CHAPTER 41 — MILLIE

It was impossible to forget Raymond’s request for a divorce. Fighting the urge to curl up and give in to her grief, Lily placed her hand on her stomach. She would find solace in the life that was rapidly growing within her, she would care for her child and fight to keep it alive. She would not lose it by mourning over Raymond, like she had lost the last one.

She rose to her feet and walked to the trunk by the foot of her bed. Bending to her knees, she released the latch and threw the lid open, burying her hands in her large pile of dresses and undergarments in search of what she knew was her only hope.

A few seconds passed before her fingers brushed the solid form of an envelope. Sucking in her breath, she closed her eyes and withdrew her hands from where she had buried them in the trunk, hoping she had finally found it. She pulled it out and opened her eyes, releasing a soft sigh when she found her great aunt’s letter. She had buried it in her trunk months ago, and although she had known at the time that she would not leave the farm, a part of her had been too afraid to let go of an alternative—and she had been correct.

She pulled the lid of the trunk shut, placing both her hands against the lid to propel herself to her feet. She carried the letter in her hands and climbed into bed, hope springing in her heart as she fell asleep that evening.

A loud banging sound forced her eyelids apart. She laid still for a while and listened closely. She heard it again, this time more urgent and frantic than the last. She pushed the sheets aside and scrambled to her feet, hurrying to the door.

“Mrs. McAllister!” A frantic-looking maid took hold of Lily’s wrist and pulled her through the hallway. Lily opened her mouth in protest as the maid shoved her into a room four doors from her own. “Help us, please!” The maid left her by the doorway, her eyes sweeping the unfamiliar room in confusion. It wasn’t very different from hers in size—large, but homey. A single bed sat by the far end of the wall, a fireplace, a study desk and a chair.

Slowly, Lily made her way into the room as the maid reached the bed. “What’s…” The words died on her lips as her eyes rested on the bloody figure on the bed. She circled the bed hurriedly, a loud gasp drifting from her lips when she recognized the figure: Fiona!

Barely recognizable, Fiona laid motionless on the bed, her pale skin covered in bruises, cuts, and scratches. Pieces of the dress she had worn the night before littered the floor, leaving her lying naked on the bed.

Reaching down with trembling hands, Lily touched Fiona’s cheek, wincing at its coldness. Fiona turned to the side, moaning softly in pain.

Lily felt the blood drain from her face as she examined Fiona’s bruises closely, her gaze moving from the scratch marks on her face and on the side of her neck.

“What happened?” she whispered softly, her lips trembling as she spoke. “Fiona,” she traced her broken skin with her fingers, “what happened?”

Fiona sighed, her eyelids parting slightly, before snapping shut once more.

***

The stench of blood filled Fiona’s nostrils, pain racing through her muscles and skin as she slowly regained consciousness. A low groan formed in her throat as her ears picked the indistinct sound of someone’s feet making contact with the carpet.

“Fiona?” A hand settled on her shoulder, causing pain to explode in her mind.

Wincing, she pulled her arm away. “Don’t,” she murmured.

“I’m sorry.” Lily—Fiona’s mind registered the voice amidst the pain she was feeling. “Do you remember what happened?” The mattress sunk under the additional weight put on it.

Forcing her heavy eyelids apart, light bombarded her vision, and she winced, closing her eyes once more.

Why was she in so much pain? Her mind scrambled for answers. Why did every inch of her body hurt? She tried to remember but was met with a wall of pain.

“I don’t…” she mumbled.

“You must rest now. Perhaps, in a few more days, you will remember.”

Fiona could barely keep her eyelids apart after that. She swam in darkness for much longer than she probably knew. When the darkness faded, her mind reminded her of the weakness of her body, and she cried for more darkness, desperate for relief from her pain.

She knew she was being nursed back to health—she felt the sting of hotness forced through her lips and down her throat. She hated the sensation, but she quickly realized that whatever it was she was being fed with helped her heal, and she accepted it willingly.

The meal also healed her mind, restoring her memories to her and filling her mind’s eye with visions of the evening she had drank herself to a near stupor, desperate to drown her sorrows. She remembered smashing the wine bottles on the floor and walking on the broken shards. She remembered the hands that clawed at her, flinging her to the bed as darkness shrouded his face.

She tried to scream, but the words wouldn’t form. She tried to fight back, but the wine had weakened her body, making her his prisoner. She had cried for help, but help never came.

Fiona awoke to the sound of her own voice, screaming in horror.

Something took hold of her wrist, pinning her to the bed as she yelled for help. She tried to breathe, but her lungs constricted, her cries of horror filling her ears until she made out the sound her lips produced, a name…

Mr. Ortley!

***

Raymond pushed aside the mashed potatoes on his plate, unable to force the meal down his throat. Afraid his inability to eat would insult Scarlet’s efforts at cooking, he lifted a spoonful to his mouth and gave Scarlet an encouraging smile from across the table.

He placed his spoon on his plate, turning his attention back to his children as they sat quietly around the table, picking at their meal. Five of them barely even looked at him—except Scarlet, and although she appeared brave, he knew she was hurting.

He needed to take them away from here, to spare them the pain of losing another mother, and especially to give them a secure home.

Clearing his throat, he gained Scarlet’s attention. “We are moving back to Salt Lake,” he said, gaining their attention.

“But why, Papa?” Josie was the first to speak.

“Will Mama know where to find us when she returns?” Lenny frowned.

“When is Mama coming back?” Millie raised her head, her lips folded into a pout.

Her question was immediately followed by various questions from all his children. He tried to focus on their questions enough to answer, but with each child speaking non-stop, it was impossible to do so. He, however, understood their displeasure; they couldn’t leave Lily behind.

Turning his attention back to his plate, he ignored their questions. He couldn’t tell them the truth, not now anyway. He was still battling to bring himself to accept the fact that his marriage to Lily had failed. He was still trying to deal with the pain, and he couldn’t imagine putting his children in that same situation.

A loud sound forced him back to the present, his head snapping up immediately. Scarlet was on her feet, her face red as she watched her siblings.

“Mama is not coming back!” She said tersely, eyes traveling the table. “She’s never coming back.” With that, she turned to the back door and made her way out.

All five children sat frozen for a few seconds, Millie’s loud cries immediately breaking the silence.

Raymond sat, shocked, as he watched his children digest the news of Lily’s departure.

A few more minutes passed before Scarlet made her way back into the building, gathering Millie into her arms and whispering soft words of comfort against her hair.

He watched Scarlet as she warmly comforted Millie, her hand moving soothingly up and down Millie’s back, and the sight reminded him of Rachel—of her warmth and compassion. For a brief second, he believed she was before him, cradling her child in her arms. It wasn’t until Scarlet rose to her feet and began ushering her siblings to bed, that he remembered Rachel was dead and, so much more than that, Lily was gone.

When Raymond finally settled into bed that evening, he forced his eyelids shut and turned his attention to attempting to fall asleep so he could forget the crippling pain in his heart. He laid motionless in the dark until the sound of the door crashing against the wall forced him to his feet.

“Papa!” Scarlet! He hurried to the door to find her dark figure standing by the doorway. “Papa!”

“Scarlet, what…”

“Millie!” Her voice trembled. “Millie, I can’t find Millie!”