The Homecoming by Anna Enquist

Author:Anna Enquist [Enquist, Anna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Amazon Crossing
Published: 2022-04-01T00:00:00+00:00

8

The baby dropped, giving Elizabeth more room to breathe. Just a few more weeks, she thought, then I’ll see my daughter. It was May; the chestnuts were blooming and the cardoon seedlings, sheltered by the fence, had sprouted. Waiting, expectant. Patiently preparing for the birth.

It suited her, and she longed for nothing else. As soon as something important happened, reality would flood into her life like foamy water breaking through a river dam; Nat would climb into that carriage, James would untie the cables of the Resolution, and Elly would be deader than dead beneath the sod, while another little girl wore her frocks. Waiting meant postponing decisions, keeping possibilities open, remaining silent. Waiting with such an enormous belly meant saying no to obligations, being allowed to be absentminded and distracted, lying on the sofa in the middle of the day.

She refused to accompany James to the party at the shipyard to celebrate the completion of the repairs. She was repulsed by the thought of the claustrophobic cabins, the full-to-bursting hold, and the creaking ropes. The smell of tar—no thank you, she’d rather stay home. The entire departure and all the ceremonies surrounding it were nothing but a game. It had to happen, and everyone had to be convinced, but it was a ritual dance, signifying nothing. She was certain that once James received news of the birth of his daughter, he would leap to shore, wave the ships off, and race home. Or, would the birth be the prelude to total abandonment? As long as the baby was still in her womb, everyone gathered round: her mother, her husband, and her son. She was aware of their proximity and attention, but she didn’t let any of those precious people get too close. Was it conceivable that they would turn and run as soon as the child was born? It had crossed her mind, so it was certainly imaginable, but she had so many notions, and not all of them, by a long shot, could be transformed into something tangible. Hugh Palliser’s face popped into her head, in alarmingly sharp focus. She shivered. Lie down a minute. She sank onto the sofa that James had moved into the great room for her, and pulled an old quilt over her belly. She dented the pillow and took off her bonnet. The lush green of the trees and shrubs filtered the light.

She was awakened by the lacerating tones of a bugle. For a moment she was completely disoriented, and she looked around—bookcase, tablecloth, oil lamp—she’d never seen the room from this low vantage point; fear boiled in the pit of her stomach. Where was she, how far along was she, was James still here, and if so, where? And where was Elly? It was only when she sat upright that the room and its furniture returned to normal, and she could recognize the bugle by its familiar motif, slow and mournful; Nat was practicing in his room. Pain nagged her lower back.

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