She hadn’t been the daughter Beryl and Julian always wanted.
Enough of that. Elsa replaced her glasses and refocused on Birdie’s journal.
June 10, 1877
Linus says the baby is overdue, but I remind him that she’ll come in her own time. I do think it will be soon. I can feel it in my back, my bones, my everywhere. Linus seems almost as anxious as I am, perhaps even more so.
The nursery has been ready for weeks, and yet he will not give up inspecting every inch of the painter’s work. The walls are painted with birds copied from a medieval aviary manuscript. Every bird has a story we can tell our little one. The dove that returned to Noah’s ark with an olive branch in its mouth. The eagle that represents the strength of those who hope in the Lord. The sparrow that God has His eye upon. It’s my favorite room in the house, despite the tiny flaws Linus has found in some of the paintings. Our baby won’t care one whit whether the pictures on the wall match the book exactly.
Meanwhile, I continue my daily walk—or rather, waddle—in the gardens. I don’t get far these days, but—
I do believe I’ve just had a contraction.
There the entry ended. Sketches of a dove, sparrow, and flowering vines filled the page’s margins. The artistic style wasn’t anything like her previous sketches in the field notebooks or the watercolors hanging in the gallery. These must have been copied from the aviary, offering a glimpse of both the book and the nursery’s walls.
Elsa turned the page. A new entry dated three days later contained a single, chilling line:No one will let me see my baby.
An ache spread through Elsa’s chest. Had the baby lived, or was it stillborn? Did she die in childbirth?
A tiny ticking from her watch reminded her that time was passing, and she ought to return to her work downstairs. She ignored it, resolving to work on Saturday to make up for this break.
Her gaze darted to the next entry.
They say they are protecting me. But who is protecting Sarah? Why won’t they let me hold my baby?
Goosebumps lifted on Elsa’s skin, followed by a wave of heat. If the child had died, they should have at least let Birdie hold her and say good-bye. How unjust, how unfair, to keep secrets from the mother.
The next three pages were filled with cramped lines of lament.
Linus has just been here. He looks as though someone died, but I can hear Sarah crying. The nurse tells me I’m hearing her ghost, but I know she lives. She needs her mother. Linus says that even a mother’s love isn’t strong enough to fix ... but fix what? He won’t tell me. He sets his jaw and flees the room, knowing I’m not well enough to leave the bed and follow. All I can do from this bed is sing, hoping my voice will reach her, calm her. She knows my voice. But now it cracks and squeezes to a whisper.
Elsa’s throat tightened, horrified by Birdie’s distress. Every paragraph carried more of the same. Birdie begged the servants to bring her baby, but they’d been forbidden by Linus. The doctor came and went, urging Birdie back to health after she’d almost died in labor. But he wouldn’t say anything of her baby.
The entire household pretends she doesn’t exist. But this morning, Linus left on a trip. By a miracle of timing, Agnesarrived to visit me. When I told her what has been going on, she took up my side and left the room as one prepared for battle. Not ten minutes later, she returned with my child.
If Linus doesn’t love Sarah, I love her enough for the both of us.
Thank God Agnes came. And I thank God that she stayed for as long as she could.
The several pages that followed were filled with drawings of the newborn, some of her in sleep, some with eyes wide open. In one, Sarah reached up toward Birdie’s face. Birdie was smiling.
In none of the drawings could Elsa see the baby’s face below her nose.
On the last page of the journal, a small envelope was affixed to the page. Inside, a lock of blond curls was tied with a pink satin ribbon. Sarah’s.
And none of Birdie’s relatives had even known she’d been born.
No one, that was, except Linus and a woman named Agnes.
CHAPTER
6
NEW YORK CITY
SATURDAY, AUGUST 28, 1926
The revelations in Birdie’s diary followed Elsa home from Elmhurst and refused to leave her alone. Questions had only multiplied in her mind since she had touched the lock of Sarah’s hair. But whatever had happened next was not described in that journal, if indeed it had been recorded at all.
