The Hands of Time (24 page)

Alec was out the door before I could even reply
,
and I heard him
galloping
out of the yard a few minutes later.  I felt a pang of fear at Bridget’s words, but I had to give birth sometime
,
and today was as good a day as any.
  Bridget and I had spent the past few months sewing baby gowns and knitting little sweaters
;
I was as ready as I’d ever be.   By the time Alec returned with the petulant Dr.
Marsh
,
my pains had moved from my back to the front and I was walking around, finding that it made the contraction
s
easier to bear.  Alec gave me a worried look, but Dr. Marsh shooed him out of the room
,
ordering me to lie down so he could examine me. 

“You’ve got hours yet,” he said sounding displeased.  “Stay in bed and I will check on you in an hour or so.  In the meantime, I
would not
say no to some
luncheon
.” 
Bridget
led him to the dining room to be fed
,
and I got back up again and continued my pacing.  The contractions were not that close together
,
and despite being painful, they were still bearable.  The doctor was probably right.  I had hours yet. 

I eventually wore myself out with the pacing
,
and lay down on the bed trying to get some rest.  The contractions
weren’t
getting any closer
,
and I was worried that something was wrong.  Dr. Marsh assured me that everything was just fine
,
and went back down to have a drink with Alec, who insisted on coming up every half
-
hour to check on me.  He looked more scared th
a
n I did
,
and that gave me a little comfort.  By midnight
,
I was tired and cranky.  The pain was getting worse and
walking didn’t really help anymore.  Every contraction nearly brought me to my knees
,
as
I clenched my teeth trying not to cry out.  Bridget was at my side, wiping my forehead and
murmuring
words of encouragement.  I had to admit that I was becoming more scared
,
as my body began to turn on me and dish out more pain than I could handle. 

I felt another wave of pain rolling over me
,
and heard myself screaming as if I was somewhere outside my body. 
The pain was tearing me apart
,
and I could feel my bones moving to make room for the baby.  It had finally made up its mind to come out
,
and now it was pushing down with unbearable force, trying to fight its way into the world.  Bridget had made me a twisted sheet wrapped around the bedpost
,
to pull on when it came time to push
,
and I held on to the sheet with both hands, pushing with all my might as Dr. Marsh looked on
;
tired and eager to leave.  He said that everything was all right and I believed him
,
too scared to contemplate any complications. 

“Push, Valerie,” Bridget urged me
,
to the disapproval of the doctor. 

“I’ll tell her when to push.  Get away with you, girl.” 
He was irritated and took it out on Bridget, but she
would not leave
me
.  She got on the bed behind me, supporting my back and giving me something to lean
against
as I pushed.  I heard a terrible scream erupt from somewhere deep in my chest
,
as I tried in vain to get the baby out.  I could hear Alec
’s
pacing outside the room, his footsteps on the creaking floor obliterated by my next scream. 

I must have been pushing for hours, but at last, sometime after 3
:00
am
,
the head finally appeared between my bloodstained thighs
,
and the doctor lazily pulled the baby from my body.  I held my breath for a
moment
waiting for it to cry, then released it
in
a flood of tears as the baby wailed in protest
,
as Dr. Marsh cleaned its mouth and nose
,
and presented it to me wrapped in a warm blanket.  I lay back on the pillows exhausted
,
and clutched the baby to
my chest.  Its face was screwed up in another wail
,
and I kissed its tiny head, crying into the downy dark hair. 

“Is it healthy, Dr. Marsh?” I asked through my sobs. 

“It
is
a healthy boy, Mistress Whitfield.”  The doctor was washing his hands in the basin and collecting his instruments.  He was eager to go home
,
and I was glad to see the
back
of him.  He wasn
’
t a very nice man.  Alec poked his head into the room asking permission to come in
,
and I waved him in, feeling the mattress sag as he sat down next to me.  I silently handed him the baby, watching him
trace the soft cheek with his finger
,
and count the fingers on the hand that came out of the wrapping. 

“It’s a boy, Alec.  Finlay Alexander Whitfield.  What do you think of that?”

“I think Finn would be so proud of you and of his son.  I hope that wherever he is right now
,
he can see him and rejoice.”  I didn’t really believe that Finn was anywhere, but I didn’t say so to Alec
,
letting him enjoy his fantasy.  Finn would be proud
,
and I would have given anything at all to have him with me right now, but it was Alec holding the baby and Alec
,
who would be his father.  I lay back pushing my damp hair out of my face. 

