Undoing her blouse and skirt she hung them behind the door of her room and pulled on a long flannalette nightie. The bed was cold and for a moment she lay shivering, until the sheets were warmed by her body then, turned awkwarldy onto her side pulling the bedclothes up under her chin. The infant protested, pressing unseen limbs up into her chest. Moaning gently she silently prayed it would be born soon. Each day it was more of an effort to move, the growing burden sapping her strength and making limbs weary with distressing rapidity. Ankles swelled until she feared they would burst and the pain in her chest rose and subsided with increasing regularity. She couldn’t carry the child for much longer. Neighbours watched her with worried faces and told her she must rest. But how could she. Emma and William needed her and Charlie expected life to continue as normal. He wouldn’t tolerate being left to fend for himself, no matter what the reason. Closing her eyes Mary drifted into a restive sleep.
Emma Hardwick
