The wind blissfully brushed Amelia's cheeks as she wandered across the acreage.  The nip in the harvest air tingled her fair skin and brought forth a complexion as ruddy as the apples on the trees.  Each inhalation struck her lungs with a crisp freshness that smacked of fall and all the bountiful harvest it brought.  Hopeful late morning sunshine was still brightly shining between the autumnal leaves, shedding some warmth along with its light.

Amelia had always loved to explore this remote area at the back of the Eagleton property when she was younger, but now it had become her refuge.  It provided a solitary haunt when she needed to escape the however well intentioned but overpowering attentions of her dear husband and M. Lemaire.  In the earliest days of her acquaintance with her man midwife Amelia had felt positively stifled within the house, as he had insisted she rest while he became familiar with her "case".  Luckily this season did not last, as both M. Lemaire and John touted the benefits of exercise in pregnancy and soon encouraged her to take daily walks. 

Amelia's sojourns had since become the most prized and precious moments of her day.  She often slipped away quietly from the household, lest someone offer an unwelcome accompaniment that would trespass upon her privacy.   Damp days became a curse as they forced Amelia to be housebound and she often confined herself to the quietude of her bedchamber, an act that Amelia resented.  There will be plenty of time for lazing about when I am another riveted woman convalescing during my lying-in, thought Amelia.  Until then, I shall always prefer to breathe the fresh, free air out of doors, and to do so of my own free will.

It was also during these walks that Amelia was able to reflect on her own thoughts and feelings.  The initial terror of pregnancy had slowly evolved into a complacent acceptance of her current circumstance.  Amelia often gazed in marvel at her abdomen, imagining its future expansion as it grew to accommodate its occupant just as assuredly as her heart had grown with love for her child.   Now if only her mind could settle as easily on other matters.  Just as she had conveyed this morning, Amelia was still dismayed at John's insistence and employing a Frenchman to care of her and the babe.

Although Amelia believed there was some validity to M. Lemaire's education, she still could not fathom his titular role as an expert in childbirth.  He would never know the intimacy of carrying a new life within him, nor would he know how quickly one ceased to feel alone.  Motherhood had taken root in Amelia's soul the moment the babe began to grow and she knew she would never cease to care for the life within her. 

M. Lemaire's focus on organization and regimentation left Amelia feeling concerned for what was to come.  No matter how pleased she now felt to be pregnant, Amelia could not shed the dread she felt about the birthing process.  It is one thing to witness another in the throws of action and quite another to have to stand over such a precipice oneself.  Can this man really quell my fears during as I labour if I do not trust him implicitly? Amelia wrestled internally.

It was these reservations that had urged Amelia to engage John anew in a discussion about the aspects of her care.  She had intended to appeal to her husband's logical side and thus perhaps warm his countenance towards her needs, yet the discussion had gone astray.  Her peckish sensibilities had betrayed her into a peevish state, and she felt she had too closely resembled a wounded dog futilely licking its lacerations.  No more than a caterwauling nuisance begging for scraps at the table or gnashing my teeth in defense thought Amelia, cursing herself.  It is of no wonder that John did not attend to my concerns!

Reflecting on the morning's events, Amelia felt positively rigid.  Small crescents had formed on the palms of her hands when she finally uncurled her digits.  Amelia rubbed each indentation to reinvigorate the circulation.  As the arches began to disappear, she began to trace the lines that creased her palm.  Amelia wondered fleetingly if the chirologist she had once met at a drawing room party could have foretold the acute torment plaguing her today.  Tears pricked at her eyes as she recalled the angry way in which John had spoken to her.  I may have set up his bristles, Amelia reflected, but in no way did I strive to demean his authoritative position.  If only he would understand that my uneasiness comes from a place of care and concern!

Another gust of air stroked Amelia's face, desperately attempting to pull her from her maudlin reverie.  Looking up at the sky, Amelia let the milky and azure patterns entrance her into calmness.  The rustling of leaves around her feet mirrored the hypnotic spell and she found her breath decline to a steady and regular pace.  It was only thus that Amelia fully took in her exact surroundings.   In her passion she had not taken in the distance she had covered from the house.  Amelia was, in fact, exceptionally close to her new favourite haunt:  a sheltered rock tucked away in a copse of birch trees.  

The knowledge of being so near to her place of peace filled her lungs and mind with clarity once more and Amelia marched forward with determination.  Her very bones longed to meditate in this precious spot.  As Amelia's hands swept branches, her consciousness shed more concerns and she could not resist the smile that spread across her face. Misjudging the height of a lower bow, Amelia knocked her bonnet free from her head, but she did not care.  The beau chapeau bobbed about her shoulders and she strode into the clearing. 

The large boulder was composed of a beautiful blend of limestone and shale.  Each type of rock presented different facets and colours.  Streaks of grey, black and red intermingled upon the surface.  Amelia loved to trace the lines with her fingers.  The top of the slab was partially laden with soft green moss.  The lower aspect of the crag was notched perfectly into a natural shelf that was big enough to accommodate at least two individuals.  Yet, Amelia planned to keep the area as her own private refuge.

