shadows

1 - 02

This was too far south for snow. But that didn’t keep out the chill. Winter bared its fangs as mist that was so thick it looked like a wall, that stayed late into the afternoon before letting up, and returning well before the sky turned dark. On these cold winter days, it was an occasion to celebrate when there was sun for greater than thirty minutes a day.

It was a lot colder and drearier this far out of the city. The orphanage seemed to be floating among clouds. At least the sight turned the children’s attention from the unbearable cold.

It was one such morning. The matron walked out on her daily morning walk. She got as far as the main entrance. Outside the door, on the step, was a little wicker basket, holding a tiny, sleeping baby, wrapped in green blankets, the kind that could be found at hospitals. No note. No letter. No money. The baby was abandoned in the cruelest way.

The matron sighed. And worriedly grabbed the basket. And took it in to the infirmary. There, she and the nurse looked at the baby. The little girl couldn’t have been older than a day. She had probably been out in the cold all night. There was still light when the matron locked the doors yesterday. After an entire night out in the cold, the winter hadn’t claimed the little girl. There was even a blush on the tiny face. The girl was sleeping peacefully.

The older women were astonished. This was an impossible scene.

The baby girl woke up just then. And began crying out of hunger.

An hour later, the matron introduced the fed and happily asleep baby girl to the other children. “She your newest sister,” she said. “Emilia White. Misty, to us.”

-

Emilia was back inside. Enjoying her morning coffee, which was all the more tasty today. She had her laptop open. And she was on the internet. There was much she had to learn. It was her first pregnancy. Maybe her only time. She knew too little.

“Little one,” she said, one hand resting on her stomach. “I don’t have to give up coffee. That’s great, isn’t it? Just one cup though. In the morning. Just the way I like my coffee. So, I’m thinking, let’s get ourselves some really good coffee. What do you say?”

She finished her coffee. Washed the mug and put it back in the drawer. And returned to the laptop.

The smile hadn’t left. But it was different. Changed. More than slightly. She had moved on from coffee, to a bitterer topic.

“You think we should move?” She asked out loud.

She felt a ripple of warmth from deep inside her stomach. Took her a moment, but she figured it out. That was him answering the question. Yes, he was saying. She was delighted.

“Baby, you are talking to me?” She asked.

Again, a ripple of warmth.

“That’s a yes then,” she said.

A ripple of warmth.

“And a no? What about a no?” She asked. It was good to have the parameters defined clearly. There would be no confusion. And the communication would be clearer. Even if it was going to be a yes and a no from her little baby, that would be enough.

There was nothing.

“Is that it?” She asked hesitantly. “The warm current is a yes. Nothing, is a no. Is that it?”

A ripple of warmth.

She beamed. “That was easy,” she boasted. “Now, we can talk. How great is that? So, back to the first question. You really think we should move?”

A ripple of warmth.

She nodded, lost in her thought. “You did say there was danger. Going away somewhere far would be good. Maybe we can escape the threat. Maybe we can outrun it. And I did always dream of a long trip. This would be fulfilling an old dream. That’s good too, isn’t it? I’m thinking snow. I was born in winter, you know. The coldest day of the coldest winter. And even then, there was no snow. The winters where I grew up was all about the thickest mist and the bone-chilling cold. I think I want to see snow. Know what. I think we can work it out so you are born in snow. That would be great. Our first snow is our first snow together.”

A ripple of warmth.

And they would have continued. If her phone hadn’t rung. And if her face didn’t fall after seeing who was calling.

She answered the call. It was brief. Not much was said on either end.

A half hour later, Emilia was at a cafe, sitting across the table from Emma. The mistress and the wife had finally met.

-

Emma Greene was every bit nobility. Born into nobility. Married to nobility. Her entire life was nobility. She was every bit the person Emilia could never be. So much so that she was every bit the person Emilia couldn’t even hope to be.

Emma was sitting at the table in the corner. But she looked to have taken up the entire corner. And that was all the more impressive considering that they were in the open. The cafe had both indoor seating and open. Emma clearly expressed her preference.

She was expressionless. And still. Like a painting. And she was beautiful enough too. She would very well be a masterpiece of art. There was a flicker on her face the moment she saw the woman she was here for.

Emilia had five minutes to observe and admire the noble wife of the man she was having an affair with. She had expected this. Was there ever a story or a movie in which the mistress wasn’t caught by the wife? And if this was a story, it was one in which the husband unquestionably sided with his wife. She had known to never expect anything else or more.

Emilia met Emma’s eyes. Nodded. Walked over. And sat down across the table. “Hello,” she said. Not a hint of surprise or any other emotion in her voice.

That was a surprise. Emma had lost the momentum. And she hated it. She wanted to be the one to drive the conversation. She felt apprehensive. But she quickly realised she was worrying needlessly. After the hello, Emilia just waited. Emma was thrown off further. But she persisted. At least, she was clear about why she was here.

“You are polite, aren’t you?” Emma asked, with a sneer. Even the viciousness looked pretty on her.

Emilia understood once again why Evan was so in love with his wife. “I try,” she answered.

“This has gone on long enough,” Emma said, intending to indulge no more. “What will you take to leave? To just go away. And leave my family alone. It is money you want, isn’t it? You aren’t going to say something about being in love. Are you?”

“No,” Emilia answered without hesitation. “Money. I’ll take money.”

“How much?” Emma asked. She was struggling to keep from showing her discomfort, her confusion.

“However much you can give me,” Emilia answered honestly, like a good girl. “I will be honest too. Your husband has given me money too. Not a lot. But enough for me. More than enough. I will take whatever you give me. And I will leave today. You won’t hear from me. You won’t see me. I promise. I agree too. This has gone on long enough.”

Emma clenched her fists under her purse. She was furious. And she wasn’t sure why. She was getting what she wanted. And without any of the ugliness she had come prepared for. Wasn’t that good?

She dug out her chequebook from the purse. Wrote a cheque. Tore it off. Passed it to Emilie. And watched as Emilia gawked at the number. And without waiting for a response, got up and started to leave. Leaving behind the parting words, the last words she wanted to say to the shameless woman. “I hope you keep your word. I don’t want any of us, my family, to see or hear from me.”

“You won’t,” Emilia answered. She stayed seated long after the wife left. She even ordered herself a sandwich and a glass of freshly squeezed lemon juice. She enjoyed the light meal. And then, headed home, stopping by the bank first to deposit the cheque.

“We’ve got the money, baby,” she gushed when she was back home, and sitting with her laptop. “So. We can go anywhere we want. Give ourselves a new start. A new adventure. Where do you want to go?”