Chapter Seventeen
BABY THEA STARED UPat Eleanor with eyes as blue as the spring sky.
“I believe she grows an inch every day.” Eleanor cuddled the little one as Felicity gently ran a finger over the baby’s tiny hand.
“She’s hungry all the time,” Clara said from where she leaned back against the settee with her eyes closed. Eleanor wouldn’t have been surprised if she fell asleep where she sat.
“She’s absolutely perfect,” Felicity said with a sigh. “May I hold her?”
“Of course,” Clara replied. “You have maybe a half an hour until she wants to eat again.”
Eleanor gently handed Thea to Felicity. The tiny weight felt right at home in her arms, and some deep longing flared inside to finally hold her own child. She rested her hands on her stomach, smiling as she thought about doing exactly that in just a few short months. Spring would be here before she knew it—and with it would come her baby.
Felicity cooed over the baby while Clara and Eleanor talked. Clara hadn’t been out much in the cold with the little one, so Eleanor filled her in on the happenings in town. She was slowly getting to know more and more people, and she enjoyed her regular visits to various shops and the church in town.
The scent of baking bread wafted in from the kitchen, and soon Clara excused herself to check on it. Quiet settled over theroom when she left, and Eleanor glanced at Felicity. The other woman had gone quiet as she looked down and rocked little Thea carefully in her arms. There was something very still about her, but it wasn’t until a drop of wetness fell from her eye and landed on the baby’s blanket that Eleanor realized something was wrong.
“Felicity?” she said softly.
Felicity swiped a hand across her eyes before looking up. “I’m sorry. I’m fine, I promise.”
Eleanor laid a hand on her friend’s arm. “You can tell me what’s wrong, if you want. I’m very good at listening.”
Felicity’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears. “It’s . . .” She took a deep breath and looked down at the baby, who was fast asleep. Running a hand over the soft wisps of hair on the little girl’s head, she said, “I was supposed to have my own now. A two-year-old and a newborn.”
Grief pinched Eleanor’s heart. Rebecca had lost a baby, between Sarah and Roger. She’d never seen her sister so bereft—until she’d lost her husband. “I’m so sorry.”
Felicity lifted her shoulders and dropped them as she sighed. “It was meant to be, my mother said. But it’s . . . I still think about them.” She cupped a hand over Thea’s cheek and looked at the baby wistfully.
Eleanor squeezed her arm. “You needn’t hold her if it hurts too much.”
Felicity looked up quickly, almost as if Eleanor’s suggestion startled her. “It doesn’t.”
“All right.” Eleanor lifted her arm. She felt badly enough, asking Felicity to make her baby clothing when she hadn’t known the suffering her friend had endured. “The clothing,” she blurted out. “I’m sorry. I wish I had known. I wouldn’t have ever asked you if—”
“Eleanor,” Felicity interrupted. “Please, it’s perfectly fine. If I hadn’t wanted to make it, I would have told you so.” She gave Eleanor a smile that made the memory of her tears fade.
Eleanor nodded, uncertain what else to say. The biting loss of losing two babies was more than she could imagine. Just thinking about it opened something raw and familiar inside of her. She swallowed hard, wishing it away and hurrying to think about something more pleasant.
