Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 16571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 83(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 83(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
"Cora, what’s wrong?”
And, as I look up and into his eyes, my face crumples, and I finally start to let it all out.
CHAPTER 8
Boone
Imanage to get her inside as her body is wracked with tears, her whole system shuddering as she tries to contend with the sudden emotion that seems to have taken hold of her. I’ll be damned if I know what it’s about, but I don’t want to leave her to deal with it alone.
I douse the fire, pour her a whiskey, and push the cup into her hand as she perches on the edge of the seat in the kitchen while Woodrow paces nervously at her feet.
By the time she has managed to get a few gulps down, she seems to have gathered herself somewhat, though she can’t quite bring herself to look me in the eyes. In fact, it’s not until I crouch before her and tuck her loose hair back behind her ears that she seems to remember that I am there at all, jumping slightly, as though it comes as a shock.
"What happened out there?” I murmur to her. Hell, I’m not even sure I want to hear the answer. Something about the way she reacted, coming undone like someone had opened a spigot of feeling inside of her, spooks me.
It’s almost like I felt when Anna died, when the weight of just carrying on through the world was more than I could take.
"Nothing," she assures me softly, her throat a little croaky. She swallows another mouthful of whiskey and meets my gaze finally.
"Nothing that you did," she corrects herself. I cock an eyebrow.
"So something that someone did?”
"Not exactly," she sighs. "I guess...I guess I only have myself to blame for it, really."
It’s the closest she has come to telling me the truth, and all I want is to unwrap it completely. Pushing her, though, is only going to get her to retract into herself, and I can’t scare her off, not when I’ve come so close.
"What happened, Cora?"
She inhales deeply, shakily, and looks away from me.
"I...I used to be a midwife," she begins carefully, as though she’s worried that rushing this might scare me off. "And I...I really thought, for a long time, that I was good at it. All the women I worked with, their babies came into the world just fine, and I got to see the moments where the mothers would take them in their arms and lay eyes on them for the first time, and..."
She has to catch her breath, the words coming out in a rush, before she goes on.
"But there was this...this one woman," she confesses. "She came to us when she was already in a bad way. And I told myself we could save both her and the baby, even though the other – the other women told me it wouldn’t be possible. And..."
She shakes her head, her eyes distant.
"And we couldn’t," she finally forces out. "We couldn’t. The child...the child didn’t survive birth. I had to tell her. She...she didn’t even get to hold her, not with the hysterics she was in, it just wouldn’t have been safe. And I can’t stop wondering..."
She draws in another breath, shakier than the last.
"What could I have done differently?" she admits. "What could I have changed to bring that little girl into the world? To hand her to her mother and send them on their way, and..."
The tears begin to fall again, and she shakes her head, staring down into the cup. I am still kneeling there before her, frozen. Because what she is saying, it’s too close to what I went through, what we went through.
My head is suddenly filled, unbidden, with images of Anna, the sound of her cries as she tried to bring our child into the world, the exhaustion on her face, the way the life leaked from her when I had to tell her that our daughter hadn’t made it...
"I’m sorry, you must think I’m a monster," she mutters, taking my silence for shock. I grip her hands tightly and shake my head.
"Nothing close to it," I tell her, my voice almost fierce with sincerity. Her tear-glazed eyes meet mine.
"What do you mean?"
"I..."
I grit my teeth. I haven’t spoken these words out loud to anyone in a long time. I hoped I’d never have to. The pain of it is still a raw, open wound, and I don’t know how to change that.
But, judging by the look on her face, she needs to hear this from someone, someone else who knows.
"Because that’s how I lost Anna."
Her eyes widen.
"You said she had a fever-"
"That she got during childbirth," I admit. "We – our daughter didn’t make it. And it sucked the life from her, losing our little girl, it-"
I have to stop for a moment, my voice cracking before I can go on. She cups my face in her hands again, a silent promise that she is here with me and she doesn’t intend to go anywhere.