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“You wanted a divorce?” Abby said, voice eerily quiet in a way Frank wasn’t familiar with. But then again it hadn’t felt like he’d known his wife in years. “I’m done. Let’s get a divorce.”
The tension in the air had been thick for the entire half hour since they turned in for the day following a dinner at an overly fancy restaurant. It had not brought back the magic. The menu was overpriced, it was too quiet, and Frank had been underdressed. They’d both been silent upon their return, slipping off shoes and jewelry and unbuttoning shirts until this moment when she’d found the fortitude to pick a fight that led them right to the climax.
Out of pure shock, without a second to think he responded, “Are you serious? You’re the one who kept saying we could fix it. That’s why we came back to Pittsburgh!”
The place where their relationship had been at its best. Good memories in the old familiar neighborhoods of their courtship and early marriage. Hot and fast and heavy and serious too quickly, so fueled by physical chemistry it assured them both that the rest would come later. Except the rest never came together like Frank had once assumed. Instead of deepening bonds, resentment was what grew and festered in the gaps of not knowing what the other needed.
The kind of gaps that partially caused their life in Pittsburgh to blow up. Furiously trying to fill the holes with dirt or sand by moving to North Carolina. Smoothing out the lumps and cracks by leaning into their corporeal connection that soon failed them too. When the truth of the matter had always been the foundation was unstable and without repair, had rotted.
Abby looked at him without recognition, “Now I’m saying it’s over.”
Langdon shook his head disbelieving; strands of mused and unruly hair moved around from the force, but it was hollow. It wasn’t that he couldn’t believe this had happened, it was practically a foregone conclusion. No, instead it was the frustration at dragging the whole mess out. That they had to let it get all the way to…to indifference for it to finally end.
“Fine. Whatever. I’m going for a drive.” Frank rubbed at his jaw, feeling the prickle of stubble and letting it be a momentary distraction. The need to get out and away from the tension was pressing. He didn’t hold any anger at all when he justified it, “I need to cool off.”
Abby tapped a loose fist against the ugly upholstered chair she sat in. She refused to meet his eyes again, feet tucked under up and curled defensively into herself. They were both licking at wounds in their own ways.
“I’ll see about getting another room while you’re gone.”
He scoffed, “Gee thanks, Abs.”
Frank swiped his keys from where they were scattered across the standard issue hotel desk and shoved them into his pocket with his wallet. He let the too loose ring slip off his finger without a care for where it landed. Palms patted his other side double checking for his cell phone, while slipping his feet into his Nike sneakers. He kept his gaze forward. Not even a twitch of an urge to turn back in his mind before the door slammed closed, echoey and loud and final in the hotel hallway.
Frank didn’t have a wife anymore. It was as much relief as it was loss.
He was alone, again. His father had died right after he finished high school in rural western Pennsylvania in the same small town where Frank had grown up his entire life. He was buried in the local church graveyard he had never been able to step foot in since the funeral. Even now, only a couple hours from what was once home he couldn’t convince himself to go back. Memories were reminder enough; he wasn’t interested in seeing the reality live and in person.
There was no knowing where his mother had gone off too. During his sophomore year at Pitt, she’d run off to Reno with her boyfriend leaving a wad of cash under the floorboards of the doublewide for Frank, a small chunk of the settlement from Dad’s death on the job—heart attack while shoveling snow to clear the sidewalks of the chain restaurant he’d spent twenty years bartending for.
He had been a drunk for as long as Frank could remember. Sundays with Steelers games playing in the back ending with Dad passed out on the worn couch. Mom chattering on the landline in the kitchen while cigarette smoke lazily blew out the wedged open window. The cash was his only inheritance–besides the remains he picked through his childhood home, because the lease on the trailer was expiring at the end of the month. He’d dodged his mother’s calls ever since. Eventually she’d just stopped reaching out. Resentment and grief were what was left.
Lesson learned young, it was better to make his own path. He shouldered the loans, he put in the work, he made something of himself alone. Even though it hadn’t been a straight line, that he would always be grateful in some way for how Abby had helped him through despite not wanting to, he had done it. Now he was in the exact same place he’d been left in the midst of his father’s death: alone with an unclear future in front of him.
