Thurston House Read online

  He smiled. “… Married to the happiest man.” And Hannah was ecstatic for them when they returned to Napa the next day, and now Sabrina did exactly as she was told. She stayed out of the mines almost every day, gave someone her horse to ride. She spent long afternoons resting on her bed, and waited for John to come home, sitting comfortably in the swing, and when autumn came, the baby began to show just a little bit, and he would put his head on her at night, hoping to feel it move, but it was still too soon. She felt it first as the leaves began to turn, and he hadn’t felt it yet when one of his men came pounding on the door one night.

  “Fire at the mine!” The words rang out in the night, and Sabrina heard him first and had the presence of mind to hang out the window and ask,

  “Which one?”

  “Yours!” the unfamiliar figure said, and she threw on her clothes as quickly as John did, but he put a firm hand on her arm.

  “You stay here, Sabrina. I don’t want any nonsense from you. I’ll handle it.”

  “I’ve got to come.” She had never stayed home when she was needed before. She could nurse her men, or at least be there, but John was firm.

  “No! Stay here!” And without saying another word but only a quick kiss he left her there, and she paced frantically for the next six hours. And by morning she saw the dark smoke fill the sky and there was no word from them and she could stand it no more. She took out the car which she knew how to drive, and headed quickly for the mine as Hannah shouted from the porch.

  “You’ll kill yourself! Think of the baby!” But she was thinking of John. She had to make sure he was all right, it was her mine after all, and her responsibility, and when she arrived she saw the destruction that had been wrought and he was nowhere in sight. The foreman told her that he was in one of the shafts, rescuing men with a team, and they had been down for more than an hour. She watched frantically as no one emerged, and a fresh explosion filled the air, and unable to bear it anymore, she rushed into the mine, and saw them trapped. She went back outside for help, and a dozen men went back inside to pull them out as she felt the smoke fill her lungs, and as she saw John emerge, she sank to her knees gratefully, and the smoke overcame her as she fell. They carried her into the office where she had worked for more than three years, and the doctor came to her at once. She seemed all right after a little while, and John berated her. He had one of the men drive her home, and that night, filthy and reeking of the pungent smoke, he came home himself, but he found Hannah grim-faced on the porch, and with tears running down her cheeks she told him the news. He rushed upstairs and found her there, sobbing, pale, heartbroken as she clung to him. She had lost the baby only an hour before.

  “And I know I’ll never have another one.…” Her despair was bottomless and he pressed her to him, covering her with the soot that covered him, but neither of them cared and his tears mixed with her own.

  “Did the doctor tell you that?” She shook her head and sobbed again. “Then don’t think that, my love. There will be another one.” He looked gently down at her. “And next time you’ll do as I say.” But he didn’t want to press the point with her, she felt guilty enough as it was, and it was two months before she was herself again, before she laughed at something he said, before that look of constant sorrow, like a gnawing pain she could not escape, left her eyes. It was a difficult Christmas for them both, but in January he took her to New York with him. They saw Amelia several times, and stopped in Chicago to see friends of his on the way home. It was the first time John had seen her happy again and he was relieved to see that, although he was disappointed for her that she was slow to conceive again this time, and it was another two years before he saw her look just that way again … pale, and somehow ill, without actually being sick. They had both stopped talking about it, and Sabrina had abandoned all hope. They had been married for exactly four years, and it was on their anniversary that he thought she looked strange, and when he offered her a glass of champagne, she turned green and refused it.

  “I think it’s something I ate.…” She looked at him and ran from the room, and the next day when he disagreed with her, she burst into tears, slammed out of the room, and was found asleep when he came to bed that night. He had seen it all before, but wasn’t quite sure when, and then instinctively within a matter of days he knew, long before she did, or long before she would allow herself to hope, and finally when there was no doubt whatsoever in his mind, he mentioned it to her. “I think you’re wrong.” She tried to brush him off, reading the reports he had brought home from the mine. She was very bored these days. He was handling everything and the mines were doing very well.

  “I don’t think I am.” He looked pleased with himself, and with her. And he was certain that there was good reason to be.

  “But I feel fine.” She looked at him, annoyed, and then stalked out of the room. It wasn’t until they went to bed that night that he mentioned it again.

  “Don’t be afraid, little one. Why don’t we find out? I’ll go with you.”

