my intellect, so I tried harder to focus and understand. I gathered they were asking about my milk.
I honestly thought they were being kind. Like I thought they were trying to help me figure out what to do.
So I hand-expressed, from a breast that was big and hot and swollen, a stream of milk into my cupped hand. Mary nodded and sent the kitchen lady away.
I was led to a wooden armchair.
A wailing baby was picked up from a cradle and forced into my arms. Mary scolded me, yanked at my shirt, and then stood over me glowering while hands shaking, biting my lips, I got the little baby to nurse. And it felt so fucking good to nurse, like maybe I wouldn’t actually explode.
Mary appraised me, watching me, judging me. I looked away. Then suddenly her hand shot out, gripped my fingers, twisted my wrist, and she wrenched my wedding ring off my finger. “No please, that’s my wedding ring. Please.” She shoved it into her pocket and stalked away.
So I cried in relief and horror and sadness and staring down at the stranger in my arms where Isla was supposed to be.
Mary was irritated. She glared and seemed to find my tears offensive. I looked down at this baby, latched onto me, saving me by nursing, and I didn’t know if I was saving him too. I cried and cried. I shifted the ravenously hungry baby to the other side and stroked my fingers down his soft cheek and fed him.
Finally calm washed over me, hormone release and all. I leaned my head back and felt at peace as the baby slowly stopped nursing and began sleep-suckling, drawing me toward sleep too. My heartbeat slowed, my breathing calmed, my sobs quieted. I wiped my face with my arm as the baby lolled away from my breast fully fast asleep.
Mary rushed over and yanked the baby from my arms, placed him into a cradle, patted him perfunctorily on the back, and then rushed at me, screeching and yelling. Fucking scolding me.
I stared up at her, eyes wide, terrified, and silent because I had no idea what she was saying. At a break in her rant, I interrupted, “I want my ring, give me my ring back, please.” She jerked me to standing by the front of my shirt. I was taller, but she was scary as heck. She jerked me back and forth yelling at me, then smacked me across the face, grabbed me by the ear, twisted it so hard my knees crumpled, and dragged me, knee-walking, to the wall. She shoved me into the corner. Finger wagging she screamed over me as I cowered. Then she stalked away.
I curled up and pressed my eyes against my knees. And huddled there, my cheek stinging, until I finally fell asleep.
I woke to a baby crying. The room was dark, a small fire in the hearth, the baby was far away and not mine. The cries were alarming, but unfamiliar. It was uncanny how that universal sound wasn’t universal at all, it was specific: baby crying, not my baby.
I wondered where in the world or time Isla was and hoped Emma and Beaty were taking care of her, calming her cries. At the thought of her my breasts let down, rushing milk down my stomach.
Great, I would spend another day sopping wet. The crying came closer, and then I was kicked in the side. Apparently I was supposed to wake up and fucking come quiet this baby. She scolded me, her voice raised over the baby’s wails. Also apparent, she was irritated I wasn’t up already. I was so freaking hungry, so thirsty.
I sat in the uncomfortable chair with its hard-ass poorly designed seat, not deep enough, too straight-backed — the bairn was thrust into my arms. Mary yanked my hands away, scolding, shaking her fist at me. She made herself clear, I wasn’t supposed to actually touch him. I wasn’t supposed to do anything but nurse. I mimed with my hand a drink of water. “Please,” I said, “water, please.”
She stormed off in a huff and returned with a small pewter cup of water. It was gone quickly, too quickly.
I was so thirsty still, but suddenly I also, unfairly, had to pee. I peered around the room, but couldn’t discern where the chamberpot was. The room smelled like babyshit and piss.
Speaking of, the baby in my arms was wet. I was wet. The fire was too low to warm