Frank pulled away from the hotel without a destination in mind. He’d been going around in a circle for who knew how long. Then, an idea: Go to the water. The thought consumed him. He’d always been calmed by the river, looking out into its vastness, how it always flowed and changed, never seeing in the same water twice.
There was this ache where he thought he’d cured the fear of loneliness long ago.
His mind was blank as he drove, the lone thing he could feel with the pinch of his fingers catching between the cool gold links of the bracelet he gripped in his pocket. A mindless purchase during his and Abby’s furtive antique browsing marathon during the day. While it was a women’s piece, he hadn’t bought it with his wife in mind, or with anyone he knew in mind. There was only a sense that it was something he should have.
He drove the local streets low to the river. Taking in the views and semi-familiar environment allowed Frank to come to a peace with the situation. Hopefully the divorce could be amicable, without Abby there was a whole new world of what he could do and where we could go for work. Steady practice work in a quiet area maybe, though he’d end up bored out of his mind most likely.
Scanning the road in front of him, Frank spotted an odd vision in the distance. Just off the path something like a specter swirled, emitting a silvery light. He couldn’t tear his eyes off the form in the distance. His car slowed as he approached closer and closer trying to make out exactly what the vision was.
Like the pull of a puppet string, Frank turned the wheel, the car went over the double lines in the middle of the road and directly through the path of the specter. Everything went black.
In the wee hours of the morning, long after Melissa King should have been asleep, but not long before she should have woken, she spied the body of a man on the banks of the Allegheny River.
Sore, tired feet carry her down to the shores to better assess the situation. His eyes were closed, his skin and clothes wet from the flow, but his head had seemingly stayed out of the water. She pressed two fingers to the visible blue vein on his long pale neck and thought, beat damn you! Then she found it, a slowed but steady and there the thump, thump, thump beneath her index and middle digits. In response, her own heart settled with relief; he was alive.
Mel attempted to rouse him with a shake, with calling out (Sir? Sir, can you hear me?), yet he remained stubbornly unconscious. Some gentle, then finally forceful, pats to his handsome face that reddened as he stayed slack. She would have to move the stranger without his help then. It took some moments to arrange herself above. With her hands gripping steady beneath his armpits and the leverage from her legs Mel managed to pull him fully from the river bed that might have become his grave.
There was no risk of him drowning any longer should the river rise with unexpected rain. The stranger was chilly to the touch and Mel was starting to shiver herself in her now damp dress that clung and weighed her down with all its layers. Carrying him was an impossible feat. Leaving him seemed cruel despite having ensured his safety.
She chose the middle ground; returning to the road overlooking the river banks. It’s early, yes, but merchants would begin heading to their duties for the day with the burgeoning sun that would light up the world more with each minute. The laborers headed to shifts at the factories or mills would venture out, the city coming alive, the streets filled. She wouldn’t be alone much longer and she could rely on some good will to help her cause.
Mel stood in a growing sunny patch that warmed as the day started anew, clutching her arms around herself to preserve her body’s remaining heat. She could not afford to get sick. There was simply too much to do, too many who needed her.
Doubt crawled over her, begging for her attention and wrapping its tangled web around her like a spider when her ears picked up the rumbling of a cart—exactly what she needed!
She startled him with her quick approach–one moment by the banks, the next in the street in front of him, inches from getting run over. But it seemed in the end despite all the protests he offered, her pleading and good intent won him over. The merchant, Mr. Davis (with a new wife at home, she’d come to learn), his cart empty before he procured his wares from a local ship, helped her bring the stranger from the shores. Once he was placed on the cart the journey home no longer seemed so daunting. The cart rumbled down the road; the clunking wheels the only sound that rang in Mel’s ears.
She burst through the entry way, causing a chaotic scene with Mr. Davis, the stranger, and the cart for her poor butler Samson and housekeeper Louise. It took all four of them over some bickering and ultimately resignation to get the stranger settled in a bed.
