"Live like there is no midnight."
***
For Antoinette Gertrude, life is perfect. A little ball of bliss, a dream which came true. But one day, it all comes crashing down.
The death of her mother, makes her father distant. It was like all of her life...
I paced, throwing anxious looks at the closed door. Father was sitting there, his eyes unfocused. Nurses walked here and there, all around. My mind was muddled, no longer able to think coherent thoughts. My sibling was on the way.
After twelve years of my birth, my parents were finally getting another child, another little bundle of joy. I tried to remember how I had planned to greet the baby, but nothing came to my mind. All I could think of was how my mother had been in there for a long time.
I wringed my fingers again, cracking one of my knuckles by mistake. That seemed to pull my dad out of his reverie. His golden eyes stared back at me, no doubt wondering how much time had passed. But there were no clocks here. The faint smell of antiseptic drifted to my nose, making me wonder how I had not noticed this smell before now. The white walls seemed like they could use some decoration, since they just added to the overall gloomy feel of the hospital.
Then suddenly, we heard cries coming from the maternity ward. Father smiled at me, but I couldn't, for the feeling that something bad was to happen still was there. The main mid-wife came out and shouted, "Sir Francis Gertrude," leaving out his middle name, as was the custom for noblemen.
My dad walked upto her, nodding at me to follow him. The mid-wife assessed my clothing. It was then that I realised that I didn't look like a noblemen's daughter. My blue corset was dirty, with my kerchief loosely tied around my neck. My pumps' ribbons were loose. My bun was about to fall, the comb already lost somewhere. My cream hat was in my hands, the lace about to fall off. I was thanking God that the hat covered my reticule, which was about to be broken completely. It was clear that I came here in a hurry.
The mid-wife shook her head in disapproval, no doubt going to discuss me with her friends. I lowered my head with shame and embarrassment.
"Sir Gertrude, the child is fine. You have a baby girl. But..." she hesitated, peeking back into the room.
"But what?" My father tried to discern what she felt from her face.
"Your wife is in danger. She might not survive this," she said, her eyes filling with sympathy.
Father looked at me, his eyes already filling with tears. His lips were pulled down. I patted on his back and then looked at the mid-wife, already having forgotten about why my head was down in the first place.
"Did she say anything? Can she have visitors?"
She nodded in reply and walked away. I knew father was in no position to meet my mother, so I walked in, ready for any protest by father. But there were none.
"Mother..." A sob erupted from me, eyes filling with tears, seeing my mom lying on the bed. A weak smile graced her lips.
"Come here, Nette, come and sit." She motioned me, raising her thin finger weakly.
She began before I could utter a word, "Nette, you must not say anything. I know I am about to die. I can see the bright light. Hand me your sister," she ordered, her voice raised a pitch, as was in her habit.
"This child is to be named Red. Nette, you must not argue with your father, and remember the etiquette I have taught you. After I die, Red is upto you child. Bring her," she coughed a little, "-her a wet nurse, but only till she is of three years of age. After that, she is solely your responsibility. Your father must not have a final say in her upbringing." She took a few breaths.
"Encourage your father to marry again to have a boy to carry on his name. Love your new mother as you loved me," a cough, "Have courage and be kind, my child. Remember, believe in everything. My time is up."
I pulled her hand to my racing heart, "I promise mother."
She smiled and closed her eyes, when her hand fell from my chest and landed on my lap. Little Red began to cry. I pulled Red in my arms and gasped when mother's cool hand touched mine.I patted Red's back, eventually stopping her cries.
It was then I realised, no one was there to stop my tears. It was then that I realised, no one was there to calm me. The only person who knew me more than I knew myself was dead. My tears were falling on Red's new clothes.
I took a deep breath and went out to father, leaving the sleeping Red in her cot. Dad sat on the red sofa, with his head drooping and his hands laying on the handrest.
"Sir Francis," I choked out. A brief smile came on his face, which disappeared as soon as it came, when he noticed my tear-stained face.
