? Had she been wise enough to enlist Francis? My rattled breathing and galloping heart were the only sounds I could hear.
The only sounds I could hear.I stopped, raw terror scratching over me with icy fingers.
The crying had stopped.
My breath caught. “Charles!” I yelled, shaking the chest now, kicking it, doing anything I could to loosen the drawer. My hands shook, my legs shook, everything shook. The room seemed to be shaking too. “Charles!”
I racked my brain for options, but there was no place for rational thought. I threw myself against the chest, grasping the handle in desperation. I got a firm hold, and jerked backward with all my might. A sharpbangcut through the air as a piece of wood broke off the corner, and the drawer jarred open.
Scrambling forward, I looked inside. I saw his blond curls first, strewn across his forehead. He lay curled more tightly than I would have thought possible, his hands twisted beneath him, his knees tucked to his chin. I saw his long lashes, curling up from his eyelids that lay closed. His lips were parted slightly. But he didn’t make a sound.
A lump tightened my throat, and my chest constricted. I tried to draw breath, but it was like pulling a single thread from an intricate piece of embroidery. I was helplessly paralyzed before the sight of my little Charles, white, motionless, and quiet.
I pulled him out, hooking my trembling hands under his arms. Then I fell back, hugging his limp form to my body. My fingers fluttered over him, finding their way to his neck, to the spot just beneath his jaw where a doctor had once checked me for a pulse. Pressing two fingers against his neck, I froze.
A powerful surge of hope pounded through me. I felt a pulse. A slow, soft pulse almost too discreet to notice. I kept my fingers there, not wanting to abandon the feeling of his heartbeat. Then I saw his chest rise with a broken breath. I gasped with delight.
His eyelids fluttered, twitched, and opened. He gulped for air, and a new tear leaked from his eye.
I slumped with relief and kissed his round cheek, his little nose. I wiped the tear from his temple and took his face in my hands. His eyes were wide, dazed, and alive. That was all I cared about.
“Do noteverdo that again!” I gasped, still shaking.
“But—but Peter didn’t think I could fit, and I knew I could fit, so I had to prove it.” His voice was quick, soft, and slightly raspy. And it was my favorite sound in the world.
“Promise me right now that you will never try to prove you can fit in anything ever again. Even if you are certain that you can.”
He looked worried, as if noticing my distress for the first time. “I promise.”
I pulled his head onto my shoulder and rocked him in my lap, squeezing him tightly to make sure he was still there, and that he could still breathe.
From behind me, I heard Peter step up beside me, worry crossing his face for a brief moment as his gaze found his brother. “Charles?” he said in a tentative voice.
Charles lifted his head from my shoulder and twisted to look at Peter. A smug grin lifted his lips. “I told you I could fit.”
A little laugh escaped from me, slowly transforming into hysterics. I couldn’t control it. Peter and Charles stared at me blankly for several seconds before erupting into their own familiar giggles. The relief and joy I felt made all my other dilemmas disappear. I could focus on my little brothers, and how grateful I was to have them. To love them, and to be loved by them. It was all my heart needed.
Guilt swirled around my heart. It was my fault they had been left unsupervised for so long. I was the only one truly responsible for them, and I never should have entrusted their care to a maid who would think they were safe alone in their room.
Mama’s final words to me sprung to my mind, biting me with shame.Do not become distracted with unimportant matters. While we are away, the boys are to be your only concern. Your papa and I are trusting you with a great task.
My shame enveloped me, a tightness rising to my throat. I had almost lost Charles today because I had been distracted. I had been selfishly fretting about Owen, and my feelings, and my own worries. Owen had blinded me to my duty—to what was truly important.
It could never happen again.
I didn’t hear Mrs. Kellaway enter the room until she was directly behind me. Her voice was laced with a hint of panic. “Is he all right?”