Safe under her roof, the stranger now under her protection, for a moment, she watched the man’s chest rise and fall in a steady cadence. There was no time to rest, just enough to pull herself together. When she felt a little less dead on her feet–after the self-reassurance that the quicker the stranger was tended to the quicker she could sleep–she got to work.
Mel set his leg to the best of her ability using his other limb as a reference to realign the bone. It was a blessing he was unconscious for this part though she knew the pain would follow when he woke. She’d secured a splint around the extremity to prevent movement. His clothing was incredibly strange but extremely flexible so there was no reason to remove it for the moment as it had considerably dried. Checking over her work for a fourth time, Mel finally let herself settle. There was nothing else to do until the stranger came to.
With the stranger (her stranger now, she supposes) settled, she was truly able to study him for the first time. Of course she hadn’t missed his beauty, the appealing form of his body. In the haste of ensuring his survival though the details were lost. The first signs of growing stubble cover his jaw, which was noticeably clenched. His brows were full. His forehead was furrowed even in rest. His veins were prominent as were muscles. There was a dimple in his chin Mel found inherently endearing and attractive. Perhaps, he was a fisherman or a sailor who fell overboard in the night. In her gentle care of him she hadn’t noticed any unusual marks or initials adorning his clothing. He remained a lovely mystery.
A yawn enveloped her body, the full day awake catching up with her it seems. She should retreat to her own bed and rest, even if she ends up tossing and turning for hours as was her typical routine. Even her body was exhausted though, a delivery of a healthy baby boy and his grateful mother in the night, followed by the rescue of her stranger. It wouldn’t be such a sin to remain in her chair for a little longer.
Her eyes drooped. Weariness won.
“I’m meeting Lizzie Martel for a round of badminton today and I will beat her. Mel says as long as it’s still warm enough, I can always play. It feels warm to me,” Becca regaled.
The familiar chatter of her sister pulled Mel from a deep slumber. Heaviness had settled into her bones, soreness from last night’s work made her muscles stiff, her eyes were too stubborn to open. She was comfortable where she was—a rarity as much as being so rested was. A few moments more couldn’t have hurt.
“Seems warm to me,” a male voice replied to Becca. “Though that could be all the blankets you set me up with.”
A giggle.
Instantaneously, Mel was no longer satisfied lazing about. It wasn’t proper for Becca to be speaking with gentlemen unsupervised, to be giggling in one’s presence! She stirred, forcing herself out of comfort.
“There she is,” the same male voice echoed off the walls. As her eyes focused she realized it was none other than her stranger who’d spoken! His utterance cut through the thick cloud of sleep she struggled against, so clear and warm she felt it in her chest. “Impressive work you’ve done on me Doctor.”
His face was impassive but Mel couldn’t help but feel she’d missed something in his tone, an all too familiar sentiment she experienced in social conversations.
Becca chose then to chime in, “She’s not a doctor.”
“No, I’m not-“ Mel closed her lips, pressing them in a line. “Becca you shouldn’t be in here unchaperoned.”
“You’re in here,” Becca pointed out flatly, and much to Mel's chagrin, correctly.
Mel sat up straighter. She hoped for the man she looked intimidating, mature. She needed Becca not to fight her on this. “Yes. To help—“ Her eyes flitted from Becca to the stranger and back to Becca, “to help this man. Will you go to the parlor instead, please? Have you eaten yet today?”
“Louise, served breakfast at 9 like always.” Becca said, more enthusiastic now. “I counted the rings of the clock. You missed it.”
Mel nodded, acknowledging the truth. “I did. I’ll have luncheon with you before you leave for badminton, though. I promise.”
“Alright.” Becca stood with little fanfare. She gave their houseguest a half curtsey, “Feel better! Mel will make you good as new.”
Becca paused in the doorway waiting, Mel nodded her thanks and it was enough for Becca to take her leave. The door closed behind her with a soft click. Then it was only her and her stranger who had watched.
