Epilogue
Mark wiped a warm wet cloth on Ellen’s brow. “You’re amazing,” he marveled. “Look at what you’ve done.”
Ellen gave him a tired smile, the sweat drying on her face and neck, as the squirming baby kicked on her bare chest. The tiny mouth opened in a half-yawn, half-wail as the infant rooted for her breast.
“He’s small,” Mark noted, looking at the cheesy, gray paste all over the baby with mild distaste.
“He’ll probably be jaundiced,” Ellen agreed. “Early ones usually are.” Her locket pooled in the hollow of her throat, covered in sweat and tears and whatever was on the baby. The baby reached up and scratched at her chest, searching for her nipple.
“He’s perfect.” Mark dipped down and kissed Ellen’s temple. “He’s alive and he’s perfect. You’ve done so well, my love.”
The midwife, still kneeling between Ellen’s legs, picked up a new cloth and wiped the blood and mucus from Ellen’s thighs, grinning up at the happy couple. “The baby is precious, and I know you worked so hard to get him here.”
That they had, Mark reflected.
After surviving O’Malley’s kidnapping, they’d both come down with terrible colds.
Mark hadn’t worried about himself, though every cough and sneeze was agony with his cracked ribs.
He just wanted Ellen healthy. They’d convalesced together and allowed their mothers to visit and cluck over them.
And when they were healthy enough, Mark politely kicked their mothers out and made passionate, wild love to Ellen.
As the winter faded into spring, Ellen’s belly grew.
Mark’s dreams grew. After deciding not to pursue a fellowship at Oxford, he turned back to the half manuscript he’d written about Greek myths for children.
At Ellen’s prompting, he began revising.
It was now sitting at a publisher’s house for review.
If published—Ellen had promised him whole-heartedly of course it would, they’d be fools not to see his genius—Mark planned to make sure plenty of copies made it to cheap lending libraries and workhouse schools so all the children could dream about far-off worlds and adventures like he had.
Amelia and Mrs. Daugherty had convinced Ellen to slow down, and Amelia had hired Jiya to take some strain off Ellen’s shoulders around the dispensary. It had been difficult for Ellen to accept at first, until they had learned Jiya was also living with Amelia.
“To save on rent,” Amelia had said, blushing. “I’m sure she’ll find a room of her own as soon as she settles herself in the neighborhood.”
And though Ellen was supposed to take time away from her work to rest, she instead found herself enrolling in the Nightingale Training School to become a midwife.
It was a calculated decision on her part.
Because of all the auditing she’d done over the years, the superintendent agreed to shorten her time there to six months.
And when she’d finished, just a month earlier, she was a licensed and practicing midwife.
Ellen planned to use that to gain further experience working with premature babies in hospital settings.
Mark intended to surprise her in a few weeks, once she’d recovered from birth, with a trip to Paris.
All of them could go see the Maternity Hospital where Dr. Tarnier and Madame Henry researched and worked to save premature lives.
And after that, Mark planned to encourage her to go to medical school to become an obstetrician.
Male doctors were crowding midwives out of the infant care field, and he’d no intention of letting that happen to Ellen.
So she’d be both midwife and obstetrician, and hopefully one day head doctor in a ward for weak infants with a score of incubators at her disposal.
Her pregnancy, while textbook up until the end, had been emotionally fraught for both Ellen and Mark. They often visited Constance’s grave together, even when Ellen grew big and bulky and ached while climbing in and out of carriages or walking too far.
When it became all too clear Ellen was expecting, St. Giles exploded with joy for her. O’Malley had been arrested and transported, and the mothers of her former patients showered her with well-wishes and joy.
It was wonderful and stressful all at the same time. Mark stayed close, tucking her hand in his whenever he saw the panic flare in her eyes. As much as she welcomed the well-wishes, it was terrifying to so readily acknowledge what might come their way.
Krishna and Himesh Patel, each carrying a twin with their daughters trailing behind, had helped the most, though they probably didn’t know it. They’d seen the fear in Ellen’s eyes, the worry in Mark’s, and drawn close.
“When it was those early days with my boys, when I wasn’t sure if they’d stop breathing and I’d lose them, I tried to bargain with it,” Krishna told them.
“I’d think, if they can just live until tomorrow, I’ll be content.
And then I’d think, if they can just live for the week, I’ll accept it.
And then I thought, if they can live until they’re full term, then I shall be happy.
But it doesn’t stop. Each new milestone creates another.
They reached full term, and I thought, good, if they can reach their first year, then I won’t worry any more.
But it’s still a risk. Either of them could still die from an accident or illness at any second. ”
Himesh made a sound in his throat.
Krishna hurried on. “My point is, it’s never safe to be a parent. There is never a day when you say, I’ll never worry again. Because you will. You always will. There is always such potential for tragedy, that you must snatch up the joy where you can and cling to it for dear life.”
Ellen’s eyes had filled with tears, and Mark swallowed the lump in his throat.
“What got me through that time, when they stopped breathing and I was terrified they’d never start again, was something I said to myself.”
Himesh nodded. “We both said it.”
“What?” Mark asked, eager to know.
“We said, today my baby is alive and today I love him. And it reminded us that while we cannot control the future, we can hold tight to what we do have.”
Mark searched Ellen’s eyes for hope. “Thank you,” he told the couple. “Thank you.”
And so that’s what they did. After every nightmare Ellen had, after the baby started kicking and refused to stop, and even after she woke in the middle of the night, screaming because her hands and feet had begun to itch. She had about two and a half months left to reach full term.
Mark had rubbed lotion on her feet and hands, offering what little relief he could, and when her tears stopped he told her, “Today our baby is alive. Today we love him.”
Some days the anxiety died down. Some days it was worse, and the intensity usually related to how painful the itching was. Mrs. Daugherty talked to some midwives and suggested Ellen take dandelion root tea each morning and night to combat the itching. It helped a little.
It was a month before the baby was expected that Ellen felt its movements slow down, Mark had sent a servant for the midwife, and she induced Ellen’s labor early.
It was long and arduous, for Ellen’s body was being forced into something it wasn’t ready for. But it was necessary, and Mark had stayed with her for all twenty hours of it.
Ellen ran her forefinger around the tip of their son’s ear. She glanced up at Mark. “Today my baby is alive, and today I love him.”
Mark’s chest swelled so tight he could scarcely breathe. “Today, you are alive, and today I love you.”
The midwife, finished with her work, pulled Ellen’s shift down over her legs, then gathered the dirty laundry and slipped from the room to tell their anxious friends and family the Glenfalls had a beautiful boy with his mother’s brown hair and his father’s strong jaw.
She closed the door on the little family, allowing them a private moment to bond.
Ellen reached up and took Mark’s hand in hers, entwining their fingers. “And I love you.”
THE END
I hope you enjoyed Mark and Ellen’s story!