The Oak Leaves (23 page)

Peter looked over his shoulder, slowly rising to his feet and pulling Cosima behind him as she rose as well.

“Reginald.” It was impossible to tell if he was surprised or taken aback by Peter’s presence. Both appeared calm.

“Good evening, Peter.” Reginald’s voice, too, was even and undisturbed. He took a step closer and peered around Peter’s shoulder at Cosima. “Good evening, Cosima.”

She stepped out to Peter’s side.

“Reginald,” said Peter, “there is something you should know, and you ought to know it immediately. Cosima and I have no wish to hurt you, but we’ve admitted we have feelings for one another that will prevent her from marrying you. Not that you’ve announced any intentions.”

“I can see why you might be relieved I haven’t posted banns yet, my friend,” said Reginald lightly.

Cosima wondered at his behavior. Wasn’t he upset at all, having come upon what was obviously a private moment between his fiancée and his best friend?

“I can only assume you’ve had doubts, for whatever reason I cannot imagine,” Peter said. “As I said, neither Cosima nor I have any wish to hurt you, but you cannot expect her to feel much loyalty to a relationship as uncertain as the one you’ve offered.”

“Oh, I don’t hold it against her.” Reginald spoke as if Cosima weren’t even there. “The heart isn’t something we can control, is it?”

“You . . . you’re not upset, then?” she asked. “That I obviously cannot marry you?”

“Upset?” His eyes, light even in the darkness, glinted something in them she’d not seen before. Jealousy? “If I said I wasn’t upset, you would think I hold no feelings for you whatsoever. Perhaps I am, a little. But since I’ve lost you to my best friend, what can I say, except to give you my blessing?”

No, it wasn’t jealousy she saw in those eyes. His tone was too light, too unhurt. It was something else, something Cosima was unfamiliar with.

“Just like that?” Peter asked. He sounded as suspicious as Cosima felt.

“Of course. Never let it be said I stood in the way of love. Not when we’re to let love rule our lives. Isn’t that what you always say, Peter? God’s love and all that?”

Peter nodded, but his face was watchful, perhaps wondering at Reginald’s oddly affable reaction.

“So, do you intend to post the banns I should presumably have posted long ago?” Reginald could have been inquiring after a stranger’s upcoming wedding.

Cosima eyed him curiously. She knew he held no real feelings for her, certainly none of the attraction she’d felt for Peter from nearly the moment she’d met him. But at the very least Reginald’s pride might have suffered a blow. Why was he so cavalier?

“We haven’t discussed marriage,” Cosima said.

“But isn’t that what we’re talking about?” Reginald said. “Isn’t what you were doing on that bench meant only for people who plan to marry?”

Cosima’s gaze fell to the ground, glad the pavilion shaded her face from the moonlight. She should feel embarrassed but couldn’t, not when kissing Peter had meant so much.

Peter slipped his hand around Cosima’s. “I have every intention of asking Cosima to marry me and setting a date right now if she’ll agree.”

“There you have it, Cosima,” Reginald said. “I don’t think he’s merely defending your honor or showing me up for the way this ought to be done. He must mean it.”

Cosima had no doubt of Peter’s sincerity. She knew him to be a man of his word. If a proposal under such circumstances seemed sudden to Reginald, it somehow didn’t seem that way to Cosima. She’d felt Peter’s kiss; she’d looked into his eyes. She’d been aware all summer that they had a rare affinity. Commitment was the next logical step . . . if they were stronger than the curse.

“Well, Cosima?” Reginald pressed. “He’s just proposed. Do you accept?”

“Peter knows my feelings mirror his,” she said. “I would marry no other.”

Reginald took yet another step closer. Now his eyes were strangely gleeful, without a trace of the disappointment or anger a spurned fiancé might be expected to have. “Then may I make a suggestion? Marry tonight. Leave here and take the train to Gretna Green. You can make it by morning and be married before the day is out.”

“You’ve hesitated about marriage all these months but now think Cosima should elope with me? Why should
we
hurry?”

Reginald laughed. “I know you, Peter. I know with your honor you won’t touch the girl until you’re wed. I’m merely trying to save you several months of waiting. If the two of you don’t plan on changing your mind, what’s to stop you from marrying privately now and returning home for a public celebration later?”

