“Why a blueberry pie? You don’t even like blueberries that much.”

At noon tea time, Ian, sitting on the study sofa and idly holding his wife’s hand, looked curiously at the golden-brown pie placed on the cake stand.

“Mrs. Starr sent it this morning through a servant. I gave her some fruit yesterday, and she baked it early as a thank-you.”

“That’s kind of her. She must be busy with the baby.”

“It seems quite tough, doesn’t it?”

“It’s completely different from when Harry was born. The baby cries when held, cries when laid down, cries when rocked, and even cries when sung to. The only time it doesn’t cry is when it’s asleep, but what’s the point? It wakes up every two hours.”

“…That must be exhausting.”

“Oliver, Mrs. Starr—both had dark circles under their eyes. Harry even slept in the garden hammock in the backyard. Said catching a cold is better than not sleeping at all.”

Laura gave a faint smile. Ian sensed a trace of melancholy in her demeanor.

“Still not feeling well?”

Laura nodded slightly. Ian put his arm around her shoulders.

“If it’s too hard, go lie down in bed. It’s fine to rest for a day.”

“I rested a lot yesterday. Besides, lying down all day makes it worse. Doing something is better.”

Ian looked at his wife’s pale face with concern.

“Shall I put a warm compress on your abdomen?”

Laura smiled weakly.

“No.”

“Then, how about a massage for your arms and legs?”

“You did that a lot yesterday.”

“But you seem even less energetic than yesterday.”

“I don’t know why.”

He brushed back a strand of Laura’s loose hair.

“At times like this, I just can’t understand the Creator. Why give women, who already suffer enough with childbirth, this monthly ordeal?”

“Probably because of Eve’s original sin. Dear, I’m really fine. Don’t worry.”

“I can’t help it.”

Ian looked down at Laura intently.

“You look worse than usual during that time, Laura.”

Laura flinched inwardly. She quickly forced a smile.

“Me?”

“Yes. Normally, you’re unwell until the second day. You seem depressed or tired. But now, it’s like…”

Worry and suspicion mingled in Ian’s dark eyes.

“It smells of despair.”

Laura laughed aloud.

“Goodness, despair? From me?”

“Isn’t it?”

“What reason would I have to be in despair?”

“Exactly. What could it be?”

Ian’s voice grew heavy. He was becoming more serious.

“Did I do something wrong? Have I been irritable because of the lawsuit without realizing it?”

Laura waved her hands quickly.

“Not at all. Not even a little.”

“Then?”

“Maybe I’m just feeling the autumn blues. The air’s already getting chilly, isn’t it?”

He still seemed unconvinced. Laura cupped Ian’s face with both hands.

“Maybe it’s because we couldn’t make love yesterday.”

“What?”

“After we parted at the study yesterday, I thought of you all day. ‘When night comes, I’ll do this and that with Ian,’ I was so excited, but…”

“Do this and that? What were you planning?”

He asked with a curious tone.

“Well, since you’ve been so well-mannered outside lately, I was going to treat you like a amusement ride as a reward.”

“Ha, why did it have to start yesterday, of all days? If it had started on the third day and ended on the sixth like usual, I would’ve been in heaven last night.”

“Who knows? Maybe God disapproves. We’re getting too indulgent.”

“Marriage was made so you can be indulgent with one person to your heart’s content.”

Ian wrapped his arms around Laura’s waist and kissed her cheek.

“Let me know as soon as it’s over. I’m always ready.”

“Okay.”

Laura hugged Ian’s neck. They held each other tightly.

“And,” Ian whispered softly.

“When you’re ready to be honest, tell me. I’m ready to listen to any problem.”

“…”

Ian released the embrace. He gently held Laura’s chin with his thumb and forefinger.

“Whatever the nature of your worries, you have to be honest with me. Got it?”

Laura understood his meaning. Her face grew somber.

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head.

“I’ll wait.”

“Okay.”

Ian kissed Laura’s cheek once more and stood up.

“I’d rather you went to bed, but if you must work, don’t overdo it. Alright?”

Laura nodded. She smiled but couldn’t meet his gaze.

“See you at dinner.”

“Okay. See you later.”

Ian left the study.

‘Pathetic.’

Left alone, Laura hung her head.

‘He knew everything. That I was hiding my true feelings with nonsense. He knew but played along. He let it go despite his suspicions. He… trusted me.’

She felt like crying.

‘Should I tell him? That I’m so sad my heart feels like it’ll burst. That I hate myself so much. That I just want to disappear from the world.’

Laura shook her head.

‘He’s the one who cried until his handkerchief was soaked hearing about my childhood. He feels my pain more than I do. If he knew my heart, his would become a living hell.’

Laura’s chest tightened. It felt like swallowing a red-hot stone. Unable to bear it, she fled the study. In the dressing room, she put on a coat and hat and stepped outside.