  But she shook her head and tears filled her eyes. “I don’t want to know.”

  “Why not?” He held her close, and he already knew what the answer would be.

  “I don’t want to get my hopes up again. What if …” She choked on the words, and her tears spilled onto his arm. “Oh, John …”

  “Come on, little love. We have to find out, don’t we? And everything will be fine this time.” He smiled reassuringly at her and the next day he took her to the hospital again, and he had been right. The baby was due in July, and they were both ecstatic. They couldn’t believe their good fortune, and this time John all but confined her to bed, and she cooperated fully with him. She didn’t want to take any chances this time, and he practically wrapped her in cotton wool. They went back to Napa in January, but by April he had brought her into town for the last three months. He wanted her close to the doctors there, and she was comfortable at Thurston House, while he commuted to the mines several days a week, and he bought a Duesenberg and hired a chauffeur to drive her around town. He didn’t want her driving herself. She was following the news in Europe avidly, and they both wondered if there would be a war there. Things seemed unpleasantly tense, but John was almost certain that things would calm down again.

  “And if they don’t?” She lay in their enormous bed one morning in June, looking over the paper at him, and he smiled at her. She looked like a large round ball, and he loved to put a hand on her and feel the baby kick. It was an active one this time. Barnaby had been like that thirty-two years before, and he still remembered it now. But he was even more elated about this child. It was difficult to be serious, and listen to the political questions his wife was posing to him. “What if there’s a war?”

  “There won’t be. Not for us anyway. And,” he smiled at her, “now you can discover the benefits of being married to an old man, my love. I don’t have to worry about that anymore. They wouldn’t take me.”

  “That’s good.” She smiled. “I want you right here with me, and our son.”

  “What makes you think it’s a boy?” John grinned at her, he had that feeling, too, and they both wanted a boy, at least the first time. After that, they wanted a girl, if there was another one. But after all their fears, it had been a surprisingly easy pregnancy. She was still young. She had just turned twenty-six, and even though she insisted that she was practically a crone, she was young enough to have an easy time, and John hoped she would. He had wanted her to go to the hospital, but she was insisting on having the baby at home, and he wasn’t sure yet if he’d give in to her. He looked at her now, and repeated his question with a smile. “Why a boy?”

  “His big feet.” She pointed at the protruberance pushing out on the right side of the enormous balloon that was her midsection now. “You know, sometimes I wonder if he’ll stay in there right until the end. He’s been feeling awfully impatient to me.” But when her due date came and went on the twenty-first of July, she was proven wrong, and she began to
grow impatient to see their child. “Why doesn’t he come out?” She was strolling through the gardens of Thurston House with John one night. “He’s already six days late.”

  “Maybe he’s a girl. Ladies are never on time.” Her husband smiled and patted her hand tucked into his arm, but he noticed that her step was slower than usual tonight and as she climbed the stairs to their room, she seemed more out of breath than she had before. She was growing more enormous every day, and he was getting worried about her. “What if the baby’s too big?” he had secretly asked the doctor the week before. “Then we take it out. It’s very simple these days.” John wondered if she would have to have a cesarean in the end, he hoped not, but the baby looked huge to him, and in comparison she seemed so small. She had narrow hips, and a small back, and it terrified him to think of the baby tearing through her on the way out. It had been difficult with Matilda thirty-two years before, and she had been a big, healthy, country girl. Sabrina looked more frail to him, and he was older and wiser now. He was fifty-four years old and madly in love with his wife, and he was worried about everything. “Can I get you something to drink?” He noticed that she was squirming in bed as she sat reading a book later that night, and she had been restless all day. It was unusually warm, and the stars were out in full force. It was unusual for the fog not to have come in. And she looked at him with a smile and then she sighed.

  “I’m getting tired of this, my love.” She pointed at the enormous balloon where her waist had once been, and he touched it gently with one hand, which met with an immediate and very hearty kick.

  “At least he’s in good form tonight.”

  “That’s more than I can say for me. My back hurts, my legs ache, I can’t sit up, I can’t lie down, I can’t breathe.” He remembered hearing all that a lifetime before, but she really looked miserable as he rubbed her back just before they turned off the lights. He knew that most men no longer shared their wives’ beds at this point, but he hated being away from her, and she insisted that she didn’t mind sleeping with him. “Do you suppose people would be shocked if they could see us now?” They were lying with his arm around her, and her head on his chest, but it was comforting to her.