She fully faced the man, sure to make direct contact when she asked: “Did you take liberties with my sister, Sir?”
Though he’s propped up by pillows, he still flinches back at the accusation. “No. She came looking for you. She brought me extra blankets and then she told me about—about you. And her plans for the day. That’s all. Nothing inappropriate.”
Mel stared intently at him, though she knew she wasn’t very frightening, and accepted his word as truth when he didn’t try to evade the question or its implications.
Becca had never shown any interest in marriage or men at all. She was content with her hobbies and well-kept social calendar, particularly with Lizzie Martel. Mel couldn’t pretend it wasn’t a relief, especially considering she herself had enough trouble navigating the marriage market. They made the requisite appearances at parties and events and committees as well-bred young women are ought to do, though far less than two eligible girls with a living and meddlesome mother would.
Prospects continued to leave her skittish. She disliked being called upon at her home. Meetings of casual interest felt more like invasions and interrogations. It was inevitable she would give up on the whole thing eventually. Mel hadn’t looked in regret back since.
“That sounds like her,” she admitted.
He smiled that handsome smile. “She’s sweet. And funny too.”
“She is.” Mel sat back in her chair realizing just how close to him she’d been this whole time. Her face had been pressed against the same bed her stranger continued to lie in. There had barely been a separation. “I-I don’t know how I fell asleep here. It was hardly appropriate.”
“If it’s true you hauled me out of the river yourself that seems exhausting.” He shifts around attempting to get comfortable, she assumes. Reason enough. I’m not offended if that’s what you’re worried about.”
She shrugged. It truly wasn’t a burden on her.
“I had help from a good samaritan. And a cart.”
“But you brought me back here and patched me up yourself. I–Thank you for that. For all of it, actually. And you’re not a doctor?”
“I am not a doctor, as Becca said. I am a midwife. I learned from my mother before she passed and that’s why I was able to help you.” She rushed to explain herself, having reset to her default mode of politeness. “Melissa King,” she gestured to herself. Her hands hovering around used to being busy. “Do you remember your name, sir?”
“Francis Langdon. I go by Frank though.”
“Mr. Langdon, do you know how you ended up in the Allegheny River?”
“Not really.”
She felt her concern play across her face with a frown. “How are you feeling?” She placed the back of her hand to his forehead and hummed, “a tad warm but nothing too troubling at the moment. We’ll keep an eye on it. Are you comfortable?”
Mr. Langdon shifted his weight in the bed, his left leg dead weight as he was mindful not to disturb it. “As can be given the circumstances. Thank you, Me-Miss King. I’m a doctor where I come from, you’ve done good work.”
Mel couldn’t help the smile at the unexpected praise. “Really? Where are you from?”
The air hung heavy for a moment as she waited for his answer.
“North Carolina. I don’t know how different medicine is here, now.” Mr. Langdon coughed his eyes traveling to the window across the room as he stared out. His face was impassive, but something nagged at Mel. She would simply have to keep an eye on him until she figured out exactly what she might have missed.
“It would be a rough journey home.”
She knew the familiar block of Allegheny City that laid beyond the glass. Mel had lived here all her life. Neighbors had come and gone. Still, she knew the fabric of her street, the people who called this little area home, as she did. Each loose brick she was careful to sidestep on her walks. The familiar faces that have changed with age.
The King home stood right in the center of Beech Avenue. Once full with her family, their ghosts now lurked in her memory. It was her and Becca now and the small staff that remained. Eight years it had been this way. Sometimes it still felt like a new kind of normal, but she had become used to it. It was not a bad way of living, simply different than before.
“I don’t have a home to go to,” Mr. Langdon confessed.
Mel could tell this made him uncomfortable and she could hardly blame him. He had no belongings with him besides what was on his person, no home to return to, and she had to assume no money either.
“Then you’ll stay here.” She insisted on it actually. “At the least until you’re recovered, that is! I know as a doctor you can take care of yourself, but it’s always better to have a helping hand.”
“I can’t ask you to do that. You don’t even know me.” He attempted to inch his body towards the end of the bed as if to make to leave.
