Logs:A Life That Almost Wasn't
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| RL Date: 5 May, 2000 |
| Who: K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: A life that almost wasn't. |
| Where: Vinehold, Tillek Area |
| When: Between Turn 1 and Turn 3 of the Interval |
| Once upon a time, Mira had been Almira, beloved only child of a relatively prosperous small Holder close to Tillek. Once upon a time, she'd been considered a great beauty: a good catch. At twenty-nine, however, she felt old. Seven pregnancies had altered her body; running after seven children, while keeping the house, while helping with the vines, had ruined once beautiful hands, and added lines to a once vibrant face. She stared at herself in the glass - a wedding present, one of the few fine things the little vinehold held - and could barely recognise her younger self in it. Almira had danced at every gather she could get to. She'd flirted and flounced, and had big dreams of love affairs and a charmed life. Almira had fallen for Kemmil in a wine-soaked haze, in alcoholic kisses stolen behind a gather tent; she'd refused to listen to her mother's horror, her father's dismay, and she'd married him, travelled away from everything she knew to be the vineholder's wife. They'd been little more than children, and though they hadn't yet realised it, already parents in the making. Brennan had been easy enough. And though Mira had hoped for a little more time after his birth, Elnard, a turn and a half later, hadn't been too bad, either. But then there was Elasin, and then, not even a whole turn later, Caderin. Then Perris. She'd hoped he was the last, had even been enjoying not being pregnant for a while, when Ander came along. And Marrin. For the second time, she'd considered herself done, after Marrin. He was, after all, over three turns old, now - weaned, and toilet trained, and needing so much less attention. But. But. She sank down towards the floor. She was late. And after seven pregnancies, she could feel the difference: the tenderness in her breasts, the curls of nausea that came and went. Almira, only-child Almira, had told Kemmil she wanted a big family, and he'd been delighted. But Mira, mother-of-seven Mira, was tired. She cried. But what could she do? she asked the question of herself day in, day out, hiding her condition from her husband, her family, though she wasn't entirely sure why. "But what could I do?" she shrugged, over tea with a neighbour, trying to smile ruefully, pretend everything was okay. "You could get rid of it." The suggestion might well have been 'you could jump off a cliff', or 'you could squawk like a chicken'. Mira was bowled over by it, utterly overwhelmed. "How?" The question escaped her lips before she could think on the idea any further. It frightened her. But the neighbour didn't judge. She didn't even raise an eyebrow. And she told her - and Mira listened. She sat alone in the kitchen - "cleaning up", after everyone else had retired to bed. Kemmil had suggested she not take too long, and it had made her stomach turn over. That wasn't fair: it wasn't his fault. They were married, and it was a good, solid marriage. It was just... If only she had a way to prevent getting pregnant in the first place. She made the tea as she had been instructed, sniffing cautiously; it smelled vile. She poured it into a mug, holding it between both hands, and took a deep breath. It was time. And then: "Mamma?" A voice from the doorway. She looked up, and there was Brennan, tall and perhaps not handsome, but so - so solid and dependable, and good natured. "Are you all right, Mamma?" "I'm fine, Bren. You should be in bed." "You look sad, Mamma. Are you sure you're all right?" The look on his face made her mind up. She couldn't do it. She couldn't. "I'm fine, sweetheart. Just cleaning this up. Go back to bed, mm? Else you'll wake the others when you go in." She turned away, emptying the mug, and rinsing it out carefully. There were tears in the corners of her eyes. "If you're sure, Mamma." "I'm sure, Bren." He hesitated; no doubt he could hear the catch in her voice. But she turned around, and smiled at him, and he nodded once, and was gone. Later, she crawled into bed next to Kemmil, who immediately put his hand upon her breast. "I'm pregnant," she told him. Not a 'stop'. Just... There. "Mira! When?" She could hear the excitement in his voice, an excitement that had never waned, not after all of these pregnancies. "Sixth month, I think." "A little girl this time, maybe? For Elasin." "I'll see what I can do."
The neighbour's gaze was meaningful, as she helped Mira get comfortable. Mira couldn't look at her, hated to think back to those early days, what she'd nearly done. Her seventh son was born not long after nightfall - healthy, completely bald, and with delicate, almost feminine features. She fell in love, instantly. She always did.
But this would be the last. She told Kemmil that. She made him promise. |
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