Rearrange Me

XVII

Eleanora

"Does the rain bother you?"

I shake my head as my eyes remained shut. "No. I enjoy the sound of it. Particularly while I am writing."

"It reminds me of Mama." Philippe breathes out. "She would sit and view it from inside the Palace. She used to tell me it calmed her when things seemed out of control." He strokes my wet, tangled hair with his fingers. "You remind me of her. So very much it pains me at times."

"I do reckon she and I would have gotten along."

"Dearly."

"I cannot help but to think of her when it rains, because it happens to pour in the moments I need her the most."

I turn my head and open my eyes. "As if she is sending you a message?"

"I suppose."

"Philippe?"

"Yes, darling?" He peers down at me in curiosity.

I press my palm flat on his chest and push to sit up. "I must admit I am afraid."

"Of what?"

"Of many things." I trace his abdomen with my finger. "But to be with child. And to bring forth the child. And to raise the child." My eyes widen. "I am not ready to be a Mama."

Philippe sits up and cups my cheeks in his hands. "Eleanora, you have been raised for this. It is your duty to bear children. You shall make a great Mama. Whether that be sooner than either of us expected, or not." His thumb strokes my cheekbone. "Do not doubt yourself, mon amour."

"You are not the one who has to bring forth the children! Have you not read the book of Genesis? Unto the woman he said, I will greatly multiply thy sorrow and thy conception; in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children. Sound familiar, yes?" I inhale a shaky breath. "How much sorrow shall it be? I have..." I shake my head.

"What is it, darling?"

"When I was a girl, I do not remember what age I was but, Mama had been with child—and not Adela. I believe I was a schoolgirl when it happened. Mama went into labour, and we could hear her from the gardens. It was a dreadful sound, Philippe." I grip his arm tightly.

"And what of the child?"

"Mama nearly died. What if I die whilst in labour?" My eyes widen in panic.

"Did the child die?"

"Yes. A still-born." I mumble mindlessly.

"You shall not die whilst in labour. You will have the best doctor there is."

"A midwife." I declare. "Doctors know nothing about bringing forth a child. Mama had a doctor for that child. They called in her original Midwife to keep Mama from dying too."

"Then you shall have the best midwife there is."

"Philippe..." I look at him. "What if I am with child? At this moment. I could be..."

Philippe brushes the wet hair off my cheek. "Mon amour, you must'n't worry. This day was to come."

"Yes but, so soon?" I ask.

"As you said before, we knew the risk when we did what we had done." He continues to stroke my cheek. "I do not feel regret for sharing such intimacy with my wife in privacy."

I lay my head against his shoulder. "This is what your Mama warned us not to do, Philippe." His hand slides against mine, fingers lacing in between my own.

"Yes, but she never mentioned having regrets of doing the same. Do think about it, darling. If my progenitors had not done what we had, would you and I be together at this time? Or at all?"