“Not yet I don’t.” She took the liberty of placing a comforting hand on his arm, “Stay, Mr. Langdon. I won’t have you out on the streets with nowhere to go. I couldn’t—I would not let anyone do that when I have the means to help.”
Mr. Langdon eased back either in acceptance or exhaustion. She had worn him down. His eyes closed, the foot on his good leg shook under the blankets. “Okay. Just until I’m on my feet again. Then I’m getting out of your hair Miss King.”
“Of course, Mr. Langdon.”
Mr. Langdon went from patient to guest and friend with disturbing quickness if Mel were to truly think on it. There was nowhere for him to go and admittedly, Mel had been thankful for the company. He had fit into her routine with ease.
Each morning after ensuring Becca was up and prepared for the day, sharing a meal together as they always tried to do, Mel would turn her attention to Mr. Langdon. First, she would open the curtains letting sunlight and fresh air into the room. She would check his leg for infection (never even a hint of it, blessedly) and change his dressings if needed. Louise would then bring up a tray to break his fast. Becca would come in the afternoons and read him her favorite stories from her shelf. Her father’s former groom, Samson, who had moved on to other work in the home butlering, had offered to bathe Mr. Langdon each night. He was well watched over under the King roof.
Still Mel made the largest effort to attend to him between her work and a certain persistent caller too often at her door. They would often chat during these moments, or really, Mel would chat. He was not so talkative at first. She might have assumed that was simply his personality, except he was an attentive listener. His gaze focused solely on her as she narrated each step of her process to ensure his swift recovery, and again as she filled the silence with rambles of her patients and time outside of the home. Her commitment to speaking at him must have worn him down or as she preferred to think, warmed him up to her.
It all started with a single suggestion to let him put weight on his leg. Mel had not been inclined to let him out of bed at all for at least another week. But he had looked at her with such intense misery in his eyes as he said, I’m losing my mind here, Melissa King, let me try. He had called her by her full name, a welcome shock of personality from the otherwise withdrawn patient she’d come to know. Mel had given up on all her plans and helped him move to the edge of the bed.
While he wasn’t quite ready to stand, he was able to add pressure without passing out–a win in both their books. She let him remain sitting up for a good while, pressed beside him to ensure he wouldn’t fall. Mel had never let herself be so close to a man before. Only brushes of arms and properly placed hands on the floor of a ballroom she felt out of place in, skin always covered. She did not wear gloves in her own home. She did not wear gloves when she held him up and felt the searing heat of his flesh each day. Pressed by his side… it made her stomach clench in a funny way she didn’t understand.
Before she could begin to rack her brain for what to talk about, he spoke up all on his own.
With the floodgates opened between them, Mel learned Mr. Langdon had been a doctor for a number of years before taking a break to teach. Spurred on by struggles with freely available medications in the hospital environment (laudanum, perhaps) he had still wanted to make a difference, but removed from the temptation. It was highly admirable in her opinion. That he had spent his time in Pittsburgh, just across the river, practicing medicine before returning to his home state with his wife to be closer to her family. His own had fallen apart years before—left alone just like her, but at least she always had Becca. The problem was, Abby's family never made him feel part of them at all.
Naturally, Mel asked where Abby was now. If he had a wife, how could he not have a home, or at least someone to return to? He didn't want to answer. For the first time since he’d met him, she had been wary of his presence and the secrets he may be hiding because surely anyone so lost was carrying a few. Except in the end it wasn’t quite so horrible: his marriage no longer existed. An annulment, she’d supplied, and he agreed. It explained everything. While she might never know how he ended up in the Allegheny river, his circumstances clearly brought him to her and maybe it was something they both needed.
Because in the middle of all her caretaking he went from a stranger to a man she knew.
Each day their conversations grew, as did their depth of understanding of one another. Frank’s strength and stamina was improving along with his spirits in addition to their closeness. He could walk across entire rooms, stand for an uninterrupted half hour before needing to sit. While there was a slight tilt to his gait, unless you were as meticulous as the both of them, it was easy to miss.
