Daughters of the Lake(78)

But today, the air felt different, as though it had been displaced from another season, lost on the wind and unsure of where to turn. It hung, heavy as a blanket, over the lake. Where water and air met, it seemed to sizzle and crackle like a thousand invisible bolts of lightning were hitting the water’s surface, just out of sight. The sky above was an unsettling shade of blue, but in the distance it looked angry, threatening, and green.

Addie waddled out to the backyard to sit on the bench on the crest of the hill. Here, away from the bustle of the city docks, the lake was as still as a sheet of ice. Indeed, it looked so solid that Addie felt sure she could walk on it. She knew, from her lifelong love affair with this lake, that its waters would soothe and protect her on a day such as this—oh, how her aching muscles were crying out for a swim—but she had long since promised her husband that she wouldn’t go into the water until after the baby was born. Silly, superstitious man that he was.

“I thought I’d make a pot of stew for you tonight, ma’am,” Ginny called out from the kitchen doorway.

“Oh, don’t bother, Ginny,” Addie called back. “I’m not in the least bit hungry. In fact, I still feel full from breakfast. Please don’t trouble yourself.”

“Are you getting on all right, ma’am?” Ginny walked outside to where Addie was sitting on the bench, a concerned look on her face. “Is your time coming?”

Addie smiled and rubbed her belly. “No, my time’s not coming. This baby is still warm and safe and snug just where she is. She’s not wanting to come into this world just yet.”

“She, said you.” Ginny smiled. “You think it’s a girl, then?”

Addie nodded. “I do. I just have a feeling.” Then, turning to look at Ginny, she asked, “Is the Connors’ new baby a boy or a girl?”

“I don’t know, ma’am,” Ginny said. “None of us in the house know, excepting Martha, Mrs. Connor’s maid. And she’s not saying.”

“Whyever not?”

“Superstition,” Ginny said softly, looking up and down the lakeshore and drying her hands on her apron. “Whispers around the house are that the baby is a little wisp of a thing, blue when it was born, fragile as a snowflake. Martha won’t repeat its name, nor nothing about it, lesting that the devil come in and steal its soul.”

“Oh no.” Addie shook her head. “You know that’s just a silly superstition, don’t you, Ginny?” The girl shook her head, and Addie continued, “In any case, I pray that the poor thing grows stronger.”

“As do we all,” Ginny said. “We’re all on pins and needles up at the big house, everyone deathly quiet, as if a noise would disturb the baby’s slumber. Even Mr. Connor is padding around silent as a lamb. Me, if I had my way, I’d be banging and clanging and getting that baby to cry as hard and loud as it could. My mam always said that crying gives a baby strong lungs and a strong spirit. Strong enough to keep death away. Maybe that’s why I chatter so much.”

Addie smiled. It was true this girl had the gift of gab. And a strong spirit to go with it.

“Mrs. Connor is lucky to have you.” Addie took Ginny’s hand. “As am I. I’ve been so grateful for your help, Ginny.”

“It’s a pleasure, ma’am, to work for someone as kind as you are,” Ginny said. “Now, you’re sure I can’t make you something to eat before I go?”

“Truly, Ginny, I’m in need of nothing,” Addie said. “I’m dreadfully full. I couldn’t eat a bite. And later, if I want something, I’ve still got some of that wonderful bread and jam you brought for me. And I think there is some soup left over on the stove as well. That will do.”

“If you say so,” Ginny said, nodding. “If there’s nothing else you need, I’ll be on my way. I don’t like this weather. Best to get home safely before something kicks up.” She scanned the horizon, squinting. “Let me help you back into the house now, yourself, before I go.” Ginny extended her hands to Addie. “It wouldn’t do to have you stuck out here, unable to get up off this bench, when the rain comes.”

Addie smiled as she let Ginny pull her up. The girl was right, standing was quite a production. It might have been a problem for her to navigate it alone. “Mr. Stewart says I’m like a turtle,” she laughed.

“Not for long, ma’am,” Ginny said. “Soon, you’ll have your own baby to hold, just like Mrs. Connor.”

Later, Addie tried to read a book inside by the fire that Ginny had stoked before she left. But it was no use. Addie was antsy, edgy. Although she had been tired all day, she had an overwhelming urge to straighten things up and clean the house. She took the rag that Ginny had left in the sink and began cleaning the already-spotless kitchen, wiping off the stove and the table. Next, she swept the kitchen floor, moving out into the living room and then up the stairs and down the hallway toward the bedrooms. She opened the door to what would soon be the baby’s room and straightened the crib, fluffed the blanket, and dusted the dresser and chest that had only recently come from a fancy furniture store in Minneapolis. She ran her fingers over the rocking horse in the corner, remembering the winter day, months ago, when Jess had brought it home, triumphantly announcing that he had purchased his child’s first toy.