“We won’t change our minds.” Peter’s firm voice wrapped itself around Cosima’s soaring heart. How right he was!

“Then do it,” Reginald urged.

Peter turned to Cosima. “I would do that,” he whispered. All the surprise and mistrust he’d aimed Reginald’s way were gone as he looked at her earnestly.

“Peter . . .” Thoughts and desires, hopes and dreams assailed her. Was this real? Was she really standing here with Peter’s hands on her shoulders, and was he really inviting her to elope?

“You should say yes, Cosima,” Reginald counseled. “Ease the poor man’s mind. He’s been through an engagement once already. Do you recall hearing of that? Of course he’s willing to wed you right now, to prevent a repeat of what’s happened in the past. He’s eager to have you before you can be spoiled by someone else.”

Peter turned from Cosima to face Reginald again. “Reginald, I don’t welcome the inference in those words. In fact, you’ve acted oddly from the moment you found us here. If you’re angry with me, just say so and we’ll deal with this honestly instead of sparring with words at Cosima’s expense.”

Reginald lifted both palms. “No offense intended, my friend. If I’m acting strangely it’s because you’ve won the lady and I’ve lost. I shall recover, since neither Cosima nor I had any of the personal interest in each other that the two of you obviously have. Nonetheless, I care for her and I care for you as well. I want only to see you happy.”

Peter turned back to Cosima. “I’ll marry you today, Cosima, or I’ll wait for the kind of gala my mother will want to plan. So long as you become my wife, I will do either . . . or both.”

“Peter, how can you be so sure?” She thought of the doubts that had plagued her all summer. Not of her feelings for him or her desire to marry him but thoughts of everything he might lose if they did wed.

“Why should I have any doubts? I love you, Cosima! I love your faith and your interest in all God created, your humor and your loyalty and your courage when you faced the wrath of no less than Dowager Merit. I know we have more to learn about each other, but plenty of marriages begin with the husband knowing far less of his wife. We have a lifetime ahead to discover the rest.”

“But my family—”

“Will welcome Peter into your fold as eagerly as they did me,” Reginald interrupted. “More so, since I’m but a lowly knight.”

Cosima studied Peter’s earnest face. “Are you sure, Peter? Are you very sure you want to marry me? Knowing what it could mean?”

He pulled her into an embrace. “What could it mean, except that we’ll be happy? God Himself brought us together; of that I’m certain. The way we met, that you should be here all the way from Ireland, the way we fell in love . . . it seemed against our will, but it happened anyway. We’re well matched. In faith and in a desire to honor God with our lives. That’s all we must do, and we can do that better together than alone.”

Tears welled in her eyes and she stayed within his arms. “Peter . . .”

“I hope that’s an embrace of congratulations!” said a new, deep voice from beyond the pavilion.

Cosima’s gaze followed Peter’s past Reginald to the two figures coming rapidly up the path: Lord and Lady Hamilton.

Somewhat out of breath, the older couple joined them under the canopy of the pavilion.

Lady Hamilton gasped for air. “Peter, are you congratulating Cosima on her engagement to Reginald at last?”

Reginald turned to Lord and Lady Hamilton, and Cosima could no longer see his face as he stepped back to take a stand behind her and Peter.

“Congratulations are definitely in order.” Reginald reached up to place a hand on Peter’s shoulder from behind. “But not for me. Rather it’s all of us who should congratulate your son and Cosima.”

The fatigue upon Lady Hamilton’s face changed before Cosima’s eyes—to blatant alarm. Even Lord Hamilton, usually so placid, had a dark look, his brows nearly meeting in the middle and his mustache, so like Peter’s, turned downward in a frown.

“What do you mean?” Lady Hamilton said to Reginald. But she looked at Peter. “Tell me, Peter. What does Reginald mean?”

Peter took Cosima’s hand in his and smiled. “We’re going to be married. She hasn’t agreed on a date, but I think she’ll have me.”

Cosima wanted to smile. She wanted to rush to Lady Hamilton and be received into the family.

But stark horror showed on Peter’s mother’s face now, even as she grabbed her husband’s arm as if she might fall. “This cannot be.”

“Mother,” said Peter, taking a step closer. He, too, must have been afraid she would faint. “What is it?”

