The Meeting Place (21 page)

“I did—but no matter.”

“We could have ginger tea.”

Louise brightened. It would not be like having the tangy ginger cake, but it did appeal to her taste of the moment. “Ginger tea. Yes, that is good. Let's have ginger tea.”

Her mother's eyes still seemed to study her. “I will stir up the fire and put on the kettle,” she muttered almost absentmindedly, shaking her head as she moved toward the stove and again mopped her brow.

“No,” decided Louise. “No. That is foolish. The day is as hot for ginger tea as it is for plain tea. Let's have the cider.”

Marie's hand stopped as it reached for the kettle. “You are having a hard time making up your mind,” she scolded gently.

“Apple cider,” said Louise firmly. “We will have the cider.”

Marie stepped to the trapdoor that led to the cellar. “I will bring up some cold.”

It would not be cold, but it would be much cooler than anything left exposed to the warmth of the summer day. “Here. Let me take the steps,” Louise offered.

But Marie held out a hand to detain her, her eyes searching her daughter's face. “I will take the steps,” she said firmly. “You find a seat in the shade.”

Louise hesitated. Her mother did not usually turn down offers to run errands. “In the shade,” her mother repeated, and Louise obediently turned to go, then swung back.

“Mama,” she said, voicing the thought that would not go away. “Could you stir just a bit of ginger into the apple cider?”

Her mother rolled her eyes, then smiled and nodded before she disappeared into the coolness of the cellar.

Why this sudden desire for a taste of ginger? Louise shrugged her shoulders and lifted the heavy flow of hair from her neck. The day was indeed warm but beautiful. Overhead a bird called from its nest and another answered from a nearby apple tree. Louise smiled, then grew serious. Was she being foolish? Was it too early to be talking to her mother? How would she approach the subject? What were the right words to express her questions? Were her dreams really about to come true? Louise chafed in impatience as she waited for her mother to join her.

But she did not have to wait long. Marie soon reappeared, bearing a wooden tray shaped by the hands of Henri as a Christmas gift. On the tray were two tall glasses. Louise could smell the ginger. A small plate of biscuits, bountifully spread with apple butter completed the repast. This too was sprinkled with ginger.

Her mother put down the tray, tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and lowered herself to the chair across from her daughter. Again Louise felt the sharp eyes bore into her own. “So,” she said as she lifted her apron to flap at a fly that sought out the biscuits, “you are to tell me what I have dreamed to hear. You are to make me a grandmother.”

Louise could not hide her surprise. “Why do you say that?” she asked.

“I see it. I see it in your eyes. Your face.”

“But, Mama, I'm not sure, yet. I came to ask you if—”

“It's sure,” her mother answered with a nod of her head. “And how have you been?”

“Fine. Just fine. I do not feel one bit sickish. Just … just happy.”

“You look happy,” responded Marie with another nod. “That is what gives you away.”

“But—”

“And some other things. I have seen it before, you know. Many times.”

“But it's so early. I have not even dared to speak of it to Henri.”

“Speak of it.”

“But he will be so disappointed if—”

“Do not worry about the
if
. Henri must be the first to know.”

“But you know.”

“Well … yes. But you did not tell me.”

Still Louise felt a bit hesitant. “You are sure I won't be leading Henri to a big disappointment if it is not so?”

“If you take care of yourself, there will be no such thing. But you must start soon on the tonic I will prepare.”

Suddenly Louise felt her heart overflow with uncontrolled joy. With one movement she left her seat and gathered her mother close in an embrace. Tears spilled down her cheeks, but they were tears of joy. “I am so happy I want to … to sing and dance,” she exclaimed. It was then that she noticed that her mother, too, was weeping.

“And I join in your happiness,” the older woman answered as she returned her daughter's tight hug. “I, too, am happy. But it's too hot to dance.”

They both laughed as Louise stepped back and wiped at her tears. It was the first time she had felt the warm bond of womanhood with her own mother. Yet still she felt the tug of being the child—the daughter. It was so good to be able to share this special event with another woman. With the woman whom she called Mama.

The days did not get easier for Catherine. On rising from her bed, she went through the same miserable routine, feeling ill and weak. Andrew would have carried through with calling in Matty Dwyer, but the woman was down with gout. Silently, Catherine breathed a prayer of thankfulness.

But Catherine herself was beginning to be concerned. It wasn't normal, the way she was feeling, and she had no other woman with whom to discuss her strange malady.

Andrew was right. She
was
pale. And she had lost weight. She could see it in her face. Could tell it by the waistbands of her skirts. She now had to lap them over and pin them to make them fit. And she was so tired. It was all she could do to make herself face the household chores. And cooking was nearly beyond her. She longed to have someone to talk to. Someone who might know what was going on in her body.

Her thoughts turned to Louise. It had been weeks since she'd had the strength to climb the hill to the meadow. She was sure Louise was wondering what had happened to her. But she didn't dare attempt to send a message.

Yet as the days slipped past Catherine felt more and more determined to meet with her friend. She had no other woman to whom she could express her feelings—her concerns.

