The Grace Year(105)

My sisters hold on to me even tighter. We’ve all heard the stories. Childbirth is dangerous business under the most normal of circumstances, but rarely do babies make it out of a breech.

“Brace yourself,” the midwife says as she grips my belly with one hand and reaches inside me with the other.

The pain is cutting at first, but it quickly shifts to something dull and deep. A guttural moan escapes my lips as I bear down.

“Don’t push,” she says.

But I can’t help it. The pressure is unbearable. I’m exhausted. Panting. Sweat seeping from every pore, my hair soaking wet, the bedsheets stained with blood. I don’t know how much longer I can hang on. And then I look outside at the gently falling snow and I think of Ryker. He would never let me give up. He would never let me be weak. Or I would never want to seem weak in front of him. I close my eyes and imagine he’s here with me, and maybe I’m delirious, on the edge of bleeding out, but I swear I can feel his presence.

I hear the men outside my room, glasses clinking, the faint hint of whisky seeping from beneath the door. “May you be blessed with a son,” Father Edmonds bellows.

“We should pray,” Ivy says, fear in her eyes.

As my mother and sisters gather round, they join hands. “Dear Lord, use me as your holy vessel to deliver thy son—”

“No. Not that.” I shake my head, my breath shallow in my chest. “If you feel the need to pray, then pray for a girl.”

“That’s blasphemy,” Ivy whispers, looking back at the door to make sure the men didn’t hear.

“For Tierney,” my mother says.

The women look at each other, an unspoken understanding falling over the room.

They rejoin hands. “Dear Lord, use me as your holy vessel to deliver thy … daughter—”

As they pray, I bear down.

“Feet,” the midwife calls out. “Legs. Arms. Head.” But her tone grows more somber in the end. “The child is clear.”

“Can I see?” I cry.

The midwife looks to my mother. She gives her a stern nod.

As the midwife lays the child on top of me, the tears come. “It’s a girl,” I say with a soft laugh.

But she just lies there completely still.

“Please breathe … please,” I whisper.

As I wipe the blood from her perfect little face, I note that she has my eyes, my lips, Ryker’s dark hair, the slight dimple in her chin, but there’s a spot that won’t come clean. A small strawberry mark below her right eye.

And in the second of her first weighted breath, I realize it’s her—the girl that I’ve been searching for.

Letting out a sobbing gasp, I hold her close, kissing her softly.

The magic is real. Maybe not in the way they believe, but if you’re willing to open your eyes, open your heart, it’s all around us, inside us, waiting to be recognized. I’m a part of her, as is Ryker, and Michael, and all the girls who stood with me in that square to make this come to pass.

She belongs to all of us.

“I’ve dreamed of you my whole life,” I say as I kiss her. “You are wanted. You are loved.”

As if she understands, she wraps her tiny fingers around mine.

“What’s her name?” my mother asks, her chin trembling.

I don’t even have to think about it; it’s as if I’ve always known. “Her name is Grace,” I whisper. “Grace Ryker Welk. And she’s the one who’s going to change everything.”

My mother leans over to kiss her granddaughter, slipping a small red flower with five petals into my hand.

I look up at her and whisper, “My eyes are wide open, and I see everything now.”

With tears streaming down her face, my mother smooths her hand down my braid, releasing me from the black ribbon. And everything it means.

As I close my eyes and let out my next endless breath, I find myself walking in the woods, weightless, free.

I’ve been here before. Or maybe I never left.

A shadowy figure emerges on the trail ahead, dark shrouds billowing around him like smoke. With every step forward, he comes into clearer focus.

Ryker.

I can’t tell if he recognizes me or not, but he’s walking straight toward me.

Holding my ground, I wait to see if he’ll take me in his arms or simply pass right through me.





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


Three years ago, 10:00 A.M., Penn Station:

I’m staring up at the board, willing my train to arrive, when I notice a girl in front of me. Probably thirteen or fourteen, long and lean, bouncing on the tips of her toes, thoroughly annoying her parents, grandparents, and younger siblings. She has the nervous energy of a girl on the verge of womanhood. Of change.

A man in a business suit walks by, instinctively looking her way, stem to stern, as they say. I know that look. She’s fair game now. Prey.

And then I notice a woman pass, drawn to that same energy, but I imagine for entirely different reasons. As she surveys the girl, a look of sadness, possibly disdain, clouds her eyes. Maybe it’s a reminder of everything she’s lost … everything she thinks she’ll never get back, but this girl is now competition.

As the family’s train is announced, they rush to the gate and say their goodbyes. They’re clearly sending the girl back to boarding school. She waves the entire escalator ride down, and I can’t help but notice the look of relief on her parents’ faces. For another year, she’ll be tucked away from the world. Safe.