“Hello, love,” Kate said with joy.
* * *
I didn’t realize I’d drifted off until I blinked groggily at the sight of Kate standing by the baby’s cradle, gazing down at her. It was not yet daybreak; the full moon was shining through the window.
“You shouldn’t be up,” I said, forcing myself tiredly to my feet, shivering involuntarily. There was a chill in the early-morning air. “Let me help. You just rest. Kate?”
She turned and gave me a soft, sad smile. I stopped in my tracks.
Kate’s body was lying still in the bed beside the cradle. The baby was sleeping soundly, tiny chest rising and falling.
“No. No . . . Kate!” I sobbed.
She placed a reassuring hand on my arm. Her touch was cold. The last few moments of her life drifted past my eyes like a breeze on the first breath of spring. She’d been watching her daughter sleep, joyfully cataloguing every precious detail: hair, hands, cheeks, toes. When death came, it was soft and sweet, like sleep. She died at peace, knowing her daughter would live.
“I’ll take care of her,” I whispered. “I’ll watch over her for you. Whatever is in my power to do, I’ll do.”
She nodded and then she was gone. Forest Gate’s “mother” sacrifice was complete. An unearthly fog rose and roiled against the window, swallowing the full moon whole. In an instant the landscape became an ocean of white.
* * *
I didn’t get to mourn long before my cries were interrupted by the baby’s. I’d promised Kate I’d care for the child, so I dried my tears and went to work. I bathed and dressed her while she watched me with a wide, unfathomable gaze. Her eyes were the color of soft feathers: light gray and silvery brown, and alarmingly clear.
When she looked at me, it felt as if she was asking me a question to which I had no answer.
With no mother to feed her, I managed as best I could with a clean cloth dipped into a bowl of goat’s milk, mumbling a haphazard spell to make the poor offering softer on her stomach, sweeter to the taste, and more nourishing. I had no way to tell if it worked, but she sucked the soaked corner until the bowl was mostly empty before falling asleep in my arms.
She was still slumbering when I heard the first sounds of hurried footsteps on the path outside. It was now coming on nightfall again; I’d spent almost a day in silence, just me and the baby. In the thick fog, it had begun to feel like we were the only two people left in the world.
I heard the door open. “Hello?” Nathaniel’s voice came from the kitchen. “Kate?”
“Emilie’s not at her hut,” Zan said. “Maybe Kate will know . . .”
Nathaniel froze at the entrance of the bedroom, gazing at Kate, soundless and still.
“I am so sorry,” I whispered, rising from the rocking chair.
I’d cleaned the room well; there was no evidence remaining of the difficult night, of the toil and torment that Kate had gone through. She lay on pristine white sheets, her beautiful hair still braided and coiled softly around her face. Her eyes were closed, her expression serene.
Nathaniel collapsed beside her, took her hand and pressed it to his lips. His shoulders shook, but he made no sound.
Zan, who had come in behind him, lowered his head and gripped the back of a chair.
It was nothing more than a brightening at first, like when thin clouds drift past the sun. Then the brightness collected into a shape. Kate knelt and touched Nathaniel’s face with hands made of feathery light and air. He didn’t react; he couldn’t feel her touch. She looked up at me for help.
“Nathaniel,” I ventured, the sound of my voice rippling through the deep darkness of his grief like a pebble in a still pool. He did not acknowledge me, so I spoke again. “Nathaniel.”
Kate crossed to me and I held out my hand. She took it for the second time, and the cold drifted across my skin in delicate curling spirals, like frost on a winter windowpane.
Tell him that I’m sorry.
“Kate wanted you to know that she is sorry.” I swallowed hard.
Tell him that I love him.
I took a quavering breath. “She said that she loves you.”
Nathaniel raised his head to look at me with reddened, swollen eyes.