Chapter 6 - Born in the DarkClara gave birth beneath the floor of a cabin while the men who wanted her dead hunted her through the woods.
There was no doctor.
No clean white sheets.
No husband holding her hand and whispering promises.
There was only dirt, candle smoke, Agnes’s shaking voice, and Thomas Reed standing above the cellar hatch with a pistol, prepared to die before letting Daniel open it.
Clara bit down on a strip of leather to keep from screaming.
Every pain felt like her body was splitting in two. Sweat soaked her hair. Her torn dress bunched beneath her. She gripped Agnes’s wrists so hard she feared she would break them.
“I can’t,” Clara gasped.
Agnes leaned close. “You can hate Daniel later. Right now, push.”
Clara almost laughed, then screamed into the leather.
Hours passed in pieces.
A lantern moving outside.
A dog barking in the distance.
Vivian’s voice somewhere in the woods.
Thomas whispering, “Quiet.”
Agnes whispering, “Again.”
Clara praying without words.
Then, just before dawn, the cellar filled with a sound sharper than any knife Daniel had held.
A baby’s cry.
Clara collapsed back, sobbing.
Agnes wrapped the child in the blue blanket she had found inside Clara’s torn satchel—the same blanket Clara had been sewing before the carriage ride.
“It’s a girl,” Agnes whispered.
Clara reached for her daughter with both hands.
The baby was small, furious, and alive.
Clara kissed her damp forehead. “Rose.”
Agnes smiled through tears. “After your mother?”
Clara looked up.
“My mother’s name was Rose?”
Agnes nodded. “Rose Whitmore. The bravest woman I ever served.”
Clara held her daughter closer. “Then she’ll carry it.”
Above them, Thomas opened the hatch.
His face softened at the sight of the baby.
Then hardened again.
“We have to move.”
Clara stared at him. “I just gave birth.”
“I know.”
“Then say something less insane.”
Thomas crouched. “Daniel’s men searched the river. They found nothing. That means by sunrise they will return here. And if they hear a newborn cry—”
Clara looked down at Rose.
The baby blinked up at her, tiny fists moving beneath the blanket as if already prepared to fight.
Agnes tried to stand and nearly fainted.
“You can’t walk,” Clara said.
“I can be carried by guilt and stubbornness.”
Thomas shook his head. “There is a chapel three miles east. The priest owed Elias Whitmore his life. He can shelter you.”
Clara looked at Agnes. “All of us?”
Thomas did not answer.
Agnes did.
“No.”
Clara’s eyes widened. “Don’t.”
“My ribs are broken. Maybe more. I slow you down.”
“No.”
Agnes took Clara’s face in both hands. “Listen to me like your mother should have lived to teach you. Love is not proved by dying together. Sometimes it is proved by making sure one of you survives.”
Clara cried silently.
Agnes pressed something into her hand.
A small brass key.
“What is this?”
“The nursery wall. Behind the painting of Saint Cecilia. Your mother hid a diary there.”
“My mother’s diary?”
“It will tell you everything Vivian stole.”
Footsteps sounded outside.
Thomas lifted the pistol.
Agnes looked toward the hatch. “Go.”
Clara shook her head violently.
Agnes smiled. “I pulled you from a river. Let me be dramatic in peace.”
Before Clara could answer, the cabin door creaked.
Daniel’s voice came again.
“Agnes? I know Clara had the baby.”
Clara froze.
Daniel continued softly, “Give me my daughter, and Mother may let you live.”
Rose whimpered.
Clara clamped the blanket closer.
Agnes reached up and closed the cellar hatch between them.
The last thing Clara saw was the old maid’s face.
May you like
Not afraid.
Victorious.
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