The Memory of Us: A Novel Read Online Free Page B

hands, my nails painted a champagne color just for the occasion. “Well, I should go see Charles now. It’s been nice talking with you.”
    “You, too, Miss Westcott.”
    “You can call me Julianne.”
    “Julianne.”
    My name lingered there between us, like a musical note whose exquisite sound lingers at the end of a song.
    “Let me walk you to that wing. Somebody’s got to protect you from the creature with the wooden spoon.”
    I did my best impression of a damsel in distress. “I would be ever so grateful, Sir McCarthy. It seems that I am forever in your debt.” I touched my fingertips to my heart for effect, but stopped short at batting my lashes.
    “That’s Kyle to you, m’lady. And I don’t think the throne will be knighting Irishmen anytime soon, no matter how long I’ve lived here.”
    His laugh put me at ease, and I followed him out the door. I would have followed him to the moon.
    As he escorted me down the hall, I thought I saw Miss Ellis wink at me.
     
    Abertillery
     
    I quickly forgot the name spoken naïvely by the Campbell boy. It was of no consequence anyway, for its significance belonged to another woman, another life. We approached the farm, easily recognizable by its drooping fences and yards of clotheslines, sagging in the dead of night from abandoned shirts and blouses, skirts and trousers of various sizes, all colors muted by the well-worn thriftiness of hand-me-downs.
    I had been here twice before, and had been duly impressed by the efficiency of the large family, if not by their condition. The wash was done by two of the girls and folded by another, while the smallest played hide-and-seek underneath the freshly laundered piles. Most of the boys worked in the field, although one was handy with tools, and brought in a small income repairing furniture.
    But tonight was different. Even in the dark, I could see that the chores lay forgotten, foreboding like a canopy hung over the land.
    The boy got out of the truck and was at my side before I knew it. He opened my door and offered me his hand. It was a touching gesture, one that took me by surprise. It had been some time since I was treated like a lady, and I couldn’t help but be moved.
    “She’s this way.”
    He led me through the front door. I expected to find the downstairs empty, as it was well past anyone’s bedtime, but the children were scattered across its corners. Most of the younger ones had fallen asleep. Those who were awake were fidgeting. Only the oldest three were alert, aware of the drama unfolding in the next room.
    The tallest girl stood up and held out her hand. I did not recognize her, and I thought that she must have been otherwise occupied when I had called here previously. “Thank you for coming,” she said, as if I had popped in for a spot of tea. “I’m Emily. Please let me know how I can help.”
    “What is her condition?”
    “She’s bleeding. She always does, but not like this.”
    “Let me see her.”
    She tapped lightly on the door of the adjacent room, then pushed it open. The room was lit by a single low lamp at the head of the enormous iron bed in its center. The bed was covered by several quilts that were now tainted with a sea of bright crimson. Mr. Campbell knelt at the side of his wife, one hand holding hers and the other clutching a rosary.
    He looked up when I entered and nodded in acknowledgment, but his lips continued to move without sound as he prayed repetitively.
    “Mrs. Campbell,” I said. Her eyes flickered, and I could see that her usually pale skin was now spectral in its whiteness. I stepped close and stroked her face, which was burning with fever. “Emily,” I said without looking away, “get cold towels for her head, and prepare warm ones over the fire for the baby.”
    The mother let out a weak cry as a contraction waved inside her. Her back arched in pain. I pulled away the blankets and her nightgown to see that the baby had already crowned. It had a full head of hair,