Page 43 of The Unforgiven
“George, I’m so sorry,” Madeline said. She wished she could hug him, but it didn’t seem appropriate, so she remained where she was.
“So am I.” George collapsed into a chair and poured himself a cup of strong black coffee.
“Are you hungry?” Madeline asked.
“Strangely, yes.”
Madeline filled a plate for George and set it in front of him. He picked up his fork and began to eat, but his motions were jerky and unnatural.
After a few forkfuls, George pushed the plate away in disgust. “These eggs are too salty.”
“Should I ask Mammy to make you some fresh ones?”
He shook his head. “There’s no need. I only came in here to see you. I just couldn’t bear to be alone.”
Madeline wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she just remained silent and allowed George to talk.
He lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he had a terrible headache. He likely did. “Amelia is asleep. Dr. Holbrook gave her something to sedate her. She was devastated, poor thing. She thinks it’s her fault.”
“How can it be her fault?”
“It isn’t, but she lost two babies before this one. The other miscarriages were early on in the pregnancy, so she thought this time she’d carry to term. Dr. Holbrook advised bed rest for the last six months of the pregnancy, but Amelia refused. She said she couldn’t bear the thought of lying down for six months, especially when she was feeling so well. Now she blames herself.” Georgesighed and shook his head in disbelief. “The child will have to be interred. And named.”
George covered his face with his hands as a sob tore from his chest. His shoulders shook and Madeline went to him and wrapped her arms around him. He didn’t push her away. Instead, he turned around and buried his face in her middle, his arms going around her waist.
“He’s so perfect, Madeline,” he muttered. “So beautiful. It’s like he’s sleeping. Oh, how I wish he was. And now I have to put him in a box and shut him away in the Besson tomb, next to my parents. It’s so unfair,” George sobbed.
“I know. I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”
“Just be there for Amelia. She’ll need understanding and support.”
And she won’t get it from Sybil, Madeline added silently.
George pulled away and used the back of his hand to dry his eyes. “I better clean up and change. I have a plantation to run.” He walked from the room without a second glance.
TWENTY-THREE
Madeline was coming out of the library when she saw the undertaker’s carriage through the open door. He had several tiny coffins in the back, ready to show his wares to the grieving parents. George came out to greet him, pointed to a highly polished, dark brown box, and walked away, his shoulders slumped in misery. The undertaker took the coffin George had selected and headed into the house, walking past Madeline toward the door to the cellar. Madeline hadn’t thought about it until that moment, but she supposed they had taken the baby’s corpse to the coolest place in the house to keep it fresh until the funeral, and to keep Amelia from coming across it should she get it into her head to get up and wander around the house in search of her baby.
Sybil swept past Madeline and followed the undertaker down into the cellar. In her hands was a tiny embroidered gown, the one Amelia had been working on when Madeline had first arrived at the plantation. Sybil glared at Madeline before shutting the door.
“Amelia is awake. Go to her.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Madeline climbed the stairs with a heavy heart. What could she say to a young woman who’d just lost her baby?
Amelia was sitting up in bed, propped up by several pillows. She looked wan and listless, and her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, but her hair had been brushed and plaited and she wore a clean nightdress. The room showed no trace of last night’s tragedy. The sheets looked clean, and someone had taken away the soiled towels and linens. Madeline hovered in the doorway, unsure whether to enter, but Amelia held out her hand.
“Come in, Madeline,” she said. Her voice was almost a whisper, hoarse from hours of screaming.
“I’m so sorry, Amelia,” Madeline said as she sat in a chair someone had left by the bed.
Amelia nodded in acknowledgement.
“Are you in pain?”
Amelia began to cry quietly, as if her grief were something to be ashamed of. She covered her face and hunched over, rocking back and forth in her despair.
“Is there anything I can get you?” Madeline asked. She hated feeling so helpless in the face of Amelia’s suffering.