“You . . . cannot marry Cosima, Peter. I—we, your father and I—forbid you.”

Peter looked back at Cosima, appearing every bit as confused as she felt amid the pain of Lady Hamilton’s outright rejection.

“Father,” said Peter in a voice far more calm than Cosima could have mustered, “what is Mother talking about? If it’s because of Reginald, rest assured he’s given his consent.”

His parents’ grave faces did not change.

“You’ve known Cosima all summer,” Peter went on. “Both of you have cared for her. There is no reason I
shouldn’t
wed her. Even Reginald has given his blessing. Why can’t you?”

“Son . . . ,” began Lord Hamilton, “there are other factors, her family—”

“If you’re talking about the feud between Dowager Merit and Cosima’s father, that’s ridiculous. No one cares about rifts in families, and I have little doubt it can be mended now that Cosima has made progress with her grandmother.”

Cosima stepped forward, searching Peter’s face for more. He was so convinced, so sure of his words. Words that meant nothing.

Suddenly it all made sense.

His parents knew.

And Peter didn’t.

“Peter.” She could barely breathe. The sting of hot tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. “Peter, you know that is the least of the worries regarding my family.”

Peter looked from his parents to Cosima, a new touch of confusion beginning to mar his happy, earnest face. “I told you—it’s nothing!”

She nodded, and the first of her tears began to fall. “Yes, Peter, that
is
nothing. Nothing compared to . . .” She looked away, suddenly losing courage. Her gaze rose to Reginald, accusing. “You
didn’t
tell him, did you?”

Reginald, his face somber, did not move from several paces behind Peter. Now she knew what she saw in his eyes, something she’d never seen firsthand. Cruelty. Unmistakable, utter cruelty.

“Tell him what? About a curse? And have him thinking I was crazy for taking such a risk in order to forge a path into higher society? It isn’t as if I
believe
in curses, anyway. It’s all rubbish.”

“What is?” Peter asked. He looked from Reginald to Cosima, and at that moment she knew her dreams hadn’t really come true after all.

She wanted to flee, to hide from his face when he learned the truth. She took a step forward, but Peter caught her arm, preventing her from leaving.

“Please,” she begged through tears that wouldn’t stop no matter how much she longed to shed them in private. “Please, let me go. Reginald knows everything. Ask him. Or,” she added, looking at Lady Hamilton, who, to her credit, no longer looked horrified but rather upset, “your mother obviously knows. Ask her.”

Cosima pulled her arm away and fled the pavilion. She heard Peter call her but didn’t look back, not even when she heard footsteps followed by a scuffle.

Lord Hamilton’s voice echoed after her. “Let her go, Son. Hear us out and you’ll know you
must
let her go.”

35

After Talie’s morning routine of spot-cleaning the house, planning lunch and dinner, and attending to Ben’s needs, the music therapist arrived with her bag of instrumental toys and a guitar. Ben loved the ocean drum best, with tiny silver balls that were visible through the sturdy plastic top rolling from side to side. The movement sounded amazingly like a series of gentle waves. Ben always quieted for that.

Talie sat on the floor with Ben in her lap. She didn’t sing along with the therapist, knowing she’d rarely hit the right keys, but hoped showing her own enjoyment might increase Ben’s. It was still easy for her to maneuver on the floor at almost five months pregnant. This was one of her favorite half hours spent, because Ben seemed to listen to the words though he had yet to say any himself.

The phone rang just as the session ended. Talie would have let the call go to voice mail, but with the therapist busy packing maracas, tambourines, and rain sticks and with Ben content on the floor, Talie decided to check caller ID. The medical center. She picked up the phone.

“Mrs. Ingram?”

“Yes. Hello, Dr. Cooper.” Talie took a quick breath. Though the pediatric specialist hadn’t inquired about Ben, Talie decided to offer some information anyway. “Ben’s music therapist is here,” she said. “Of all the therapies, we think he enjoys this one the best.”

“That’s great,” Dr. Cooper said. “Mrs. Ingram, the reason I called is to let you know I received the results on Ben’s blood test.”

