“Yes. It was a difficult birth. There were twins. The boy came first. My son. My heir.”
His uncle winced.
“The midwife thrust him into my arms. I did not notice her urgency. I only noticed the way his fingers curled over the blanket he was swaddled in. I tucked my finger inside his tiny hand, marveling at his miniature perfection. Grateful for the life that had been added to ours.”
Dread seeped into Tobias’s heart, knowing what must follow.
“I stood in the hallway, my son safely in my arms, when the door the midwife had rushed to close slowly creaked open and revealed all.”
Tobias no longer wished to hear more. But it was too late. He must share his uncle’s sorrow now, the price of his curiosity.
“My wife was bleeding. I have never seen so much blood…” His uncle’s voice cracked. His narration ceased.
Tobias felt his world tilt. All this time, his uncle had carried this image of his wife. This terrible scene had branded his heart with pain and loss. Tobias could scarcely believe that he had the will to tell more. But he did—with a strength that Tobias could not conjure the equal of. Perhaps he needed to tell all, to shift from that moment of horror to the outcome, to release it once again to the ether of the universe. But if Tobias thought what would follow would be easier, he was wrong.
“She was too weak to push our daughter out,” his uncle said, his voice rough and low. “The midwife looked to me, and I deduced her meaning clearly. There was nothing more she could do. We could not save my wife. But we could save the baby. We must send for the doctor at once.”
“I sat with my wife. My son and I together. I placed him in her arms. She was barely conscious. But she tilted her head against his. With the last of her breath, she kissed his tender cheek. By the time the doctor came, she was gone. Our daughter was stillborn. Within a week, our son joined them. He had come too soon. He needed his mother. He went to be with her.”
“I am so sorry,” Tobias said, though his words fell short of the terrible emotion they expressed. “I understand now.” Yet how little he understood! It was a scene of tragedy beheld from afar. Empathy and compassion arose from the sight, but he could never truly understand the magnitude of such an experience from this great a distance. In a way, he as grateful it was so. To share a full understanding, he would have to share fully in the suffering. With Sophia so very much still with him, he did notwantto know more. The thought of losing her in the same way… No, it did not bear thinking about.
What he did understand now was his uncle’s solitude. How could another woman ever hold his attention? He had nothing left to give. All he had ever loved had been wrenched from him. Who could compare to the perfection with which one regards a beloved in memory? And when one has suffered such immense loss, who would risk more?
“Do you have satisfaction?” His uncle’s words jerked Tobias from his thoughts.
“Satisfaction, Uncle?” Tobias stared at the man before him. How could satisfaction result from such a revelation?
“You had questions, about my conversation with Mr. Grant, and about my immunity to the charms of women. Do you have the answers you sought?”
Tobias lowered his head. “I am ashamed to have asked. I had not meant to make you relive such a brutal experience.”
“You did nothing more than my own memory demands of me every day. That is why I fill my mind with books and art—to squeeze out any room for these thoughts to creep in. Your curiosity only meant I spoke them aloud. But they are with me always.”
“Then,” Tobias said after some thought, “the best remedy I can offer is to let us resume our work.”
Uncle Edmund surfaced a little from his gloom. “Yes,” he answered, “that’s the very thing. A good book. Preferably one with complex notions, so that I may immerse myself entirely in deciphering them.” His gaze fell longingly on the volumes Tobias had brought. “But first, I think, a letter to my agent.” He cast about him for paper to write on.
Tobias handed him a blank sheet and a feeble smile of support. He had not yet learned what his uncle had mastered—to throw layers of calm over his tangled feelings. He prayed he would never have to.
“Thank you, my boy,” his uncle said, reaching across the desk. As he took the page, he paused, his eyes firmly upon Tobias. “You know, I often think my son would have been a lot like you. At least, it would have pleased me if he were.”
“Th-Thank you, Uncle,” Tobias stuttered. “That is to say… I mean… You are…” He lapsed into helpless quiet.
“And Miss Grant is every bit the daughter I wish I had known. In fact, I think I shall write to a few of my contacts and see what can be done with her current work-in-progress. I know you have both devoted much of your time and skill to it. If it is anything like the excellent material I heard at the reading, thereshould be no difficulty at all acquiring a publisher for her second anthology.”
Tobias opened his mouth, only to be silenced before he even had a chance to speak.
“No,” his uncle protested, “you may not run off and write to Miss Grant about it. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I shall make the necessary inquiries. And when you next see her, perhaps she could provide some samples of what they might expect if they are interested. Mind you, I make no promises.”
A thousand different responses rushed Tobias’s brain all at once, congesting the natural flow to his tongue so that, instead of his usual deluge of speech, Tobias could only offer wordless wonder. It was the third time in as many minutes that he had been robbed of speech, and he took it as a sign to attempt it no further. He merely nodded and restricted his answer to a heartfelt “Thank you.”
For his uncle, it seemed enough. He immediately set to work on his letters, peace descending once more as his tortured mind was relieved of its heaviest burden, if only for a while.
For Tobias, his thoughts turned, as always, to Sophia. How animated those bright eyes of hers would become when she heard the news! She would throw her arms around him and reward him simply for being the messenger. A flush of concentration would touch her cheeks as she pondered which poems to send. She would argue none were good enough. He would watch her fret, agitated and earnest in always giving her best. He would kiss her fingertips and tell her that she was most beautiful when she fussed. And she would glare at him, only to catch the hint of passion that lay shallow in his breast, and lose her train of thought.
After all the challenges, troubles, and difficult conversations of the past several weeks, he could not wait for Monday to come. A day with Sophia. A day closer to one day calling her his wife.
Chapter Twenty
