Winter Rose by Rachel A. Marks Read Free Book Online Page A

and smiles down on us. “There, now,” she says, reminding me so much of Mamma it hurts to look at her. “Now, I think we should talk. Would you like to start, Luke?”
    My heart starts thumping as I watch him shift uncomfortably in his chair under Becca’s gaze. “I think I’ve done enough talking for one day,” he says finally.
    Becca rolls her eyes and sits on the pallet beside us. “Well, I assume my silent sister won’t volunteer either. I just hate all this hard silence. It’s like walking through cotton in this place, the air is too thick with unsaid things.”
    My heart gets so loud it’s impossible to think. 
     “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
    They both turn to me.
    Becca’s eyes grow. “What, Rose?”
    “I’m sorry,” I say a little louder, shocked I said it once, let alone twice. “I’ve been awful to you, Becca.” My throat clenches and tears make the fire look blurry. But now that I’ve started it flows out of me like a river of repentance. “I’m ashamed of things I’ve said. Things I’ve done. I don’t want to be like—I just…My heart’s been all wrong. There’s been darkness, so much darkness. But you’re my sister, and I…I love you.” And I can’t say anymore. There’s too much boiling over in me. Tears soak my cheeks, my chin.
    I let my eyes stray to Luke and try to make them say what I can’t speak in front of Becca. 
    Her hand finds mine and squeezes. “I love you, too, my sweet Rose.” And she leans over to kiss my cheek.
    But then she goes stiff and gasps, clutching at her belly.
    Luke lunges and I reach for her in the same moment. We both cry, “Becca!” trying to catch her as she falls.
    There’s the sound of dripping and the smell of salt, then I see fluid spreading out from under her legs. It darkens the wood floor and runs through the cracks, thick and final, tinged pink with blood.
    “Oh, God,” I say, my hands shaking.
    The baby.
    Becca just lifts her head to us and smiles. “It’s coming!” She squeezes my hand again. “See what you’ve done with all your crying. Now the little thing wants to come and meet her aunt.”
    I smile with her, but my heart’s focused on the blood and torment to come.
     
    *
     
    The labor is on and off all the rest of that day and night. Becca grows tired and weak, unable to lift her head or hands to drink, conserving her energy for the trial. I push back at questions I can’t answer: what if the babe never comes? What if it slips out blue and limp? My head is full of all the horrors that might be coming next, as Becca cries out over and over, filling the small shack with screams that tear the air.
    It all pulses at my skin, pressing worry and doubt into me.
    I direct Luke in things he can do to help and he listens intently, following orders well. He gets the water boiling and rinses the rags as they fill with blood. He tends the fire, to keep the room warm. I see my own fear mirrored in his eyes, but we hold our feelings secret. We just stay busy and do what needs to be done.
    And as night turns to day, the blood comes, thick and insistent, spreading out around her like a dark presence. It grows so large it seems impossible she has any blood left in her veins.
    The sun rises, marking another day of torment and no progress. The room glows with light, showing all too clearly how much damage the labor’s doing to my sister.
    “Just pray, Rose,” she gasps between her pains, which come faster and faster. “It will be well.”
    It’s like she’s comforting me.
    Me.
    But it’s not me in a pool of blood. Blood that would never be, if it wasn’t for those men. If it wasn’t for Hunt. And Pa.
    Anger boils through me, rocking me to my core. Becca doesn’t deserve this.
    How could you? I hiss at God. And then in the next breath, Please, help us.
    Becca seems to sense time’s short. Her cries become more than pain. She stares at my hands, sticky with her blood—there’s so much blood. Tears run through the crimson