It had been weeks since Talie and Luke had taken Ben to the geneticist for that awful blood test. She had put that from her mind long ago. They’d poked him on both hands until they found a vein and taken four full vials. He’d screamed the whole time while Luke held Ben’s head and nurses at each leg pinned him down. Talie had fled the room like a coward. Ben’s screams made her head spin and her stomach knot. That couldn’t be good for the new baby. But waiting in a nearby conference room hadn’t helped. She still heard Ben’s screams.

Her heart began to pound, and it had nothing to do with the memory of that day. “I thought those results must have come back weeks ago and we’d get something in the mail eventually.”

“This test often takes a little longer because not all labs do the specific tests we needed, and they wait to batch together the ones they receive. Our policy is to mail negative results, Mrs. Ingram. But Ben’s fragile X test came back positive.”

Talie might never be able to forget the blood draw, but she couldn’t recall the name of any specific disorders they had tested for. Myriad thoughts rippled through her brain. A blood-test result meant a genetic disorder. That’s what she had expected, wasn’t it? Bad genes passed down from Cosima? Why even be surprised?

But she was. Undeniably. Her heart began to sputter her blood instead of smoothly pumping it where it needed to go. “What was that?”

“Fragile X. I could go into a long explanation, but it would be better for you to meet with Dr. Benson, where you had the blood drawn. She’s a top geneticist and can explain everything in greater detail.”

“We’re seeing Dr. Benson tomorrow.” She didn’t want to admit Luke had made the appointment weeks ago; she still had trouble acknowledging everything pointed in the direction of a genetic disease.

“Oh?”

“We . . . wanted genetic counseling.” Dr. Cold Fish didn’t have to know all the evidence supporting her latest diagnosis.

“Before receiving the fragile X diagnosis? Is there some reason you might have suspected this before now?”

“I . . . I’d rather not talk about it right now, if you don’t mind. But what about the diagnosis of autism? You were wrong about that?”

“He has fragile X. Some people refer to it as ‘autism of known cause,’ since so many of the symptoms are similar.”

Talie could remember nothing about the disorder this doctor kept naming. All Talie knew was that blood-test results were far different from one doctor’s opinion about autism. Her heart sank and raced at the same time. Talie could deny a simple opinion—in fact she had been doing a remarkable job at that very thing, despite her family history. It was easy to listen to a pediatrician who said Ben might grow out of his delays. But a blood test . . .

She took a deep breath. “Ben is slow; of course that’s true. But even though he doesn’t make very good eye contact, he seems to want to be in our company—”

“Mrs. Ingram,” interrupted Dr. Cooper, “autism was a diagnosis based on the symptoms I saw, symptoms I’ve seen in countless other children your son’s age. But now I have the results of a blood test that give the reason for your son’s delays. There’s no question about it. He has fragile X syndrome.”

Talie’s head filled with cotton. She could not comprehend the doctor’s words. “What does this mean? I don’t know what fragile X is.”

“Physically there are a few complicating factors, none of them life threatening. No one can tell what level of cognitive ability Ben will achieve, Mrs. Ingram. I know you would like to see his future; wouldn’t we all. But for now, the best thing for you to do is see Dr. Benson. In the meantime, I can send you what literature I have on fragile X.”

Talie’s gaze fell on Ben, still contentedly sucking his finger. She was aware of the music therapist lingering nearby, as if wondering if she should stay or leave. Talie didn’t know what to do—point her toward the door or burst into tears.

Instead she spoke into the phone. “Dr. Cooper . . .” She had to ask, even though every fiber of her being knew this blood test only supported what she expected. “Is there any chance you could be wrong? Maybe this blood test is wrong.”

“This is an accurate test, Mrs. Ingram, and the diagnosis fits Ben’s symptoms. He’s delayed physically as well as cognitively, which points to fragile X. You should be relieved to get a firm diagnosis.”

Relieved?
Relieved, when she’d done nothing but try to convince herself that Ben would somehow be all right? Relieved to hear there was a blood test telling her he would never be “all right”? never be normal?

She ignored her thumping heart. “What is fragile X, exactly?” She knew the answer but asked the question anyway. It was a modern-day name for an age-old curse. But she needed to know more.

“The X chromosome, when viewed under the right circumstances, appears ‘fragile’ on the long arm of the X. It often results in mental retardation.”

Talie registered only the words
mental retardation.
The cotton in her head spread to her heart and lungs. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel. This could not be happening. Talie saw the concerned look on the music therapist’s face but could do nothing to assure her or hide the upheaval erupting inside.

