“I think you’re talking about Weston now, not Hugh. Isn’t he taking whathecan get? From you? It disgusts me to see him stringing Claire along. Making promises he has no intentions of keeping. You’re selfish, Flor. Hateful. Someday you’ll reap what you’ve sown.”
Florence’s arm snakes out, the resounding slap on Marguerite’s skin like a thunderclap. Sadie covers her mouth, shock and anger and betrayal flowing through her as the truth settles into her marrow.
Marguerite slumps onto her cot, presses her palm to the handprint seared on her face.
“You are still such a child,” Florence says, seething. “You don’t have any idea how the world works. I should have let you run away with him. Let you see your folly, on some godforsaken trail out West. I’ve saved yourlife, Marguerite.” She spares a final glance at her youngest sister, then flounces out of the room, letting the door slam behind her.
Marguerite bursts into tears, sobbing so hard her shoulders shake. Iris comes in a few moments later, dressed in a white gown, reed thin with hollow, young eyes. She goes to Marguerite and gathers her in her arms.
“I ... don’t want to give her up,” Marguerite wails, her hand clutching her belly. “I can’t.”
“I know, darling. But we must think of what’s best.”
“I’m what’s best for this baby!Iam, Iris. I can do this!”
“How? Without a husband? Without your family’s help? You know as well as I do that your papa will stop sending you money eventually.” Iris knits her fingers with Marguerite’s. “At least she’ll be with family. Your sister. You’ll be able to see her grow up.”
“You don’t know Florence. She’s wretched. She lies about everything.” Marguerite stands, goes to her dresser, removing folded clothes. “I’m leaving tonight. After Nurse makes her rounds.”
“And you’ll go where?” Iris stands, incredulous. “Marguerite, think! Do you plan on having this baby in a hotel room? By the side of the road? I’ve been through it, remember? It can be dangerous. The cord was tangled around Victor’s neck when he was born. If the doctor hadn’t been there ... he might have died.”
“I’ll figure it out. I’ll find Hugh. We’ll go to a doctor. Or find a midwife.”
“How?”
“I ... I don’t know. But I’ll find Hugh. I will.”
“And what if you do? Your father accused him of rape. Do you think his family will open their arms to you, after what they’ve gone through? I know the Irish. They’re a proud, stubborn people.”
“Then we’ll run aw—” Marguerite suddenly stills. She clutches her head, wincing. “Something’s wrong.” She staggers to the bed, a grimace of pain shooting over her face. “Oh God, my head ...”
“I’ll get the nurse.” Iris runs from the room.
The scene shifts. Marguerite lies on a gurney, nurses surrounding her. Florence is there, too, in the same poplin dress, clutching Marguerite’s hand as she strains and cries out, her hair dark with sweat.
“We have to get this baby out,” the bald doctor says to one of the nurses. “She’s in eclamptic distress. Mrs. Knight, you’ll need to leave the room.”
“But I . . . ,” Florence protests. “I can’t.”
“We’ll call for you soon, ma’am.” One of the nurses guides her from Marguerite’s side. “It won’t be long.”
Once Florence is out of sight, a nurse climbs atop Marguerite, pressing both of her hands on Marguerite’s stomach. “When you feel the pains come again, push with all you’ve got, love.”
“I want my baby,” Marguerite says, panting. “Please don’t let them take her.”
“Now, now. Enough of that.”
The contraction comes. Marguerite pushes, and the nurse atop her pushes, too.
“There, that’s it!” the doctor exclaims. “One more push should do it.”
Marguerite collapses back against the pillows, weak, frightened. She turns her head and looks at Sadie. This time, Marguerite seesher. Truly sees her. “Who?” Marguerite whispers. “Who is that, in the room?”
“What, dear?” The nurse looks over her shoulder at Marguerite, giving a quizzical look.
“That woman. In the corner. Who is she?”
“There’s no one there. She’s hallucinating,” the doctor says, his voice rising. “We need to get this baby out, nurse. Give it all you’ve got this time.”
