A Long and Lonely Mile

Chapter 24

There is a curious paradox that no one can explain.
Who understands the secret of the reaping of the grain?
Who understands why Spring is born out of Winter's laboring pain?
Or why we all must die a bit before we grow again...
-El Gallo (The Fantasticks)

Theirs was a simple life. Brief, but lovely like that rainless springtime from your childhood I'm sure you can still recall. A small two-story farm house that sat dormant on the Appleby property for many years became their home. It was neither Marigold's humble bungalow nor William's lavish estate in Liverpool, but something of their own making and they couldn't love it more. Even little Moxie acclimated beautifully to farm life. Winter transitioned into Spring, Spring to Summer and everyday passed by in bliss. Days of endless sunlight and laughter seemed to fill the homey space. But there was sadness, too. Great sadness towards the end.

Marigold was bedridden for the last two months of her pregnancy and as her tiny form grew sickly and frail, the voices that plagued William's conscience multiplied. It was exactly as Annabelle had predicted. He would hide his guilt away in the earlier months until its weight became too heavy to bear and then confide in Marigold to steal away his pain. During their moments of intimacy in the earlier months of her pregnancy, he would pluck away at Marigold's heartbeats like the petals of a flower. Eventually, even their seemingly harmless kisses and embraces would come to drain her tenacity and joy.

On a morning in August, weeks before their daughter's due date, William sensed a new strength in his wife. Marigold arose with a playful smile just as she used to and made her way into his arms. She told him of her dream from the night before and even picked up where she left off on her plans for Mabel's nursery. Before she fell ill, Marigold would work on an inspiration scrapbook for their daughter. William left the room to retrieve the book along with her bumblebee mug that he filled each morning to the brim with warm milk and honey. When he returned, he found Marigold hunched over the edge of their bed. This was what her sudden zing of strength had prepared her for. It only took one look at her to know that she was going into premature labor.

"Darling," he cried, guiding her to lay back against their doubled-up pillows. "I will call for Mrs. Appleby and the hospital, too!" William kept a firm grasp on Marigold's hand as he made the calls and before long, Mrs. Appleby could be heard entering through the noisy screen door and running up the stairs without a second to lose.

"We're looking at a breached birth," the lanky old woman with a broken tooth informed them as she readied Marigold for delivery. "There's no stopping it, too. Mare, you're going to have to do this without medication, okay?"

Over and over, Marigold ensured them that she would be strong for their daughter. The pain that followed was sudden and intense.

Unapologetically, it grew from sharp and throbbing to a widespread sensation that made Marigold feel as though every bone in her body was fracturing at the same time. She didn't cry. She didn't scream. Despite the dominating effect of this incredible pain, she didn't matter to herself. The only thing that she cared about was bringing their daughter into the world.

William was astonished by his wife's silence during the clearly agonizing delivery. He was asked to talk to her and keep her calm, but her deep, consistent breaths were far better at this than he. His eyes didn't leave her face once. She didn't want to react, she believed that reacting would make her selfish. Each time she was asked to push, her deep, meditative inhales and exhales were traded out for extremely brief expressions of anguish.