And then her opportunity came. Andrew was to be gone on a five-day patrol. Though she knew he probably wouldn't approve of the trek in her weakened condition, Catherine waited for the extreme nausea of early morning to pass, then slipped from the cottage and up the hill toward the hidden meadow. The fall flowers were in full bloom, and in spite of the way she felt, Catherine could not help but feel renewed and invigorated by the outing. She slipped a short note into the secret place where she and Louise had exchanged messages in the past and turned to make her way back down the hill, picking a few meadow flowers as she went.

“Now if only Louise comes to the meadow and finds my note in time,” Catherine murmured to herself. Her note had asked simply for a meeting. Thursday. She dared not wait beyond Thursday. Andrew was due home on Friday.

Even as the thought came to her, Catherine felt her cheeks warm. It was not right, what she was doing. She should not be sneaking around behind Andrew's back. Doing what she knew he would not want her to do. No matter how deep her need for another woman's understanding and help.

Catherine turned back and retrieved her bit of paper from its hiding place. She could not do it. Make these secret plans. It was not right. She crumpled the paper in trembling fingers and shoved it into her apron pocket. Tears sprang to her eyes and rolled freely down her cheeks. If only, if only she had someone to talk to!

“Bonjour,” a voice called merrily, and Catherine whirled about to see Louise hurrying into the clearing. She could not even reply but stood with a fresh burst of tears flowing down her cheeks.

“I have not seen you in ages,” Louise called as she came toward her, arms outstretched. “I have been worried that you have been ill.”

She was almost to Catherine when the welcoming smile left her face and she stopped short. “You
have
been ill. You look all done in.”

Catherine wiped at the tears and nodded. Then she managed a wobbly smile, though she felt more like weeping. But that would not do. She took a deep breath and said, “I'm
so
glad to see you, Louise.”

Louise took both Catherine's hands in hers, deep concern showing in her dark eyes. “I have been to the meadow every other day for the last weeks,” she said. “I left countless notes—which I later gathered up for fear someone else might discover them. I have found no note from you. No indication that you have been here. I have been very worried.”

She turned Catherine and guided her toward their favorite log and the shade.

“Sit down. Before you fall from your feet. Tell me what is ailing you.”

“I've not been … been feeling myself,” Catherine said with a sigh.

“Yes, I can see that,” replied Louise with another searching look.

“I thought I would return to normal health long before now,” Catherine continued, “but it has not been so.”

“Please pardon my bluntness—but are you with child?”

Catherine felt her cheeks burn. “I … I think I must be,” she stammered, “but I am not sure.”

A few more direct questions by her young friend convinced Catherine that she was indeed expecting her first child. Hers and Andrew's. Amid the joy of knowledge was still the concern about how she was feeling. Was her nausea and fatigue a danger to the child she carried? How long must she endure this illness? Was it normal? What could she do to improve her condition?

“Mama has an herbal remedy. I have seen it work wonders with many of our village women in the past. We will have you feeling yourself in no time,” Louise promised.

“Oh, if only that could be so,” responded Catherine, new hope in her heart. “I have been quite beside myself wondering what to do. It is all that I can manage to make it through another day.”

Louise reached over to pat her arm. “You poor dear,” she said with sympathy. “I cannot imagine what it would be like to be so sick— especially at such a happy time. I have never felt better. Mama says that I have bloomed.”

Catherine's eyes opened wide. “You—”

“Yes,” Louise said, obviously trying to keep her demeanor subdued in light of Catherine's suffering. “Henri and I are to be parents also.”

“Oh, Louise,” exclaimed Catherine. “That is such good news!” For the first time Catherine took a good look at her friend. “And you do look wonderful. Radiant,” she continued.

“And we shall have you looking radiant as well, you will see. Now, you sit right here and I will run down to Mama and get you some of the remedy.”

“But you can't—”

“Oh yes, I can. We will not have you climbing this hill again until you are feeling better. I will be back soon. But you must rest. Just sit here—on the ground if you will—and relax and enjoy the smell of the flowers and the songs of the birds. The fresh air will do you good. I will hurry. But you may as well sit down and have a rest. Even with my hurrying, I will not be back for some time. It is a bit of a walk.”

“Don't hurry too fast. It might not be good for the baby.”

“Nonsense. I have never felt better, I tell you. I feel I could run uphill. Jump fallen logs. Leap the creek,” Louise answered with a merry laugh.

“Well, even so. Please don't try any of those things.”

“I will use good sense. I promise. No running uphill,” she tossed over her shoulder as she quickly moved across the meadow with a swish of her skirts.

Catherine settled herself in the meadow grass, her back to a tree. It was so peaceful there. So serene. And she was so thankful. Thankful to have found some answers. To have someone with whom she could talk. That in itself relieved most of her concerns. She was to be a mother. A mother. Just think of it. Andrew would be a father as he longed to be. It was almost more joy than she could hold. And the herbs would soon have her feeling better.

And Louise—she too was to be a mother. They would share the same experiences of watching a baby grow and develop. They could bring the two little ones to the meadow and show them the wild flowers, let them listen to the songs of the birds. Teach them which berries were safe and delicious.

Catherine wound her arms about her frail body. She could hardly wait for the months to pass by. She had so much to look forward to.