It was a matter of a few weeks and Godfrey had managed to find an empty space in which Mark and Delia could set up a shop. He also made the initial contacts with the cloth makers and dyers. All the necessary materials were bought by Godfrey, which left Mark feeling incredibly indebted to him. Moreover, they could not move out of his house, because they had not yet made enough money to begin to pay him back, let alone buy an apartment above some store or build their own above the existing one level store. Both Godfrey and Juliana insisted that they not rush. Godfrey and Juliana were much pleased with their borders. They found them to be considerate, kind, and intelligent people, which wasn’t all that common, especially in ones so young. They thought of them and treated them very much like their own children.
One morning, Delia had gotten up later than everyone else, and begging Juliana’s pardon, asked if there was anything left for her to eat. Mark was upstairs at the moment, getting dressed in warmer clothing so as to head over with Alan to the new store to begin setting it up. As usual, he had nothing to say to her while they were alone, so she had hurried down. "Of course, I saved something for you, my child. Come sit down at the table, and I’ll have it right out for you." "Thank you so much. I don’t know why I didn’t wake up this morning." "Here you go dear," Juliana said setting down a plate with a biscuit covered in warmed molasses. She also placed a tall glass of milk on the table, fresh and bubbling.
Mark came bounding down the stairs, carrying his boots, and Delia looked up from the table to see him. He greeted her gaze, but quickly looked away. Delia swallowed slowly, feeling sick. Juliana was washing the plates in the corner in the large tub. Mark sat down at the table, still avoiding Delia’s eyes, and he proceeded to pull on his boots. All at once, Delia was seized by a wave of nausea and she stood up, nearly upsetting her chair, and ran to the bucket of waste from the meal, retching into it everything she had eaten thus far as well as her stomach juices.
Juliana hurried to Delia’s side, and Delia gripped her arms steadying herself. "My child!" Juliana exclaimed. Juliana looked to Mark, who was standing up at the far end of the table, having immediately hurried forward towards Delia before stopping. "Were you feeling sick this morning, dear?" Juliana asked, handing Delia a rag with which to wipe her face. "A bit, yes," Delia said weakly. "Could you then perhaps be in a family way?" Juliana’s voice was quiet, but Delia turned to look at Mark with a frightened glance to see if he had heard. There was no color in his face and he was staring blankly at her. He had indeed heard Juliana’s inquiry, and she began to stutter, "I…I’m…well…" Mark came forward, taking Delia’s hand from Juliana, "why don’t you rest today." Delia nodded yes, and followed Mark’s slow advance up the stairs back to their room, holding onto his hand, which seemed to offer no support, like a lifeless cold plaster cast of what had once been his hand.
They entered the room, and Mark closed the door behind them. Delia flew to the bed, and threw herself down on the edge, covering her face and trying not to cry. She was afraid to look up and see what Mark’s expression would be at this moment. She felt him come and sit next to her on the bed, the bed sagging under his weight, but still he remained silent. Minutes passed.
"Is she right?" "I’m afraid so, Mark." She looked up from her hands, tears streaming down her face and seeing that his face looked so blanched and drawn, she turned away again. "How…how far…along?" "It’s been nearly three months, hasn’t it?" she asked timidly. "Why are you asking me, Delia." "Because, I don’t know, Mark. I…it could be…but…" "What does it matter," Mark said exacerbated. "But, Mark it is still early…and…and…I could…there are ways to end…" Delia said, feeling herself grow in courage with the morbid hopes that had been sustaining her now for some weeks. "What? What are you saying, Delia? Do you think I would let you do anything like that? Don’t even…" "I’m sorry," Delia whispered, "I’m always displeasing you." He sighed, standing up, "don’t come to the shop today. I want you to rest." "Are you sure? I know you need help." "You won’t be of any help. I don’t want you coming at all anymore. You should have said something earlier. I don’t want anything happening to you." Delia wondered as he walked out the door, if that was true. Sometimes she thought that if she just disappeared, Mark would finally have a chance at happiness again.
Mark closed the door softly, and leaning on the doorframe, he closed his eyes for a moment. His hands were shaking and he clasped them tightly together to try to stop them. The only thought that kept passing through his head was that it should be his baby that his cherished Delia was having, but now he had his doubts that God would be so kind. He had not been so kind as to protect Delia in His own house, so why would He ever do anything for Mark ever again. He was forsaken, and something was not right with a God that would be so cruel. He was not the only one being punished for his sin of abandoning his position; Delia, the one whom he loved more than anything else was also being punished, and yet Mark felt powerless to prevent it.
