Chapter Ten
Lavinia had not left the nursery since her baby’s illness had taken hold one week ago.
She had her meals sent up, although she ate but little.
She and the nursery maid took turns watching Dickie, never leaving him alone.
If she slept at all, it was on the small daybed in the nursery.
No matter how many times he urged her, Miles could not convince Lavinia to rest in her own room.
The one time he attempted with greater insistence to do so, she became nearly hysterical, and he was forced to give way to her will.
On this afternoon, Lavinia instructed Becky to go get some fresh air while she watched Dickie.
When the girl was gone, Lavinia closed the curtains, plunging the room into a gloom that matched her own mood, and sat in a chair, rocking her child.
While the boy whimpered a bit, his fever was gone and he no longer screamed when anyone touched him.
He had even taken some nourishment that morning.
Dr. Baker reported these were good signs and had assured her Dickie would live, but as she sat, anxiously awaiting the next fit, she could not help but wonder what kind of life it would be?
It took me so many years to become a mother, I may not depend on having another baby.
Dickie may well be the only child Miles and I will have and he is set to one day inherit Clayton House.
But if this illness has left him… feebleminded, he could not possibly take charge of the demands this estate presents, small as it is.
I could not bear it. Oh, please, Lord—make my son whole and healthy again, I beg you.
The door opened and Miles entered. He gave a tentative smile as he approached his wife and son. “How is our boy?” he asked softly.
“No change since this morning.”
“Has he had any more fits?”
“Three. They seem to come nearly every two or three hours.” She drew a finger along the cheek of the now sleeping baby.
“I have noticed there are signs he is about to seize. His eyes flutter rapidly, before he throws his head back, arches his back, and becomes so stiff. Then, he collapses and his head lolls about in a way that is quite… disturbing to me.” She lifted tear-filled eyes to him.
“Oh, Miles,” she whispered. “Will it be like this for all his life?”
“I do not know, dearest. Nor does Dr. Baker. It appears we shall have to wait and see what the future brings.”
Lavinia nodded, her expression one of tired resignation. “Why should this affliction come upon him—and so suddenly? I do not comprehend it.”
“Did you not once tell me of a relative who had similar fits?” Miles mused, taking a seat beside her. “I seem to recall your mentioning it once. Perhaps it is an illness that runs in your side of the family.”
Lavinia felt as if she had been slapped. He clearly was blaming her for Dickie’s condition. She took a shuddering breath and tried to master her emotions. “Yes, my family spoke of our Great Uncle Benedict on my father’s side having occasional… episodes. Are you saying Dickie’s illness is my fault?”
“No, not at all. It only seems an odd coincidence.”
“But from my family’s recollection, Uncle Benedict’s fits were nothing like what is afflicting our Dickie. His were more mild. It did not affect him… greatly.” She heard Miles sigh.
“Yet, he never married, did he? Or produced children. He lived with family the whole of his life and was a recluse, shunned by society.”
“You believe this is the life ahead for our darling boy?” Lavinia could hardly choke the words out. “My uncle was not feeble-minded! He merely lived with family because… because…” She broke off and shook her head.
“Because his affliction prevented him from being a suitable match for anyone,” Miles finished for her.
The two sat in silence a while. Then, Dickie threw his head back and seized, thrashing in his mother’s arms. Lavinia could barely keep from crying out herself.
After a few moments, the fit passed, and the boy lay limp upon her lap.
Miles jumped to his feet and wordlessly strode from the room. Lavinia stared in disbelief.
He blames me, despite his words. Clearly, to his mind, our son’s illness is on account of my family and I have tainted the Kendall name. It is clear he thinks so. Why, Miles cannot bear to even be in the same room as his son. What am I to do?
Only a week ago, her husband and son were the joy of Lavinia’s life—the source of such happiness she never believed possible. Now, tears slid down her face as she cradled her baby—her whole future seeming bleak and completely without hope.
Miles fled the nursery, tears filling his eyes. He wanted to stay with his wife and child, knew he should stay, but felt he must remain strong for them both. He could not yet govern his emotions when he saw his Dickie suffer so, and could not bear for his wife to see him weak and weeping.
He hurried downstairs and fled the house, walking swiftly to the stone church abutting the parsonage.
He pulled open the heavy wooden doors, entered, and stood a moment in the empty sanctuary.
Miles had always loved this church, for it held so many happy memories for him—his and Lavinia’s wedding, Charlotte and Frederick’s wedding, and, of course, Dickie’s baptism.
He slowly walked forward, his hand idly caressing the ends of the pews as he moved.
When Miles reached the front, a sob burst forth and he fell to his knees, his hands clasped under his chin as tears streamed down his face.
“Oh, dear Heavenly Father—heal my son. Heal him, I beg of You. I promise—I will teach him to be a better man than I, if You will only save him.”