to be Charlotte Porter on occasion, then she’d learn to play the part well.
GENEVA’S HEAD THROBBED. She pressed the cool cloth to her brow and sank back into the pillows. It had been nearly a week since she’d ventured out of her bedroom, but gradually she was beginning to drag herself from her stupor.
She’d grown accustomed to the drugs she took and as of late, it required more and more of the tonic to make her mind go quiet enough for her to sleep. And then, when her thoughts were finally silenced, it took longer to recover.
The bottle of medicine sat on a silver tray next to her bed and she reached out for it. But her hand shook as she tried to grab it and Geneva closed her eyes. She couldn’t allow herself the luxury of sleep any longer. The rational part of her mind told her that there was a limit to her husband’s patience and it was usually reached after a week in bed.
Edward had spent most of his time watching over her, making sure she was protected from the prying eyes of the servants. He brought her meals, gave her medicine and read to her from the poems of Keats and Browning. And when he wasn’t reading, he spoke to her in soft tones, drawing her back to a world that had become so difficult to face. It was more than a boy his age ought to bear, but Geneva had no one else to depend upon.
A soft knock sounded on the door and she called out, expecting Edward to come in. But Rose stepped into the room and softly closed the door behind her. She wore the plain gray uniform that all the servants at Porter Hall wore and her dark hair was drawn back into a severe knot at the nape of her neck. She looked thin and very pale.
“Lady Porter, I’ve brought some fresh linens. Master Edward asked that I bring them right up.”
“Leave them on the chair,” she said, her voice filled with all the exhaustion she felt.
“And I’ve also returned the riding habit you gave to Mary Grace. I don’t think it’s a good idea for her to learn to ride. It’s so…dangerous.”
Geneva stared at her for a long moment, trying to make sense of her words. “Riding habit? What riding habit?”
Rose cocked her head, confusion marring her somber expression. “I’ll—I’ll just put the linens here.” She set the bedsheets on the chair, then turned back to the bed.
“How are you feeling? Mary Grace has been very worried.” She paused. “Sometimes grief is a terrible thing to bear. Especially the grief of a mother.”
Geneva closed her eyes. She felt so numb, as if every ounce of emotion inside her had evaporated. This was the way it went, the lows and then the highs, the plummeting descent and the slow, gradual rise back to happiness. “A mother should never have to watch her child die.”
“Do you not believe she’s in a better place?” Rose asked.
“How can I think any place is better than her home, with her mother and her father?” Geneva sighed. “Is your faith that strong?”
Rose shook her head. “Not all the time. In the middle of my own grief, when I needed it most, it seemed to vanish. But then, I realized that I was not grieving for my husband or for the life he might have had. I was grieving for myself, for everything I’d lost.”
“And I suppose you’ll tell me that it was God’s will that my Charlotte died? That he was the one who struck her down with scarlet fever? I cannot believe in a god who would take such a precious child from this world. From me.”
“I lost two babies before I gave birth to Mary Grace,” Rose said. “The first was stillborn, a son, a beautiful child with the face of an angel. I would like to think they’re all in heaven with Jamie, though my priest tells me they are not.”
“You don’t believe dead babies go to heaven?”
“They weren’t baptized. Babies who aren’t baptized remain in limbo, in neither heaven nor hell. Since they cannot be baptized, they cannot be cleansed of their original sin.”
“So their souls just float there forever.”
Rose nodded. “It is a difficult thought to bear and one I struggle with. But I try to think of limbo as a place that’s pure and simple and innocent, where the babies know nothing of God or heaven, so they can’t know what they’re missing.”
“Believe what you need to believe,” Geneva said, flopping back into the pillows and throwing her arm over her eyes.
“At least you know she’s in heaven,” Rose said. “There must be some comfort in that.”
“I’m tired,” Geneva muttered. “Leave me now.”
Rose walked to the door, but she didn’t leave. “You can’t have her,” she murmured. “She’s all I have. I’ve lost everything.”
Geneva pushed up on her elbows. “What are you babbling about?”
“Mary Grace. She’s my daughter, not yours. Nothing you do for her, nothing you give her, will ever change that.”
“Get out!” Geneva screamed. “Get out! You have no right to speak to me that way.” She sat up and a blinding pain shot through her head, turning everything around her black. Geneva swallowed back a wave of nausea. “Pack your bags,” she muttered. “I’ll give you a month’s severance. But I want you out by the end of the day.”
Rose stared at her for a long moment and Geneva waited for her to plead for her job, knowing the satisfaction she’d take in putting Rose Byrne in her place. Since the day she’d brought Rose and Grace to Porter Hall, the woman had always been just a bit too proud and haughty for a servant.
But to Geneva’s surprise, Rose didn’t rise to the bait. She simply tipped her chin up and nodded. “I think that would be for the best, Lady Porter.”
She turned and walked out. A few moments later, Edward came in, carrying a tea tray. He glanced back over his shoulder, then studied Geneva for a long moment. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” Geneva said, straightening the bedclothes over her lap. “I—I just sacked Rose.”
Edward gasped. “What?”
“You heard me. She was getting entirely too comfortable here. She had the audacity to imply that I wasn’t grieving Charlotte’s death in a proper way. That I ought to be happy that she’s in heaven and not here with me.”
“What have you done?” Edward accused. “You can’t send them away.”
“I have every right to do just that. I’m in charge of the household staff. I hired her and I can sack her.”
“You’re just tired,” he said. “I know Rose speaks her mind, but she’s a proud woman. And there are times when you do treat Grace more like she’s yours than Rose’s. Mother, please. Let me go to her, let me try to convince her to stay.”
“I will not be spoken to in that way,” Geneva said, her anger growing.
“Then you will put Grace out on the street,” Edward said. “And they will wander about until they both get sick and die. You’ll allow Rose’s daughter to die, simply to make you feel better about Charlotte. Where is your Christian charity, Mother? Does