X
Delia leaned over the hat that she was working on. It was pure white and was to be trimmed in white lace. She wore one of the nicer plain caps herself. The shop was completed, and they had had a few customers: the amount of buyers seemed to exponentially increase, and they slowly began to pay back Godfrey, and Mark was beginning work on the apartment above the shop. She plied her needle quickly and with practice. At first it had been a skill somewhat forgotten, making the small, even, and purposely invisible stitches in the hat, but it had quickly returned to her. She was the only one making hats at this point, but she did not feel rushed, for she could complete them quickly enough. Mark said that if they paid back Godfrey and finished the apartment above, they could hire another girl to work in the shop with Delia. At the moment, Delia wanted no company, however, so her solitary work satisfied her.
There was knocking above, which was the sound of Mark’s hammer, working to complete the apartment before the rains of May came. Outside it was rather quiet, as it was not a market day and still too cold for most people to walk about unless they had some purpose. The fire in the shop room kept Delia warm as did the rug she wore draped across her lap. She was as much trying to keep warm as she was trying to conceal her growing situation. It seemed to her to be perhaps improper to be working in front of strangers in this state, and yet there was no one else to do the work, so she let out her dresses and carefully arranged this rug so as to disguise her condition. If she cared to admit it, she hid it as much from strangers as she did for the benefit of herself and Mark. It upset her to think about it, and she knew that it must be just as devastating a subject for Mark, who still avoided her.
The sound of the hammering stopped, and in a few moments Mark entered through the store front door, taking off his hat. "Delia, I know you’re tired, why don’t we both go back to Godfrey’s house early today." Delia was surprised by this suggestion, as it was made clearly for her benefit alone. She had thought that he spent little time thinking about her anymore; that was the impression he gave at least. "I’m almost finished with this hat," she said, plying her needle once again. "I’ll gather up my tools then," he said, walking back outside. It was true that she was growing tired more easily, and her back hurt to bend over the bench and sit in the hard chair, yet she never complained. She knew she wasn’t very big for a woman of nearly five months, which she attributed to her age.
He came back into the room, carrying his box of tools, and she stood up, laying the hat aside. They walked out of the store, and Mark turned the black iron key in the door, and slid the bar as well. He turned to face her, and noticed Delia balancing her arm on her hip, "here, give me your arm," he said offering his arm to lean on. "Thank you," Delia said quietly, and they set off for Godfrey’s house, Delia careful not to depend too much on Mark’s help.
They stepped back into Godfrey’s house, and Juliana greeted them, "you’re all back rather early. Come sit down. I thought it might be raining outside when I heard your footsteps in the doorway," she said, leaning out over the counter to look out the window. "No, no rain yet," Mark said, letting Delia’s arm slip, and hanging up his cape. He put his hand out to take Delia’s without turning his head, and Delia slipped it off and placed it in his grasp. She went into the room and pulled a chair up closer to the fireplace. "Are you chilled, child?" "A bit from the walk, I’m afraid." "Let me get you some tea then," Juliana, said springing into action.
Mark sauntered over to the fireplace and stuck out his hands in front of the blaze. Delia watched him, and her eyes traveled to his hands, they were scraped and had dried blood on them. "Mark!" she exclaimed before thinking. He turned quickly around to face her amazed at her outburst: she barely spoke these days. "Your hands!" "Oh, I should wash them, I suppose," he said, stalking away from the fireplace towards the sink. "Are you all right?" Delia continued, almost unheeded. She stood up stiffly from her chair to follow him with her gaze. Mark began to wash his hands in the tub, and said to Juliana, "what’s all the fuss for with women? I cut myself, that’s all." Juliana smiled at him, "we tend to be like that with the ones we love I’m afraid, but I know you know that. Here you go, child," she said, handing the tea to Delia’s grateful hands. Mark, seemingly disturbed, walked upstairs without a further word, and Delia and Juliana were left alone in the room.
They sat in front of the fire, drinking their tea, and Juliana worked on some sewing. She looked up from over her work, "so, how have you been feeling, dear?" "I’ve been fine, thank you," Delia said. "No more sickness in the morning?" "No." "That’s good, it should have passed by now. We just have to keep feeding you." "Oh, I’m fine, really," Delia said, blushing and fiddling with her fingers.