“I’
m famished.  Does anyone have a
biscuit
or something?”  I asked
,
licking my cracked lips and longing for a drink of water.  Bridget sprang into action.  “I am sorry, Mistress.  I should
‘
ave known.  There is always such an appetite after a birthing.  I will bring you some sausage rolls and a cup of ale.  Y
e
need y
er
strength and food to make milk for the baby.  Try feeding
‘
im.  See the
way he is opening and closing
‘
is mouth.  It’s a nipple he’s wanting.”  I felt a little self
-
conscious
as I pulled down the side of my nightdress revealing my swollen breast
,
and watched Alec’s look of hunger as the baby took my nipple into his mouth and began to suc
k
rhythmically.  My eyes never left Alec’s as I nursed the baby
,
and I
knew
that although Finn would always be with us, it was time for him to take a back seat and allow us to fulfill his wish. 

Chapter
4
4

Present Day

Louisa huddled into her coat to keep out the chill of the
March
morning.   The bare trees of Central Park looked stark against the backdrop of the leaden winter sky, making everything look like a black
-
and
-
white photograph.  Filthy slush from the melting snow covered most of the pavement
,
and her feet were cold and wet
,
as she made her way to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  She couldn’t wait to get inside and have a hot cup of coffee. 

The studio was nice and warm, smelling of freshly brewed coffee, paint
,
and the tang of
turpentine
.   Luisa’s assistant Billie was already at her desk, sipping from her mug and looking over some papers.  Lou hung up her coat in the closet
,
and pulled a smock over her clothes turning to Billie.

“What do we have today?”  She poured coffee into her favorite mug, added a splash of milk and came to stand next to Billie.

“A couple of canvases came in last night from an estate sale down
s
outh.  They
’
re in the back room.  Ms.
Lawrence
wants you to have a look and see if they
’
re worth anything.  I’ve set them up for you.”

“Thanks, I’ll go have a look right now.”

Lou set down her mug and walked into the storage room at the back
,
flipping on the light switch.  The room was full of old frames, canvases sent down for cleaning
,
and supplies.  Several canvases were stacked against the wall covered with dust sheets
,
and Louisa pulled off the sheet of the one closest to her.  It was a portrait of some pompous
-
looking old
man with bushy whiskers and a bald pate.  He stood with his chest puffed out
,
staring
belligerently
off the canvas with his hand on the hilt of his sword
,
a
hound lying at his feet.   The signature at the bottom looked like Joseph Blackburn, making the portrait more interesting.  Joseph Blackburn had been one of the better known American portrait painters of the
seventeenth century,
and his work was always in demand by museums. 

Louisa pulled off the next sheet
,
and her heart nearly stopped in her chest.  Looking straight at her was Valerie, dressed in an elaborate gown, her dark curls piled high on her head and secured by pearl-studded pins
,
a large sapphire glittering at her throat.   The woman
didn’t
look modern, but there was no doubt in Louisa’s mind that she was looking at a portrait of her sister.  She closed her eyes, took a couple of deep breaths
,
and opened
them
again.  She was still there, smiling serenely, looking exactly as she had when she was alive.  Lou had come to accept that Valerie was dead, but now she wasn’t so sure.  Could it be possible that she had dressed in this gown and posed for a modern painter?  She went to the door and called for Billie to come into the storage room.

“Do we have names to go with these portraits?”  She tried to sound casual, but her heart was leaping out of her
chest and her hands were shaking badly.  Billie consulted the list in her hand and read off:

“Colonel Bradley Walters, 1605, Oil on Canvas.”

“Mrs. Valerie Crane Whitfield, 1608, Oil on Canvas.”

Louisa felt the world tilt around her
as
she slid to the floor, welcoming the darkness that enveloped her.

Chapter
4
5

April 1606

I recovered quickly after the birth
,
the baby
keeping
me too busy to think of anything other than its needs.  Finn ate around the clock
,
and I felt as if my nipples would fall off from all the sucking they
received
in a
twenty-four
-
hour
period.  I was always hungry because my body burned so much energy producing the milk
,
and fell into bed between feedings to get some much
-
needed rest.  Sometimes I would wake up to find Alec sitting on the bed,
holding
the sleeping baby in his arms
,
and gazing at him with wonder.  I wished he could produce milk
,
because I think he would have enjoyed the feedings a lot more th
a
n I did. 

We were well into April
,
and the weather outside was glorious, a gentle sunshine warming the cold earth
,
and everything just on the verge of bursting into bloom.  I couldn’t believe that I
’
d been at the castle for nearly a year.  It felt like a lifetime.  I could barely remember my old life anymore
,
and I thought of it less and less. 

“I thought we could go into Plymouth next week,” said Alec
,
as he handed me the baby for yet another feeding.  I pulled down my bodice and watched my greedy son latch on.

“We could have Finn baptized and get married at the same time.”  He watched me intently
,
and I knew that he
’
d
been waiting to bring this up for some time, terrified of my reaction.  Alec had been much better since the birth of the baby
,
showing
signs of life in his once dull eyes.  He still mourned Finn every day, but he was ready to get on with his life and to tell the truth, so was I.  It was almost six months since Finlay died and decisions needed to be made.