the midwife ordered.
“Uuaaahhhh!” I pushed with all of my might, then dissolved in a coughing fit.
“That’s it! One more,” the midwife coaxed, pushing my shoulders forward.
I heaved from my core, pulling on the bedpost with what little strength remained.
“That’s it, Rose. Yes!”
I choked again and felt the warm rush of a tiny body leaving mine. I fell onto my pillows as the blessed sound of a baby’s cry pierced the air.
“It’s a boy!”
“A boy,” I whispered. My head rolled on my shoulders in exhaustion.
The midwife wrapped his slick body in a cloth and rushed him to a basin of clean water.
“Oh, Rose, he’s beautiful,” Désirée said.
A small cry sounded from across the room. My limp hand reached for my baby. My son. “Let me hold him.”
“You need my attention. You’ve suffered some tearing,” the midwife said.
“I’ll get you a clean chemise.” Désirée left my baby with Mimi.
The midwife and her nurse assistant tended my wounds and flushed my feverish skin with cool water. When my angelic son finally rested in my arms, I guided his tiny mouth to my breast.
Désirée protested at once. “I’ve hired a wet nurse, Rose. It isn’t proper to feed him yourself. You forget your title.”
“I will feed my child, Désirée. I do not care for convention in this matter. I’ve met others who have done the same.”
She pursed her lips as I nestled into the bedcovers with my darling. I had made him. This perfect creature. I closed my weighted eyelids.
I named my son Eugène. I gazed on his perfect face and petite fingers and toes for hours. Adoration filled my heart.
Alexandre returned soon after Eugène’s birth.
“Let me hold my son.” He caressed his face and coaxed a smile from the infant.
He hardly let the boy out of his sight at first. I forgave him for everything as he showered our son with affection. We started again as if no woman had come between us, nor harsh words.
Fatherhood suited my wayward husband. Alexandre waited on us, mother and child. He loved me; he loved our boy. During our days, we were a family. At night, he folded me in his arms.
But our blissful months together ebbed as Alexandre’s ennui increased. He launched into political orations and ramblings about honor. I became bored with his military diatribes.
“I am an honorable soldier in search of meaning! In search of justice! I must defend France from her enemies! Why have I not been stationed at war in the West Indies with my comrades? I, who champion the cause of the French?” he shouted, before collapsing onto the sofa in a fit of drunken snoring.
He refused to escort me into town.
“I’d like to join you this evening. I’d love to meet more lady friends,” I said, laying a flower guide on the table.
“Not tonight. I am meeting someone.”
Jealousy pricked beneath my skin. “Have you taken another lover?”
“You must not make a fuss, Rose.” He tossed the cookie he had been nibbling into the fire. It burned white hot and turned to a blackened lump. “Mistresses are expected. If you weren’t so ignorant and ill-raised, you would understand that.”
“How dare you!” I stood and crossed my arms. I understood perfectly, but I had believed in the possibility of love. Not with this man.
“Rose,” he sighed, “I have loved you as well as any man could.”
My mouth fell open as he jumped from his chair and stalked through the door.
I avoided Alexandre for several days, spending much of my time with Eugène out of doors. One afternoon following a long morning walk, I readied Eugène for a nap.
“Sleep well, my little cherub.” I kissed his chubby cheek and lowered him into a bassinet. As I tiptoed into the corridor, voices drifted from Désirée’s chamber. I paused to eavesdrop.
“She’s so lonely. She craves his attention,” Désirée said.
“
La pauvre
,” the Marquis replied. “She’ll have to find her own way.”
“I feel guilty, somehow, for arranging
“Uuaaahhhh!” I pushed with all of my might, then dissolved in a coughing fit.
“That’s it! One more,” the midwife coaxed, pushing my shoulders forward.
I heaved from my core, pulling on the bedpost with what little strength remained.
“That’s it, Rose. Yes!”
I choked again and felt the warm rush of a tiny body leaving mine. I fell onto my pillows as the blessed sound of a baby’s cry pierced the air.
“It’s a boy!”
“A boy,” I whispered. My head rolled on my shoulders in exhaustion.
The midwife wrapped his slick body in a cloth and rushed him to a basin of clean water.
“Oh, Rose, he’s beautiful,” Désirée said.
A small cry sounded from across the room. My limp hand reached for my baby. My son. “Let me hold him.”
“You need my attention. You’ve suffered some tearing,” the midwife said.
“I’ll get you a clean chemise.” Désirée left my baby with Mimi.
The midwife and her nurse assistant tended my wounds and flushed my feverish skin with cool water. When my angelic son finally rested in my arms, I guided his tiny mouth to my breast.
Désirée protested at once. “I’ve hired a wet nurse, Rose. It isn’t proper to feed him yourself. You forget your title.”
“I will feed my child, Désirée. I do not care for convention in this matter. I’ve met others who have done the same.”
She pursed her lips as I nestled into the bedcovers with my darling. I had made him. This perfect creature. I closed my weighted eyelids.
I named my son Eugène. I gazed on his perfect face and petite fingers and toes for hours. Adoration filled my heart.
Alexandre returned soon after Eugène’s birth.
“Let me hold my son.” He caressed his face and coaxed a smile from the infant.
He hardly let the boy out of his sight at first. I forgave him for everything as he showered our son with affection. We started again as if no woman had come between us, nor harsh words.
Fatherhood suited my wayward husband. Alexandre waited on us, mother and child. He loved me; he loved our boy. During our days, we were a family. At night, he folded me in his arms.
But our blissful months together ebbed as Alexandre’s ennui increased. He launched into political orations and ramblings about honor. I became bored with his military diatribes.
“I am an honorable soldier in search of meaning! In search of justice! I must defend France from her enemies! Why have I not been stationed at war in the West Indies with my comrades? I, who champion the cause of the French?” he shouted, before collapsing onto the sofa in a fit of drunken snoring.
He refused to escort me into town.
“I’d like to join you this evening. I’d love to meet more lady friends,” I said, laying a flower guide on the table.
“Not tonight. I am meeting someone.”
Jealousy pricked beneath my skin. “Have you taken another lover?”
“You must not make a fuss, Rose.” He tossed the cookie he had been nibbling into the fire. It burned white hot and turned to a blackened lump. “Mistresses are expected. If you weren’t so ignorant and ill-raised, you would understand that.”
“How dare you!” I stood and crossed my arms. I understood perfectly, but I had believed in the possibility of love. Not with this man.
“Rose,” he sighed, “I have loved you as well as any man could.”
My mouth fell open as he jumped from his chair and stalked through the door.
I avoided Alexandre for several days, spending much of my time with Eugène out of doors. One afternoon following a long morning walk, I readied Eugène for a nap.
“Sleep well, my little cherub.” I kissed his chubby cheek and lowered him into a bassinet. As I tiptoed into the corridor, voices drifted from Désirée’s chamber. I paused to eavesdrop.
“She’s so lonely. She craves his attention,” Désirée said.
“
La pauvre
,” the Marquis replied. “She’ll have to find her own way.”
“I feel guilty, somehow, for arranging
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