With each hour that Amelia spent here, she felt more and more sure that Mother Nature had planned this spot for her.  It spoke deeply to her soul, and Amelia felt linked to the land in a manner that she had never experienced before.  Massaging her aching lower back, Amelia sat down and opened the top buttons of her spencer jacket and loosened the collar.  Her walk had warmed her, and she was appreciative of the rest.  Weariness had set in from these early weeks of pregnancy, and Amelia often found she needed to alternate bouts of activity with rest.  This was especially true after the excitement of this morning's disagreement and she relished the rest.

A faint scent of dry leaves and moisture were present on the wind.  The rich earthy tones were comforting, providing a sense of deep roots and life.  The clarity of the atmosphere seemed sharper in the coolness of the weather.   Amelia laid back, closed her eyes and released all final remnants of tension.  The rock was solid and firm behind her shoulders, and the breeze tickled her hair.  Before she could fathom what was happening, Amelia fell asleep surrounded in the bosom of nature.

Some time later, Amelia was startled awake by a sharp pain in her side.  Concluding that the rock had left and undesired impression on her sleeping frame, Amelia adjusted her position.  Another keen twinge migrated across her back, reaching prickling fingers across her abdomen. Its repetition not seconds later affirmed Amelia's notion that it was not an imaginary pain, but rather a very real and very unwelcome one. How odd! thought Amelia, perhaps I have overdone my activity today.  However, I have no choice but to return home.

Saddened, Amelia set to righting her wardrobe.  As she sat up and gingerly fingered her buttons closed the pains subsided.  No longer did she have the sensation of being unpleasantly prodded, rather it was a dull ache.  Still, Amelia did not feel like she should linger.  She was unsure of the time of day and knew she had eaten very little to break her fast, none of which was enough to sustain her own strength, let alone the life she carried.  So, Amelia righted her bonnet, slipped free of her rock, found her footing and started toward home.

With each step the journey became more laborious.  Amelia stumbled through thickets and brambles that she would have otherwise avoided has she been more sound of mind.  It could no longer be questioned that she was ailing.  The soreness that had slowly crept in was now presenting itself with the voracity of a hungry lion, rearing its ugly head as it sought to gnash its brutal fangs into her abdomen.  As each spasm of agony streamed through her body, Amelia found herself closing off her heart to the possibility that was so evident to her logical mind.  No, please, no was the only repetitious refrain she could muster as she aimed to bargain with The Almighty.

Amelia's breathing became ragged and she found herself desperate to reach the sanctity of home regardless of what had transpired that morning.  Frenetic and vivid images rushed to her consciousness, meant as some means of comfort, but only distressing her further: the bottle of laudenaum that rested at her bedside table, the face of M. Lemaire triumphantly eying his patient, the remnant of her discarded morning meal lying on the table.  Finally, the cold and sad countenance of her husband as she had departed from him.

Tears sprung to Amelia's eyes, stinging her cheeks as they fell.  She hastily wiped her reddened cheeks with the palm of her hand, surprised to note they were already quite dampened.  Amelia would not allow this new development to slow her pace.  Amelia's feet drew her forward though they could scarcely hold on to the strenuous rhythm of her heart.  Its tattoo battered against her chest as if possessed by a cursed sheepskin fiddler signalling soldiers into battle like lambs to the slaughter.  Rum pum pum.  Rum pum pum. 

"I hate that drum's discordant sound, Parading round, and round, and round," mumbled Amelia reflexively as she gripped a nearby tree, drawing strength from its trunk.  Hastily she removed her bonnet let the cool air waft over her heated forehead before willing herself forward once more, freely ignoring the bark that had settled under her nails in the process.  Home, Amelia thought.  I must get home.

Soon Eagleton came into view.  Thankful for the sight, Amelia quickened her steps to the best of her ability as she fitfully sought her refuge. Yet asylum was not to be.  An anguished cry broke through the air as Amelia's body was suddenly wracked by a terrible paroxysm causing her to fall to her knees.  It was then that a distinct wetness between her thighs signalled the very terrible reality of what was occurring.  A sheer layer of perspiration crept across Amelia's brow and her hands instinctively clutched the source of her suffering.  

Crawling low, Amelia brought her knees to her chest and laid on the ground imagining herself in communion with the child that was pulling itself away from her.  She cried out once more as her innards gave way to a terrible sense of release, one over which she could exert no control.   No pledge or promise made could reverse what was occurring.  Amelia felt that she was being torn apart.  Sobs of grief befell her as the life of the child within her slipped free from her womb into an abyss of pain and bitter anguish.

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Thank you for all your support, patience and encouragement when it comes to this story - I am hoping the next chapter won't take nearly as long to write.

I did my best to use the utmost care and concern in my approach, yet I am aware the sensitive content of what I have written may be triggering to some. Please feel to reach out by DM if needed.

Thank you also to LoveVincitOmnia for being the first set of eyes to review my work (and for being a gorgeous friend).

Lots of love,
Jane