Alan burst into the room, rain running off his shoulders and hat. "Oh, so it has begun to rain!" Juliana exclaimed. "Yes, and Father sent me to see if Mark wanted my help covering things up at the shop, but he wasn’t there, so I thought he might be here." Delia turned around in her seat. "Oh, I didn’t see you there Miss, how are you today?" "Fine thank you, Alan. Mark is upstairs. I’m sure he would appreciate your help." He nodded and ran up the stairs. "I know Mark was hoping it wouldn’t start to rain until he was finished with the new roof," Delia said to Juliana. "It’s all right, dear. Alan will help him get everything covered, and it won’t rain forever you know. Soon you’ll have a place of your own." "Oh! I hope you don’t think I’m being ungrateful! I didn’t mean that at all. We only don’t wish to impose any longer than we already have had to do, and then Mark has worked so hard that I wouldn’t want to see any of that ruined." "Oh, I know what you meant, dear."
Alan and Mark hurried down the stairs and both of them grabbed their capes and hats. "We’ll be back by dinner, I’m sure," Mark said addressing Juliana. "Should I come to the shop?" Delia offered. "There wouldn’t be any point," Mark said, dashing out the door. Delia, feeling openly scorned, turned her head to bite her handkerchief. "Are you all right, child?" "Mmm, I think I’ll go upstairs for awhile, as I’m feeling a little tired," Delia said, trying to control her voice, which was faltering. "Go right ahead then, dear."
Delia slowly climbed the stairs, gripping the banister. She went into their room and sat on the edge of the bed. She didn’t know how much more she could take. Surely there would have to be some resolution, whatever it be, to this horrible life that they were leading. If this child within her wasn’t Mark’s, she would have to leave: she could think of no other option, and yet despite the unhappiness of their present situation, Delia could not think of leaving Mark without being overcome by emotion.
The rain dried up after a few hours and it was close to dinnertime, and yet the boys were not back yet. Delia sat at their window looking out of it, waiting to catch a glimpse of them walking down the dirt road. But time wore on, and they didn’t arrive. Delia couldn’t understand what they could be doing once the place was covered up for the night. Perhaps a customer had come and Mark had to deal with them. Delia also thought of more grim explanations of why they had not returned, but she tried her best to strike these thoughts from her mind. Finally, she felt as if she could not rest until she knew that Mark was all right, for try as she may, she could not expel the morbid thoughts that had crept into her mind.
She hurried down the stairs and went for her cape that was hanging next to the door on a peg, where Mark had placed it. "Where are you going, child?" "I thought I’d go out back, I’m a bit stir crazy," Delia lied, knowing that Juliana would never let her walk about the streets by herself. "All right dear, but come in when you grow cold." "I will, thank you."
Delia hurried along the road, hoping Juliana would not look out the window after her. She felt badly about deceiving the woman, as she had been so very kind to her, but she was too upset not to go after Mark. It was a medium length walk, and Delia tried to make good time, so she took one of the side streets that led more directly towards their new shop. The skies were so dark that in the narrow of the road with wooden buildings on either side, it was almost as dark as night in the shadows. She kept her sights set on the light ahead at the end of the street, where it would meet the other main street, which the shop faced some few blocks down.
"Excuse me, Miss," a voice from the shadows called. Delia jumped, but kept walking. There were vast numbers of beggars in the streets and the best way to avoid them was to ignore them completely. The voice called again, this time seeming to be closer and from behind. Delia didn’t dare turn around, but hurried on more quickly. All at once the voice seemed to over take her, and she was about to break into a run, when an arm grasped her around her neck, stopping her dead. Something was sticking her in the back--something sharp--and she arched her back. "I have a knife, Miss, and you better give me all your money, or I’ll kill you with it!" Delia felt herself going into a swoon and she screamed with all her might.
XI
The air felt thick, making it hard for Delia to draw in breath and shadows hung above her. There were voices, unconnected to bodies, floating back to her. "It was little more than a prick, really. Calm yourself son, there is nothing to worry about with that." "But there was so much blood." "Is she going to die?" "She isn’t responding. Get some cold water, we’ll put it on her head." "Fetch a doctor, quick!" "Did you see her eyelids fluttering?" "Make sure she is warm enough and she should wake of her own accord, but you can fetch me again, if not." "Why was she out alone?" Some of the voices were loud, some very quiet. She thought she should know to whom they belonged, and yet nothing would clearly form in her mind.
