CHAPTER 32 — RACHEL

But for the slow rising and falling of Rachel’s chest, Raymond almost believed she was dead. Her hands laid limp on the bed, sweat staining her pale skin as she slept. He watched her sleep like he had done every night since she fainted. At first, he assumed it was because of the workload she was forced to bear, but as the pregnancy progressed and he restricted her to the bed, he could see clearly that what drained her of strength wasn’t just the chores, but the child that was growing within her. It almost seemed like the bigger her belly grew, the weaker she became.

He leaned forward and brushed the sweat off of her forehead, his heart aching. He knew that it had been a terrible decision to force her to travel in her pregnant state. It had been an even worse decision to force her to engage in so much work. His mind told him it hadn’t been a decision he made knowingly, for he hadn’t found out about the pregnancy until four months into it. Yet, his heart blamed him for her illness. If he had been more careful to observe her, if he had been content with their home in Salt Lake, if he hadn’t burdened her with so many chores...

“You should sleep.” Her husky voice drifted to him, startling him.

“Did I wake you up?” He frowned and she shook her head, pushing herself to a sitting position and causing the sheet to slip to her lap, exposing her bulging stomach.

“You haven’t slept in many weeks,” she said, her warm palm settling on his face. He stared into her eyes, seeing fatigue in them; she was tired, even when all she did was lie in bed. The realization frightened him.

“I need to find a doctor, you’re getting worse.”

“But first, you will get some rest.” She settled down once more, pulling his arm until he was lying beside her.

He pressed his lips to her forehead, the heat of her skin filling him with dread. “Don’t die, sweetheart,” he pleaded, “I will not survive it.”

When she didn’t respond, he assumed she had fallen asleep. He clung to her, unable to sleep that evening, for he knew no matter how tightly his arms held on to her, she was slowly slipping from his grip.

Raymond found out the next day that the town was devoid of a doctor. There was, however, an Apothecary who swore he had seen to the birth of three children. Left with no other choice, Raymond hired the man to care for Rachel until the child was born.

He spent several dollars on medicines that only helped to put his wife in a constant state of unconsciousness. By the time the week to the birth of the child drew near, he was completely broke and unable to pay the farmhands. Forced to fire his farmhands, the crops died, but he didn’t care if he lost the entire farm; he couldn’t lose his wife.

He tipped the cup, waiting patiently for her to drain it of its content one evening. She had a tough day and had just suffered a nightmare. Her skin burned, her eyes jaundiced.

With the cup drained, she leaned back heavily against the bedpost.

“Thank you.” She rubbed her waist, a soft hiss escaping her lips.

“You should rest,” he suggested.

With a shake of her head, she said, “I am nearly going mad with sleep and nightmares.” Tears stung her eyes as her hand rested on her bulging stomach. “I cannot lose this child, Raymond,” she said, terrified. “But I dream of losing it.”

Her tears ran down her pale face and he reached out and pulled her into his arms. “You won’t,” he assured. “You will be fine.”

She sighed. “How are the children? I haven’t heard nor seen them in many days. I haven’t even heard Millie cry in a while.”

“They understand your need for rest,” he said, refusing to mention the fear that not only loomed over the entire farm, but the hearts of everyone who lived in it. The children walked around the house knowing that they were losing their mother, and Josie especially walked around with guilt. He even heard Josie tell Scarlet that it had been her request for a biscuit that was killing their mother. But instead of reassuring the child otherwise, he had walked away from the room, barely able to breathe.

It wasn’t anybody’s fault but his.

The week the child was to be born, finally arrived. Raymond watched helplessly as Rachel’s pain intensified, rendering her completely weakened.

He stood by the door to their room and waited with growing anxiety as the Apothecary labored to bring their child into the world. Rachel’s anguished cry rang throughout the house, forcing Raymond to take his children outside and force them to wait in the barn where he hoped they wouldn’t have to endure the cries of their mother.

“Mr. McAllister?” The door creaked open, and the Apothecary appeared.

“How is she?” he asked, trying to see above the man’s bald head and into the room.

“Critical.” His brown eyes filled with uncertainty. “I can only save one, the mother or the child. You must choose.”

Raymond didn’t think before the words flew from his lips. “Rachel! For goodness ‘sake, save my wife!” he yelled.

“No!” Rachel’s cry from within the room carried to where he stood by the door. “The baby, please.”

He brushed past the Apothecary and entered the room. He raced to her side and fell to his knees beside the bed, barely able to recognize his wife, her ashen skin, her haunted eyes, her limp black hair. His eyes traveled the length of her face and slowly down her body. When he saw the blood that stained the sheets, he gasped.

“The baby,” she repeated, her cold hand coming to rest on his arm. He shook his head violently, and she nodded, tears staining her face. “I have lived well,” she began after a few seconds of silence, her lips trembling. “I have lived, and I have loved. You must not deprive an unborn child of this opportunity.”

He captured her hand and gave it a light squeeze, his eyes holding her gaze. “And you must not deprive me of having you forever,” he pleaded desperately. “I’m not losing you!” he cried, begging. “We will have other children, and if we do not, we will be fine with the ones we already have. I cannot—never—love this child you are about to birth, for it has nearly killed you.”

She reached forward with her free right hand and placed it against his cheek. “You will.”

“Mr. McAllister?” the Apothecary called.

Raymond remained on his knees, staring into Rachel’s pleading eyes. He would never concede to her request, his mind screamed. He would never allow his wife to die, exchanging her life for the life of a child he knew he couldn’t love.

Rachel pressed her lips together, her face contorting to reflect the pain she felt. He could tell, just by looking at her, that every second he waited, contemplating his decision, put her at great risk.

“Rachel, save her,” he answered, determined. He tried to rise to his feet, but her hand clutched desperately to his wrist. He brushed her hand aside and rose. “Save her.” Turning away, he walked out of the door. When the door slammed shut behind him, he crumbled to his knees in tears.

***

Rachel’s screams continued to pierce his very soul as he waited outside the door. This time, she didn’t just make random sounds of pain; she pleaded with him. He heard the desperation in her voice as she cried out to him, begging him to save their child, cursing and swearing to never forgive him if he didn’t. Until he could no longer stand the sound of her cries.

Trembling with grief, he pushed the door wide open and gave the instruction. Save the child, he heard himself say. He gave the instruction without a backward glance at Rachel, grieved that she would choose death over him and angry that she would threaten him into it. He stumbled out of the room and sat on the floor by the door.

Silence filled the building until the door finally gave way behind him. Unable to stand to his feet, he maintained his sitting position.

“Mr. McAllister,” he heard the Apothecary say. “She’s dead—they’re both dead. The cord strangled the baby before I could get to him.”

As darkness clouded Raymond’s view, he heard the Apothecary’s last words, “It was a boy; you would have had a perfect baby boy.”

He didn’t care; he wanted to scream as he gave in to the darkness, dying along with Rachel.