Chapter Twenty-Eight #5
Toward noon, he stood up, still clutching featherweight Arica. He gazed down at his tiny daughter, then stared hard at her. It took him a moment to realize that sometime that morning, she had passed away in his arms and he had not even noticed.
“Oh, God, no….,” he breathed, touching the little face, looking for any sort of movement. There was none. Grief swept him. “Oh, God, no!”
His shout was heard throughout the entire abbey.
De Tormo and the prioress threw open the door to Remington’s room, but he barked them away savagely.
They barely had time to back off when he was kicking the door closed, shaking the entire structure like an earthquake.
He clutched the baby to his chest tightly, finding that he did indeed have more tears to spare, and wept loudly for his daughter.
“Gaston?” came a weak voice. “Gaston?”
Startled, he looked up to see Remington focusing on him. Her eyes were huge pools in her white face, and he could see they were full of concern. “Gaston, do not cry. Come here, my love.”
It was far too much for him to take; he came apart. He fell to his knees, crawling the length of the room until he reached her bed. His sobs were deep and unbridled as he buried his face on Remington’s chest, still holding the babe and feeling Remington’s feeble hand on his head.
Remington was so weak she could barely move. She had heard his sobs at a distance until gradually, she had come around. It did not matter that she was on her deathbed and could barely move; what mattered was that Gaston was crying and she had to comfort him. She shushed him softly.
“Do not cry, my love,” she whispered thickly.
“Oh, Remi,” he sobbed. “Do not die, too.”
“I won’t, I promise,” she breathed. “You came just in time.”
He choked on an ironic guffaw, raising his head to look at her. “I was so foolish, angel. I let our argument go on and….”
She stilled him with a weak hand. “No more. ’Twas my fault and I am sorry. I never stopped loving you, Gaston. I said…hateful things. Forgive me.”
He kissed her eagerly, shakily, still sobbing. “I love you, Remi. You had every right to be angry with me. Please…oh, God, please ….” He trailed off again, unable to continue.
She touched his head as it rested on her chest. She had not been so dazed that she had not seen the bundle in his arms. And she understood his words. Do not die, too. Her heart was twisting with grief.
“Arica?” she whispered.
He struggled to gain control of himself, lifting his head off her, still clutching the babe fiercely. “She… wasn’t alone, Remi. I held her the entire time. She was here, with us.”
Remington was too weak to cry, but the anguish gnawed at her with excruciating force. She closed her eyes, reaching out a feeble hand to touch the swaddling. “Give her to me.”
He laid the babe next to her and Remington put her frail arms about the bundle, holding it close to her bosom.
A lone tear trickled from the sea-crystal eyes.
Gaston stood over the two of them, wiping at his face with the back of his hand, wishing he could make the grief and sorrow go away. He had never felt so utterly helpless!
“She was too small,” Remington finally whispered. “Too small.”
“I know,” he smoothed her forehead with his trencher-sized hand.
She stared at the still babe a long while before turning her head to him, her eyes unnaturally bright against her pale face. “Are you all right? De Tormo said you went to war again.”
He was back on his knees, wrapping his arms about the two of them. “I am fine. I thought of you every minute, every day. Ever since we fought, I have thought of nothing but you.”
“You are a duke now,” she whispered. “I am so proud of you, Gaston.”
“It means nothing,” he whispered back, pressing his face to her shoulder. “You mean everything. You and our children.”
“How is Adeliza?” she asked.
“Fine,” he replied, a bit of hope in his voice. “She’s a loud little magpie. Screams like a banshee.”
Remington smiled weakly. “I know. I heard her.”
He did not want to talk anymore for the moment. He only wanted to hold the two of them, feeling Remington’s life in his arms. He could do nothing more for Arica, and he felt the loss to his bones.
Suddenly, they both heard a weak cry. At the same time, they turned to the swaddled bundle in Remington’s arms, only to see the tiny little mouth open again and cry like a kitten.