She walked aimlessly. Passing through the vast garden, which took a good twenty minutes to reach the front gate, she headed into the forest.

The cuckoo’s call echoed. The rustling of dry leaves rubbing against each other in the wind.

The forest was desolate. The trees stood bare, their leaves fallen. The air was chilly, the sunlight pale. Stepping on the lifeless, withered leaves felt like treading on corpses.

A chill seeped into Laura’s heart. If Ian were beside her, she might have found romance in this scene. She might have imagined the coming snow and Christmas.

But now, she could only think of death in the forest. An autumn forest slowly heading toward death. Bleak, shabby, and lonely.

Tears streamed down her cheeks unbidden. Having indulged in premature hopes of future happiness, she now paid the price, sinking into immense misery.

‘If we can never have a child, what will become of us?’

Laura was certain. Even so, his love would not waver. But that would be charity given to someone unworthy. She had failed in her duty as a wife. She was not worthy of his love.

Laura covered her mouth. Tears burst forth again. She hurriedly searched her coat pockets. But there was no handkerchief. In her haste, she had forgotten to bring one.

‘Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.’

It was a trivial mistake, yet overwhelming self-blame surged within her. A vast pessimism dragged her to the ground. She crouched down where she stood.

‘I’ll never get pregnant. My body is completely ruined. Like a rotten apple, like spoiled raw meat. I’m… utterly useless.’

She curled up and began to sob loudly. The tears she had held back at the manor, the anguish she had suppressed to avoid her perceptive husband, poured out.

But then, amidst her sobbing, the sound of rustling footsteps reached her ears. On a path rarely traveled, a stranger had appeared.

She rubbed her tear-blurred eyes and looked ahead. A brown horse limping with its head lowered. A tall, slender figure in a dark brown frock coat, leading it by the reins.

“Aunt?”

It was Henry.

Laura sprang up and turned away.

“Are you hurt? Or has something happened?”

His trembling voice was laced with worry.

Feeling mortified, Laura fled to hide behind a massive tree, about two arm spans wide, across the path.

Her heart pounded as she listened for Henry’s movements. Thankfully, he didn’t approach. Laura quickly wiped her tears. The lack of a handkerchief was a problem. She managed to dry her tears, but her runny nose was beyond help.

With no choice, she called out for assistance.

“Henry, could you lend me a handkerchief?”

He approached slowly. Soon, something slipped into the pocket of Laura’s coat. Henry had discreetly placed a handkerchief there. His footsteps retreated to where he had been.

Laura wiped her nose with the handkerchief. She was utterly embarrassed.

“I can’t return it right away. I’m sorry.”

Laura apologized in a cracked voice.

“You can keep it.”

“That won’t do. I’ll wash it, starch it crisp, and return it.”

“Do as you like, Aunt. But…”

A sigh escaped Henry.

“Did you… fight with Uncle?”

“What reason would I have to fight with a husband as good as him?”

“Then…?”

“It’s a personal matter. I hope you understand I can’t speak openly about it.”

“No, I’m sorry for prying.”

Laura leaned against the tree trunk.

“By the way, what brings you to Whitefield?”

“Well… I left my sketchbook behind last time.”

“Oh.”

Laura nodded.

“It’s in his office. Tell him, and either he or Noel will give it to you.”

“Thank you.”

“He’s the one who kept it. No need to thank me.”

“Right. Then.”

The rustling sound of Henry turning away reached her ears. He seemed to be taking another path leading to Whitefield Hall. Laura sighed in relief.

“Aunt.”

The fading footsteps suddenly stopped. Still leaning against the tree, waiting for Henry to leave, Laura turned her head slightly toward him.

“Since the last time we met, I’ve been thinking over the praise you gave me. Thank you for saying such beautiful things about my drawings. If someone in Paris had spoken to me like you did, I wouldn’t have given up my dream of being an artist.”

“…”

“I’m jealous of Uncle for marrying a woman with a heart like yours. If I were him, even if I lost everything tomorrow, I wouldn’t trade you for anything. Even if I lived as a wandering peasant for the rest of my life, with a wife like you, I wouldn’t envy a king. A good wife is everything to a man.”

Henry’s footsteps faded once more.

Hidden behind the tree, Laura peeked out toward where Henry had been. In the distance, she saw him leading his horse back the way he came. His figure, carefully guiding the limping animal, grew smaller, a mere dot in the landscape.

‘A good wife is everything to a man.’

New tears welled in Laura’s eyes. Henry couldn’t know, but his words were the comfort she needed most in that moment.

Having a child was in God’s hands. But being a good wife to her husband was something she could achieve through human effort. Though still far off, if she could one day become a worthy wife to him, she could embrace his love with greater confidence.

She buried her face in the handkerchief Henry had given her. Never had Henry felt more like true family than today.