Chapter Sixteen
“About two months before I went into labor, I woke in the middle of the night with the palms of my hands and the soles of my feet itching. It was horrible. I scratched and scratched, and still I itched. It was like fire under my skin.” She paused, a wry smile on her face. “I know it doesn’t sound that bad, but?—”
“Oh, no,” Mark cut in, his own skin crawling at her description. “It sounds like torture.”
“It got worse each night. The itching would mostly stop during the day, but at night it got so bad I could scarcely sleep. Although my hands and feet were the worst, some nights the itching crawled up my legs. I would scratch so hard I bled. One night two of my fingernails broke, and I cried because it would take time for them to regrow and be usable for scratching again.” Ellen, perhaps in memory, rubbed her palms. “I bought two rough boar-bristle brushes and scratched and scraped every night. A few days before I went into labor, everything itched so badly I went to the kitchen looking for a knife.”
Mark stared at her in alarm.
“Not to hurt myself, you understand,” she added quickly. “Just to scrape the sharp edge along my skin. Anything to find relief.”
“Did lotions not work?”
“Only while they were being rubbed into my skin.” She looked rueful. “When I told the doctor, he looked at my hands and feet and saw nothing. Everything looked normal. No hives, rash, or anything beyond the scratches I put there myself. It got to the point I was only sleeping an hour or two at a time. I tried to switch sleeping during the day, when the itching wasn’t so bad, but even a normal pregnancy, at the end, is uncomfortable. I was a wreck.
“And then her movements grew sluggish. Slower and weaker than before. I told the doctor, but he said that was normal. That she was growing and it was harder for her to move. I didn’t feel right, but he said it was all in my head.”
Mark ground his teeth in frustration.
“I have no proof, but I’m convinced the itching and her passing are related. I’m certain. I talked to other women, but they all thought I meant my belly was itching from stretched skin. It wasn’t that at all. And then by the time I went into labor, she’d stopped moving completely. I was so scared. I knew something wasn’t right, but the doctor kept calling me a silly little woman.”
“I want his name. I want his direction.” Anger built in his chest, making him feel he would explode from the strain.I will kill him.
Ellen shook her head. “He’s retired now, thank goodness. And then Constance was born, probably already gone for two days by the time she arrived.” Her eyes welled with tears. “I cannot go through that again.”
“Would it happen again?” Mark asked. “Is it a guaranteed ending?”
She shook her head. “I’ve met one woman who gave birth to a live baby after she began itching. Her midwife helped her go into labor early as soon as she felt the baby’s movements slow. They didn’t wait like I did.”
“Like your doctor forced you to,” Mark corrected.
She nodded absently, acknowledging his point while still lost in memories. “I asked every doctor who would listen, telling them about the itching and how part of my chest started to ache near the end. Most of them brushed me off.It’s normal,they said.Your body is going through lots of changes. Just rest. Hysteria isn’t good for the baby, so when you try again don’t worry about it.She looked at Mark. “Mrs. Daugherty has heard of this condition before. It’s quite rare. She said she heard of two women, a total of four pregnancies between them. Of those four cases, two ended in stillbirth. The subsequent pregnancies produced small, jaundiced babies who grew up to be normal children.So it does seem that once it happens, the chances of it happening again are high.”
Mark shuddered, thinking of sleepless nights spent scratching and scratching until he bloodied his sheets. “I understand. I wish you’d told me earlier, but I understand.”
“So you see--” Her voice cracked, and she pursed her lips together, as if to regain composure.
Mark moved to her side without thought, wrapping an arm around her and pressing a kiss to her hair. “I see.” His heart ached at disappointing his family, but it ached at the sorrow in Ellen’s face even more.
“Even if I desperately wish to be a mother and to hold a baby and know that he’s mine, I cannot. I cannot go through that again,” Ellen said in a tight, small voice as she fought to keep control.
Mark held her as she gulped down the rest of her tea, wincing at the taste.
After a moment, she turned to look up at him. “I think I may have said some hurtful things earlier.”
He wasn’t sure how to reply.
“I didn’t mean them. I let fear of the consequences overcome the moment. I do want you, and I am happy we were together. I need to take the tea and then we can go back to the way we were before.”
Mark sighed, looking away so she wouldn’t see the pain in them. What did his feelings matter now, compared to everything she’d gone through?
“Oh, I did hurt you.” Ellen bit her lip, searching his eyes. “You are not a mistake. We are not a mistake. The only mistake was that I didn’t have a sponge prepared beforehand.” She kissed him hard.
Tentatively, Mark put a hand to her face. “You know I care about you?”
She nodded. “And I care about you.”
He ran his fingers through her hair.