Once he asked her why she was a midwife. It was an honest question; one she had heard before but no one had truly wanted to hear her answer. Except Frank did. It was true her mother and father had both maintained enough wealth that Mel and Becca would not struggle. It certainly helped that the families she aided paid her for her services, and it meant that she was able to help women who could not afford a midwife, let alone a hospital. Mel was some women’s only option, their only hope. She loved babies. She loved helping people. It seemed a simple conclusion to help usher new life into the world and take care of the women doing it.
The job had broken her heart more times than she could count, but each newborn wail, each smiling parent, each successful delivery, stitched itself over the wounds that were an inherent hazard of her occupation. More than that, it was her calling. She would choose it over and over no matter the personal cost.
She could not be a doctor. She could not have a career in any traditional sense. Staying at home was not enough for her. As a teenager instead of focusing on the hobbies she had worked through much of her childhood on, she found herself asking to learn from an older midwife looking to wind down her practice through a notice in the daily paper. Her parents had not been thrilled at her sneaking around but once she had explained herself (and begged and pleaded and laid her heart on the ground at their feet for enough days) they’d given in to letting her learn so long as it did not get in the way of her education at home.
She recounted some of the stories from that tumultuous time to Frank which he’d found amusing and fascinating in equal measure. He never shared quite as much about his own family but every bit he returned to her mattered. Mel could not have imagined a conversation with a man feeling so easy as this. It was not rational to think he would forget about finding his own way and stay here forever. But just a little bit desperately, Mel wanted to keep him.
Having another person in the house after so many years seemed to make the whole home feel more lively. Another plate at the table, chatter with Becca coming from the parlor, company in the library room where the shelves were lined with books and the light was perfect for long hours of study, now that Frank was up and about.
This particular early afternoon had found Mel and Frank sat across from one another in opposite corners with their own fascinations. The space was quiet and comfortable in the room as they read together with no requirement to talk. It was pleasant enough to simply be with one another.
Frank had found fascination in her supply of medical texts. Though she would likely never use much of it, she found it compelling all the same wanting to keep as much knowledge about the body as she could. Evidence from experts and tales proving the strength each person had by virtue of being alive called to her—and him too, apparently.
Admittedly, Mel liked to take peeks at Frank while he read. He often made faces he didn’t realize he was pulling, so different from how he kept himself in their usual interactions. She didn’t know what they all meant but she had catalogued each different expression. Many of them prominently featured his brows which sometimes forced her to try and hide a ridiculous bubble of giggles.
She’s watching him all too closely yet again, when the butler appears with an envelope in hand, for you Miss King.
Mel sets her book aside, taking the paper in her hand and not so carefully ripping it open. Correspondences made her wary—there was simply too much unexpected information in them. As she feared, it’s an unwanted missive. The sheet lay heavy with the details of a soirée the following evening.
She had never succeeded at these kinds of social events. Too many people, too many of the same conversations and no one truly interested in anything she was saying. Becca often enjoyed the dancing but the music and atmosphere could be stifling (an assessment Mel ultimately agreed with) so their attendance was spotty at best.
“What’s that?” Frank asked. His own book was face down in his lap. Attention was now firmly settled on her.
Her lips pressed hard together and pulled apart, “An invitation for Friday. A party.”
“Looks more like a death sentence going by your reaction.”
“It’s not—“ she shook her head, thinking better of her protest. “Not quite that severe.”
Yet she’s stood up to begin pacing the length of the room. Stay or go, stay or go, the question eats at her mind between what is appropriate and proper and what she wants. A hand reached out and brushed her own. The spark of bare skin on bare skin that left her flesh tingling from wrist down to fingers. Her eyes lock on Frank’s as she pauses in front of him.
“Sounds miserable.” His thumb grazed over her wrist thrice before he cleared his throat. His eyes didn’t leave hers the entire time. “Music and dancing and horrible communal punch and canapés and suitors falling over themselves for you.”
“I can assure you no man has ever done that. Unless he tripped over my feet.”
“How many times did that happen?”