A cold feeling crept into her mouth through her lips. Finally her eyes obeyed somewhat, and they flickered open enough to see that two of these shadows belonged to Juliana and Mark, both of whom held her hands. Juliana pressed a cube of ice to her lips, melting it slowly. "Delia?" Mark asked nervously. "Shhh…let her sleep and come to of her own accord. That’s what the doctor advised," Juliana said, wiping Delia’s forehead with the cool rag once again. Mark squeezed her hand, and she did her best to squeeze back, but he didn’t say anything, so she knew that she had failed.
Time passed and she slipped in and out of consciousness, and finally, only Mark was by her bed, kneeling on the floor, head buried in the covers, but still holding her hand. She opened her mouth, and with some effort managed to whisper, "Mark." He stirred awake and peered at her in the candlelight, thinking for sure that he had been tricked into thinking that he had heard her speak. But, her eyes focused on him, and he sat upright, leaning over her. "Oh praise God, you’re awake," he said, sighing with relief. He kissed the arm that was folded across her chest: this little affection, which so long been absent, made tears start from Delia’s eyes.
"No, no…shhh…don’t cry, dearest. Please, don’t cry, or my heart shall break." Delia blinked back her tears, trying to obey Mark. "Oh, Delia, if I hadn’t found you! If I hadn’t heard your cry…I hate to think, and then when you weren’t waking…" Delia thought to herself, ‘ah, then he saved me, and I still owe him.’ She closed her eyes, tired by the effort. He applied the wet rag gently to her forehead again. "Please promise me that you will never go out by yourself again, dearest. If I lost you, I wouldn’t have anything." "I…I had to." "No, dear, never again. You were nearly killed," he sounded desperate. "But, I…I was worried about you," Delia said laboriously.
Mark began to weep on Delia’s breast. He rested his head against her, and she weakly raised her hand, placing it on his back. "Oh, Delia, can you ever forgive me? Can you? I will understand if you hate me for these months…these months when you have needed me, and I was selfish and awful. Oh, God, please have mercy on me for treating you like this," he said, wringing his hands and weeping. Delia was confused by his words, "forgive you? No, but it is I who have done wrong. I brought this upon us." "No, dearest, sweetest, and most pure, Delia. Never could you have done that. And I have made you feel that way as well then. Why, why are you still with me, when I don’t deserve you at all?" Delia turned her face away from him, somewhat frightened to say what had so long been tacitly forbidden: "I love you."
Mark pulled himself up and sat next to her on the bed, leaning over her face. He put one of his arms carefully behind her head and slipped the other behind her back. Gently lifting her up, and holding her head against his shoulder, he held her tight, burying his face and tears in her hair. "My, Delia," he whispered, "I’ve been a fool. And yet, I’ve never stopped loving you, not for one day. I have that one goodness to share with you, but it doesn’t explain my actions." He laid her softly back down on the pillow, and adjusted it under her head. He softly kissed her forehead.
"I swear to you, my love, I shan’t be at all like I have been lately anymore. I shall never be that awful person. Our apartment above the shop will be finished soon, and we’ll have a place to raise our child." "But…" Delia began, feeling shamefully aware of herself for the first time since she had awakened. He kissed her lips softly with barely any pressure to keep her from continuing. He drew back, and held her hand firmly, "Delia, I’m your husband and that makes me the father." He kissed her cheeks and tasted her salty tears. "Sweetness, everything is going to be all right. I will make everything all right. I owe at least that much to you. All along you have done so much for me, and I will try to make at least some of that up. Please forgive me, dearest." "You do love me then?" "Yes, of course I do. I love you more than anything, and I want to have a family with you. I can be a good husband, Delia and I can be a good father too…I know it. If you’ll let me." "I’m so glad that…I thought…" "Oh Delia," he said kissing her quickly on both cheeks, "how could I ever have treated you so?"
Delia weakly managed to put her arms around his back, and Mark eased over next to her, lying down. "Come here," he said cradling her in his arms, and Delia rested her head against his chest, almost shaking, overcome with happiness. "Am I dreaming?" "No, no, not at all sweetness. Delia, if you can forgive me, nothing will ever come between us again. This has all been my fault, but my love, seeing you that way in the street…it made me think, think like I should have been thinking all along about this situation, and now it’s going to be different."
Delia still as yet found it too hard to believe, but as the weeks passed by, she slowly began to realize that the loving, caring husband for whom she had mourned was returned with no signs of ever leaving. He was more attentive, or rather he was as attentive in all the cases where he had been held back by his torn feelings of the past few months. And soon he had finished their apartment, so that they could live as husband and wife in their own home. Their business grew as well, so much that they had almost paid off most of their debt to Godfrey after living in their apartment for three months.
