Free Monstrous Beauty by Elizabeth Fama Page A

exceptionally bright. Listening to them speak, she became fluent in the local dialect, so that there was nothing but her odd paleness and almost imperceptibly oval pupils to set her apart from them. More often than not, when the sisters brought their goods to sell in the town, Sarah stayed behind with domestic chores and the peacefulness of the pond.
    It was two months later, when Sarah began to excuse herself from the sisters’ constitutional sunrise swims, that Lydia followed her to her bedroom and heard the retching sound through the door. She waited quietly until Sarah emerged, her face shiny and freshly washed.
    “How long have you been ill upon rising in the morning?” Lydia asked gently.
    “I am not ill. I will feel well again after I eat.”
    “Forgive me, you are correct. It is not an illness to be with child. It is a blessing. It is a miracle.”
    Sarah’s eyes opened wide. “With ch—?” She clamped her hand over her mouth. “No! Please. It can’t be. It’s rather the newness of this place. I’m still growing accustomed to the food and to the air—that is, the fresh air —which are so different from…”
    “From where, my dear? Perhaps this is a sign from God that it is time to write to your husband and see if your differences can be worked out.” She smiled and looked pointedly in the direction of Sarah’s belly. “For the sake of the child.”
    Sarah conceded to herself with growing revulsion that there was a sensation of fullness low in her abdomen that she had ignored. Her breasts were tender. She fatigued easily of late.
    So it was done, through violence rather than love: she was mortal.
    Her mouth became a tight line. She stood up straight and put her shoulders back. “He is dead.”
    “Who…?”
    “The child’s father is dead.”
    Lydia’s mouth opened. “I’m so sorry.”
    “I am not.”
    Lydia was silent, with her mouth still open. Sarah sensed that more was needed. A sign of compassion, or hope; a lie.
    “He was … from a wealthy family. His mother has longed for a grandchild. It will be beloved and cared for.” She clasped Lydia’s wrinkled hands. “Please, I could not bear to live with her now while she grieves for him; may I stay here until my confinement? I beg you.”
    “But this woman should know…”
    “I’ll send word. I shall write a letter today. She’ll take comfort in knowing I am safe in your hands.”
    Lydia smiled. “You may stay until the baby is born. We will help you with the delivery and recovery, and take you to your mother-in-law when you and the baby are strong.”
    “You are all kindness,” Sarah said. “It was fortun— It was a blessing that you found me.”
    Lydia took her to the secretary in the front hall and gave her a sheet of paper, an envelope, a wax seal, and pen and ink.
    “I have no postage, but I will make a trip into town later today and take your letter with me.”
    Sarah said, “I should like to come with you, if it is not an inconvenience.”
    Sarah prepared the envelope as if it contained a letter. In town, she excused herself on the pretext of mailing it, threw the blank letter in a dustbin outside of a pub, and went inside. It was early in the day, so only a few drunkards lingered there. She inquired of them about a man named Ezra Doyle.
    Mr. Doyle? Yes, he was alive, although he’d had a nasty brush with drowning down the coast and had been melancholic ever since. No, he had not married. How could he form an attachment? He spent all his days at the bay, brooding on the rocky outcropping or rowing his boat aimlessly offshore.
    Sarah had scarcely allowed herself to hope that he was alive, let alone that he was still searching for her. She was unable to speak. A sober man might have seen that her lower lip trembled.
    “And whom might we say is the ravishing lady who inquired after him?” the bar owner called across the counter, his eyebrows raised and his mouth half smiling.
    She pinned him with her eyes and found her