Read Online Asked For by Colleen L. Donnelly - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Colleen L. Donnelly
Tags: Women's Fiction
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learning to be a wife had made Lana’s heart beat with more excitement than the stout form of Ella coming over the rise, plodding through the dust and rocks to see her, to show her how to do things good enough to satisfy Cletus. “You think I can handle a baby all right?” The baby squirmed, emitted a soft cry that made Lana feel as helpless as it sounded.
“Of course you can, even though you’re barely older than she is.” Ella laughed. “Brides get younger and younger every year, I swear.”
Lana tried to smile. Grandma was right about that, too. Lana hadn’t been a bride, only a wife. But wives sure made beautiful babies. She thought of the nearby picture on Cletus’ chest of drawers, the wife who was bright, happy, pretty, and holding onto his son. Lana didn’t look up at the woman. She hurt, she was bleeding, but she was alive, and so was Cletus’ daughter. Their family was started. This was a new beginning.
Cletus had touched her belly while she carried this child, his eyes prying to look inside at his son. He had tamed his passion at night, made sure she was comfortable and her belly out of his way, all the while explaining sons’ value, how they kept a man alive. She’d slowly begun to understand the liberty sons had. It didn’t matter if they were beautiful, it didn’t matter if they were there or gone. Making love wasn’t an issue for them, either, only making babies, and having a wife who gave them sons.
Lana drew her daughter against her breast and held her there. If this baby had been a boy instead of a girl… Lana pressed the baby tighter, leaned close, and whispered against her head. You’ll always be beautiful. Someday you will be a bride. You’re a girl, and that’s still special.
“What are you going to name her?” Ella asked. Lana looked up. Ella was gathering wet and bloody towels and rags from around the bed, taking away the stains that said this had been a painful experience. It had been painful. Lana relaxed her hold on the baby and drew in a long breath. It was still painful. This tiny bundle had stretched and torn Lana’s body to make its way to her arms, but it was worth it. The pain was welcome. None of what she’d gone through would frighten her away from the marvel of having more children, lots of sons, maybe even another girl.
“We never talked about what to name her. Cletus planned on a boy, so he probably never thought much about a girl’s name.” Her head felt heavy, and she let it sink deep into the pillow. She was so tired and yet so exuberant.
“What about you? You thought of any names?”
Lana looked down at her daughter. Her misshapen face, her matted light hair, her puffy eyes. Ella’d told her all infants looked like this right after birth, as if the shock of leaving a womb was something to be apologized for. It didn’t matter to Lana how her baby looked now or a year from now. She was precious, and she always would be. It was the rest of the world that would think differently, the men who needed sons, Cletus who was outside waiting to greet his new boy. “She has to have a special name,” Lana said in a whisper. “One that will shout how beautiful she is.”
Ella tucked the dirty towels into a bag and leaned over the bed, peering down at Lana’s daughter. “You could call her Rose,” she suggested. “Roses are beautiful.”
“They are.” Lana nodded. “But I want a name even more special than Rose. I want a name that will remind her and everyone else she’s exceptional.”
Ella straightened and frowned.
“You know. A name people will notice.” Lana traced a finger around the dried crust on her baby’s skin, thinking of the few women she’d known, books about heroines she’d read, and stories Jeanie had shared about fabled princesses. “Like Magdalena,” she said. Magdalena Trenton was a girl from Jeanie’s tales, a girl who’d suffered years of desolation and hardship, only to find out later she was actually royalty,
“Of course you can, even though you’re barely older than she is.” Ella laughed. “Brides get younger and younger every year, I swear.”
Lana tried to smile. Grandma was right about that, too. Lana hadn’t been a bride, only a wife. But wives sure made beautiful babies. She thought of the nearby picture on Cletus’ chest of drawers, the wife who was bright, happy, pretty, and holding onto his son. Lana didn’t look up at the woman. She hurt, she was bleeding, but she was alive, and so was Cletus’ daughter. Their family was started. This was a new beginning.
Cletus had touched her belly while she carried this child, his eyes prying to look inside at his son. He had tamed his passion at night, made sure she was comfortable and her belly out of his way, all the while explaining sons’ value, how they kept a man alive. She’d slowly begun to understand the liberty sons had. It didn’t matter if they were beautiful, it didn’t matter if they were there or gone. Making love wasn’t an issue for them, either, only making babies, and having a wife who gave them sons.
Lana drew her daughter against her breast and held her there. If this baby had been a boy instead of a girl… Lana pressed the baby tighter, leaned close, and whispered against her head. You’ll always be beautiful. Someday you will be a bride. You’re a girl, and that’s still special.
“What are you going to name her?” Ella asked. Lana looked up. Ella was gathering wet and bloody towels and rags from around the bed, taking away the stains that said this had been a painful experience. It had been painful. Lana relaxed her hold on the baby and drew in a long breath. It was still painful. This tiny bundle had stretched and torn Lana’s body to make its way to her arms, but it was worth it. The pain was welcome. None of what she’d gone through would frighten her away from the marvel of having more children, lots of sons, maybe even another girl.
“We never talked about what to name her. Cletus planned on a boy, so he probably never thought much about a girl’s name.” Her head felt heavy, and she let it sink deep into the pillow. She was so tired and yet so exuberant.
“What about you? You thought of any names?”
Lana looked down at her daughter. Her misshapen face, her matted light hair, her puffy eyes. Ella’d told her all infants looked like this right after birth, as if the shock of leaving a womb was something to be apologized for. It didn’t matter to Lana how her baby looked now or a year from now. She was precious, and she always would be. It was the rest of the world that would think differently, the men who needed sons, Cletus who was outside waiting to greet his new boy. “She has to have a special name,” Lana said in a whisper. “One that will shout how beautiful she is.”
Ella tucked the dirty towels into a bag and leaned over the bed, peering down at Lana’s daughter. “You could call her Rose,” she suggested. “Roses are beautiful.”
“They are.” Lana nodded. “But I want a name even more special than Rose. I want a name that will remind her and everyone else she’s exceptional.”
Ella straightened and frowned.
“You know. A name people will notice.” Lana traced a finger around the dried crust on her baby’s skin, thinking of the few women she’d known, books about heroines she’d read, and stories Jeanie had shared about fabled princesses. “Like Magdalena,” she said. Magdalena Trenton was a girl from Jeanie’s tales, a girl who’d suffered years of desolation and hardship, only to find out later she was actually royalty,
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