  “So what if they would be. I’m happy, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” She smiled as he turned off the light, and she looked out at the stars beyond, it was a beautiful night, and it was the twenty-seventh of July, 1914, and just as she began to fall asleep, awkwardly on her side, turned toward John, she felt a sharp kick, and then a slow, unpleasant twinge. She opened her eyes, looked at John, sound asleep, at her side, already snoring softly, and snuggled closer to him. Her back hurt more than it had before, and as she tried to shift her weight, she felt another twinge again. And within an hour, she felt as though she had the kind of cramps she hadn’t had in months, and when she sat up to catch her breath, there was a sudden gush between her legs and the bed was suddenly drenched. She was mortified when John woke up, and turned on the light, looking sleepily at her.

  “Did you spill something?” And then suddenly as he looked at her he knew, as she shook her head, blushing to the roots of her hair, but he covered her awkwardness and pulled her gently toward him. “Don’t you worry about that. Everything’s going to be just fine.” He beamed at her, got up, brought her an armful of towels, and rang for the maid, as he tied his blue silk robe around himself. “I’ll get Mary to change the bed. Why don’t you sit over here?” He helped her to a chair nearby and watched her face as the cramps pulled at her again. “What do you feel, love?”

  She blushed again. He was so open with her, and it seemed odd to be telling him, but she was more comfortable with him than she was with anyone, even her doctor. “Rather like cramps.”

  “Is that normal?” Matilda had never been as descriptive with him, and he remembered the baby Sabrina had lost, but it was too late for that to happen now.

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure. The doctor just said to call when the pains began. Do you suppose this is it?” He looked at the flooded bed and smiled at his wife.

  “I’d say it is. Just think”—he tried to take her mind off the pain he saw furrowing her brow—“in a few hours, you’ll have our baby in your arms.” It was a wonderful thought, as Mary arrived to change the bed, and he went to call the doctor they’d engaged, and he returned a few minutes later with a cup of tea. The doctor was sending both nurses that he had hired for her, and he had told John to keep her calm, to keep her in bed, to keep her lying flat, and to feed her nothing at all. But she didn’t look interested in food when he returned to the room and found her leaning against a chair, holding her huge belly with both hands and her teeth clenched. “The doctor’s on the way, sweetheart. Let’s get you into bed.” She was grateful to lie down, and more grateful still to be having the baby at home. She hadn’t wanted to go to the hospital, and it meant a great deal to her to give birth to their child at Thurston House, so John had indulged her whim, but he was prepared to rush her to the hospital if need be. But when the two nurses arrived in less than an hour, they announced that all was going well, shooed John from the room, and Sabrina cried when he left.

  “Can’t you stay?” She trusted him more than anyone else, and she wanted him there, it was her house after all, but the two nurses wouldn’t hear of it.

  “I don’t think I should.” He looked gently down at her, her face was damp, her eyes already slightly glazed, and the pains seemed to be coming very quickly from what he could see. He heard her cry out as he left the room, and he began to pace outside, listening for her sounds, and he stood riveted to the spot when an hour later he heard her scream. He pounded nervously on the door and the elder of the two nurses scolded him.

  “She mustn’t have any noise!” she whispered loudly at him with a stern face beneath her starched coif.

  “Why not? There’s nothing wrong with her ears.” But suddenly he heard her groan again, and he couldn’t bear it anymore, he pushed his way into the room, and found her lying there, her nightgown pulled up to reveal the enormous belly, but it didn’t seem shocking to him and he reached across the bed for her hand and spoke to her soothingly as the next pain came. The nurses were appalled, and the doctor arrived just then and looked more than a little startled to see John in the room with his patient.

  “Well, what have we here?” He attempted to pretend that he wasn’t surprised by what was going on, but it was obvious that he wanted John out of the room, and he wasn’t anxious to leave, and Sabrina seemed to be clinging to him. She didn’t even seem to care that she was only covered now by a thin sheet, and the sheet seemed to part company with her frequently when she was in pain, but she seemed to notice nothing at all. She had a hunted look now, and she was panting desperately as each pain came, and then suddenly she jerked forward and attempted to sit up, screwing her face up horribly, as the nurses pushed her back, and the doctor totally forgot John and went to her, pulled back the sheet, looked at her most private parts, as she shouted John’s name, and as the doctor examined her, she screamed hideously. There was suddenly a film of sweat on John Harte’s face as he watched his wife, and he wanted to clutch her to him but there was nothing he could do at all as she writhed on the bed, and finally the doctor indicated that he wanted to talk to him, and they left the room. But Sabrina panicked as they left, and it was only after another pain that John joined the doctor in the hall, and he wanted to know what was going on.