“Dear God….” Gaston breathed.
“She’s not dead, Gaston!” Remington declared with as much excitement as she could muster. Weak, shaking hands began unwrapping the swaddling. “Look. She’s moving!”
He was dumbfounded, watching as Remington unbound the child, revealing stick-thin arms and legs, wriggling about.
“She wasn’t breathing, Remi, I swear it,” he said helplessly. “She did not move when I touched her.”
Remington stared at the tiny baby flailing about on the bed beside her. “Thank God! Look at her; she’s moving!”
He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He would have sworn on his mother’s grave that the babe was dead. But the tiny, skinny body before him was not dead in the least.
“I thought you did not believe in God,” he leaned forward on her, reaching out a finger and touching the babe. His finger was bigger than one tiny arm.
“I do when I look at her, when I look at you,” she whispered, fatigue and weakness overtaking her. “Wrap her up, please. I cannot.”
Concern surged through him. “What’s wrong, Remi? Are you feeling worse?”
“Just… tired,” she breathed.
He wrapped the babe up as best he could, knowing it was nothing like the experienced swaddling of the nuns. He picked the infant up, clutching her to his chest and saying a silent prayer of thanks. Mayhap God would hear him, just this once.
De Tormo and the prioress were hovering near the door when Gaston opened it. Their faces were glazed with concern and apprehension.
Gaston smiled weakly, handing the babe over to the prioress. “She is unhappy. Mayhap she is hungry.”
The woman accepted the child, confused but focused on the infant. “Is… is everything all right? You cried out and….”
Gaston put up a hand to stop her words. “Everything is fine. I think Remington could use some nourishment, too.”
De Tormo watched the nun walk away, turning back to Gaston. “She’s not dead? We thought that when you yelled, she had passed away.”
Gaston was feeling his great fatigue and sagged against the doorjamb. But there was a faint smile on his face. “Nay, priest, she is not dead. In fact, we have had a most wonderful conversation.”
De Tormo was amazed. He peered around Gaston, into the dim room where Remington still lay with her feet pointed skyward. He thought she was asleep until she raised a weak hand to him in acknowledgement.
“God be praised,” de Tormo whispered, crossing himself. “Sister Baptista has come through once again.”
Gaston pushed himself off the jamb. “I would be alone with her now, but I want to baptize both girls before dusk.”
De Tormo nodded. “I already baptized Arica after she was born, but Adeliza has not yet been christened.”
“She will be before the sun sets,” Gaston said, his voice scratchy from all of the crying he had done. As de Tormo walked away, Gaston suddenly reached out and stopped him. “You know, I truly hated you when we first met, priest. How is it that you have become such a part of Remington and I?”
De Tormo cracked a smile. “I am not such an arrogant, pushy little bastard after all, am I?”
Gaston grinned, hearing his own words reflected. “You have your moments. I will be forever grateful for bringing me to my senses. I owe you a great deal.”
De Tormo actually looked humble. “I am a romantic at heart, I suppose,” he eyed Gaston warily. “But since you have declared your thanks, mayhap you will not be angry when I tell you that I took the liberty of giving Arica a middle name when I christened her.”
“You did? What?”
“Why, Christine, of course. Arica Christine de Russe,” de Tormo snorted. “We must honor the man who made her life possible, mustn’t we?”
Gaston returned the snicker. “Then I suppose we should throw Henry’s name in there somewhere, as well.”
De Tormo sobered seriously. “What of the annulment now? Yours is complete – what about hers?”
Gaston sighed heavily. “I shall send word to Henry tomorrow. We begin proceedings all over again.”
De Tormo glanced at Remington. “What about…?”
Gaston shook his head. “Not to worry. Dane will not be part of the terms, I can guarantee you that.”
The men went their separate ways, de Tormo to the chapel, and Gaston back into the bedchamber with Remington.
Outside, the day was bright and green and heavenly, unusual for mid-March.