Swear By The Stars

Chapter Eleven

"Pregnant?"

 Sylvia repeated the word in disbelief as soon as it left Joly's lips. She gazed down at her misleadingly flat abdomen as if it would become large and round within a moment's notice. Surely it was incorrect. Surely Joly's test and suspicions had been wrong, wasn't he? But as Joly nodded before her, she felt as if her breath had been plucked from her lungs. Of all the troubles she had stacked onto her shoulders, a child was the last thing she needed. Sylvia turned to look up at Jehan, searching his face for any sign of concern or shock. The young poet looked as if he had difficulty processing the thought at first, just as she had but his face drained of color and she looked down, her head burning in shame.

"Merci, Joly, for all of your help. I shall discuss payment with you later but for now, might I have time alone with my wife?" Jehan asked, one arm draped over Sylvia's shoulders and the other extended out to his friend.

"Jean, there will be no need for payment. You are my friend and I was simply helping you as I should." He then knelt down before Sylvia again and took one of her hands in his. "Feel at liberty to contact me should you have complications. I'm afraid that morning sickness will be quite normal for the first few months."

Sylvia afforded him a weak smile and thanked him meekly for his help and his kindness. Joly then took his briefcase and his cane- though the youthful doctor certainly didn't use it for support alone- and bade them a farewell before embarking onto the Parisian streets once more.

Jehan immediately knelt down before his weary wife and took both of her hands into his, as if ignoring all of his previous fears. "How are you faring, dear?"

Sylvia sighed, attempting to envision the possibilities of rumors and vicious lies that would be said if she were to be found pregnant. Despite their being married and the pregnancy being entirely honorable, she would either have to speak of her marriage and be cast away from her position at the ballet or dance until her belly began to show and then be cast out. What would her uncle think? Would he disown her?

Sylvia's words came out with a bitter sting. "How do you think I am faring? We cannot possibly manage this, Jehan. I'm going to sacked from the ballet. I wasn't making a great deal of money but it wasn't nothing and you cannot possibly feed me and a child. I doubt we'll be able to receive help from my uncle now!"

Sylvia turned her back to him, fighting back the tears that were threatening to fall. Jehan, being the poet that he was, had experienced a lack of words before but he never despised not knowing what to say as he did now. He wanted to do everything in his power to comfort her, but could his words be powerful enough to make their troubles disappear? At his age, Shakespeare was already beginning to leave his mark upon the world, but few had read Jehan's own words.

While Jean remained silent, Sylvia stood and wrapped her shawl about her shoulders. "I must return to the ballet and dance while I still can."

Jehan stood and grasped her hand as she began to head towards the door. "Mon cherie, please, stay with me. Let us think together. Allow us to find a solution." Sylvia stared down at her shoes, her feet already beginning to ache again. Her eyes shifted to her stomach and she envisioned how it would look while round and heavy with an infant. The thought frightened her.

How could I possibly have a child? She wondered, placing her hands upon her navel. How, while I am still a child myself?

Jehan found himself eyeing his wedding band. It could fetch a decent price, could it not? But he began to realize that whatever money he could get from his ring or anything else he owned would be futile. It could never sustain them and a child for the years to come if his income remained the same as it did currently.