Talie gripped the phone receiver. “I want to know what this means for my son.”

“It means messages in his brain probably aren’t connecting properly. He’s missing one specific protein that is responsible for dendrites and synapses to—”

“No, Dr. Cooper, I guess you didn’t hear me. I want to know how this affects my son.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Mrs. Ingram, except that he is probably affected cognitively. Approximately 90 percent of fragile X boys are intellectually challenged at least to some degree. The level of retardation can’t be predicted. It varies in every patient.”

Retardation
. The term sounded archaic, like some kind of disease that should have been cured a long time ago.
Cured
.

“And there’s no cure, no treatment? If they know what this disorder is, can’t they . . . fix it?”

“The brain is probably the most protected organ in our bodies. Getting a synthetic protein up there, in proper levels and at the time of learning, is something that in reality is even more complicated than it sounds. That’s not to say they’re not trying, though. It’s a single gene disorder, attracting top-notch researchers. But for now you’re doing exactly what Ben needs. Speech therapy and all the other therapies will help him learn.”

“But if he’s . . .”
Mentally retarded.
Talie couldn’t say the words aloud. He was the same as Willie and Percy and Royboy. Feebleminded. How desperately she wanted to cling to her denial. “
Can
he learn?”

“Of course. But only time and Ben himself can tell you to what extent.”

Talie had no tears, only panic slowly making its way through the numbness. She moved to the nearby kitchen table. Suddenly her knees weren’t strong enough to hold her. She wanted this conversation to end, but the doctor seemed to have more.

“You should realize this condition is genetic. It’s on the X chromosome, which means you’re the carrier, Mrs. Ingram.”

Genetics again. She’d guessed she was the carrier, had prayed the new baby would be all right. But she had to know more, even if she wasn’t ready to hear what the doctor had to say.

“Are there . . . statistics? What are the chances of having another child with this . . . fragile . . . X?”

“You have two X chromosomes. One is probably good, the other bad. That means each of your pregnancies has a fifty-fifty chance of producing a fragile X child. That’s why I’m glad you’ve already called Dr. Benson. You need to know the child you’re carrying now might be affected as well.”

* * *

Fifty-fifty.

Talie couldn’t keep the numbers from repeating in her mind.
Fifty-fifty.
She was no gambler, but she knew those were stakes only the reckless accepted.

She heard the garage door open. Luke was home. She’d called him the moment she’d gotten off the phone, just after seeing the therapist to the door. Talie couldn’t speak, couldn’t explain what the phone call had been about—couldn’t even cry at that moment. But as soon as she heard Luke’s voice she’d burst into tears. He told her he’d be home within an hour.

Talie sat on the floor in the family room beside Ben. She’d avoided holding him, thinking he might sense her trauma. But could he? He wasn’t like other babies who could read social cues. Perhaps he wouldn’t even be aware his mother couldn’t stop crying.

But it was lunchtime and some things couldn’t be ignored, at least for Ben. He’d always been able to tell her when he was hungry, and he was beginning to fuss now. She picked him up and brought him into the kitchen.

Luke stepped in and without a word pulled Talie close, with Ben in between. Then he took Ben from her arms. “So this has a name. What he has, I mean. Fragile X.”

Determined to control her tears, Talie nodded. “I need to feed him lunch.”

She watched Luke lift Ben higher, the way Ben liked. Ben smiled wide, every tooth in his mouth visible. As Talie prepared his meal, she watched Luke carry on as if nothing so devastating as an irrefutable blood test had just been returned. At that moment, she envied him. How could he be so unflappable?

Luke put Ben in his high chair. “This doesn’t change anything, you know.”

“Maybe not for Ben. But for the new one?”

His face was grim. “We suspected it was genetic—”

“Fifty-fifty, Luke! Fifty-fifty.”

Luke approached her. But it wasn’t until he placed his two steady hands on her arms that she realized how pervasively she trembled. “I have one thing to say to you, Talie.” Though his voice was grim, it was also calm. “And if you’ve read very far in Cosima’s pages you’ll know what I mean. All and whatever, Talie. All and whatever. Both of us need to remember that, and maybe we’ll make it through.”