  The doctor spoke in a quiet voice. “It’s going very well, Mr. Harte. But you’re going to have to leave her alone with us. It’s too much for you to see. I can’t let you do that, for her sake as well as yours. You’ve got to leave the room now, and let us get to work.”

  “Doing what?” John Harte looked at him angrily. “She’s doing all the work, and she doesn’t mind having me there. You don’t understand, I’m the only family she has, I’m her closest friend … and she’s everything to me. I’ve been on farms before, I know how calves and foals get born.”

 
; The doctor looked shocked. “This is your wife, Mr. Harte.”

  “I’m well aware of that, Dr. Snowe. And I don’t want to let her down.”

  “Then leave her to us. That’s why you hired us, I believe.”

  John hesitated, not sure what to do. He wanted to be with Sabrina, if she wanted him, but not if it embarrassed her. He didn’t care what anyone thought, he was too old for that. To hell with Dr. Snowe, but he looked into the man’s eyes now. “If she asks for me, I’m coming in. This is my house, and my wife, and my child being born.” The doctor looked outraged, but he only pursed his lips.

  “Very well.”

  “Is it going well?”

  “I’d say it is, but I also don’t think it will be soon, and she has to marshal her strength. It could be a very long night”—he glanced outside at the sun coming up and almost smiled—“a long day, I should say. I don’t think your baby will be born before dinnertime.” He glanced at his pocket watch and there was a stirring from the room.

  “How can you say that?”

  “Because I know how things are. And I know how babies are born.” And you do not, were the unspoken words.

  “But she seems so … so far along.…” John was suddenly worried about her again.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  He felt like banging his head against the wall as the doctor disappeared into the room again, and for the next five hours, John thought he would go mad as he paced up and down the hall, up and down the stairs, up and down the house. He finally drank two brandies and a Scotch, and wished he could give one to her but that really would have caused an uproar, and finally at two o’clock, he sat forlornly on the stairs, beneath the stained-glass dome, with his head down, thinking about her. The nurses had come in and out several times, and the doctor had only come out once to give him a report that things were going well but it would still be a while, and finally at four o’clock in the afternoon John thought he heard her voice, she said something in a loud sharp tone, and then she groaned and he ran to the bedroom door and stood just outside, as he heard a terrible moaning sound and a stifled scream. He wanted to pound on the door and call her name, but he was afraid he would frighten her, but more than that he wanted to hold her in his arms, and then as he stood there, he heard her voice again and this time there was no stifling the scream, and he couldn’t bear it anymore, he let himself quietly into the room and no one saw him at first. The blinds were drawn, and the curtains blocked all light from the room. There was a bright light on the table beside her bed, another on a table near her feet, and there seemed to be a stifling heat everywhere, and she lay in their bed, her legs spread apart, a sheet over her, her face drenched in sweat, her hair matted to her head, her eyes rolled back, clutching the sheets, and suddenly another pain seized her as her voice rose agonizingly again, and the doctor lifted the sheet and suddenly John could see hair and a little round head, and his jaw dropped as he watched silently. He wanted to cheer her on as she pushed instinctively, and there was blood spurting from a wound between her legs, but John couldn’t even think of that now, all he could think of was that tiny head, and the miraculous woman who was pushing it out, and she screamed again and the nurses encouraged her to go on, as the doctor turned the shoulders of the child and the tears rolled from the father’s eyes, and suddenly there he was … a perfect little boy, lying bloody and wet in his mother’s arms, as John went to her and cried and held them both. The doctor was shocked, but as he looked at them, he really couldn’t be. It was the most unusual delivery he had ever done, but perhaps they weren’t so wrong these two. The child had been conceived of their love once upon a time, and now he was born into their hearts, into their hands, as they held him close, both of them, not just one, and the child cried lustily, at five fourteen P.M. on the twenty-eighth of July, nineteen hundred and fourteen, as Europe went to war.