“Twice. Different occasions.”
He remained seated, and it’s in that instant Mel realized she was hovering above. But she couldn’t move, she wanted to stay this close.
“If you’re looking for an answer,” Frank said, “I’ll give you mine: Don’t go to the party. Stay in with me. And with Becca if she hasn’t gotten bored with Lizzie Martel. You don’t want to go and I know it’s selfish but I don’t want you to either.”
It was a polite request, the decision she wasn’t prepared to make herself. Though it also felt like a declaration. What this was, well perhaps there wasn’t an exact definition. She was determined to remain in this happiness with him.
“I’m staying.” Mel beamed like the sun itself at him. “I prefer lemonade to punch anyway.”
In the parlor on another cloudy day, Mel worked on her latest sewing project—embroidered leaves for her gloves, most fitting for the upcoming autumn weather—when the pounding on the door began. She set her work aside on a nearby table and headed to the entry way. This kind of urgency meant someone needed help. Mel would always answer the call.
“Sir, you need to calm down so I may understand!”
“Get me Miss King immediately you fool! My wife—my Annabelle—”
“Mr. Richter, I am here. What is the matter?” Mel implored. She was familiar with Mr. Richter from numerous social events she’d once attended with her mother and often avoided after her death. He was a strict man, though not inherently unkind as he appeared now. His own stress, however, raised Mel’s own as she clasped her hands tightly behind her back, hidden from view. Something was wrong.
“You must tend to Annabelle. She insisted we walk on such a nice day, to stretch her legs, and I gave in against my better judgment. The exercise has pushed her into labor I fear.”
“Where is Mrs. Richter?”
“On the steps with our maid.”
Mel stepped around him to get to the door. Behind it, just as he’d said sits Annabelle Richter with the maid rubbing her back. She went over to crouch beside them.
“Mrs. Richter, please come inside. Are you able to stand? I want to check and make sure everything is alright, is that okay?”
“Help her already, will you?” Mr. Richter demanded.
Mel ignored him, keeping her attention on the woman likely in an already painful labor.
“I believe I can,” Mrs. Richter said determinedly. She used a hand on the step to aid in lifting herself up, the maid and Mel coming on each side to ensure she stands up steady. They both take an arm and guide her slowly up the steps inside.
“Louise, can you please get my kit, some hot water, soap, and linens and bring them to the second guestroom down the hall?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the housekeeper hurried off in search of the requested items.
She continued pulling Mrs. Richter through the house to their destination. They settled her on a wooden chair. Mr. Richter fussed over his wife with determined attention, kissing her lips, her forehead, clutching her shaking form to his chest.
“I will return to you after, dear. Be strong for our son, hm?”
Mel gave them a moment as the requested supplies are brought in not only by Louise, but Frank has appeared as well. Mr. Richter exited the room; the butler had found his was outside the door and Mel was sure he would guide Mr. Richter to an appropriate waiting place. Meanwhile, Frank opened her kit up beside Mrs. Richter, just where she would need it. Her heart clenched, he somehow knew every time. She filled a basin and washed her hands before insisting she check Mrs. Richter over. Frank and Louise both fell back towards the door ready to wait for a command. She used what was nearby in the room to give her patient a solid surface to prop her shaking legs up on.
“I’m going to take a look now, alright Mrs. Richter?” Mel gently asked.
When Mrs. Richter nodded, she took that as her cue to lift the skirts and take a look. The labor had progressed rapidly; the baby was coming and quick. She needed to act.
“Is this a comfortable position for you? We need to figure that out presently.”
“Um,” Mrs. Richter shifted in the chair. “It is not what is making me uncomfortable.”
“Then we’ll continue here. If you feel you’d like to lay down or stand instead, you tell me and we will do it.”
“Thank you, Miss King. I did not want it to happen this way. Not today or in your home, but it was closer than home.”
“Don’t worry a bit about that. You’re here and you and your child are under my care.”
Mrs. Richter nodded again, her breathing getting heavier as she squeezed her maid’s hand.
Mel felt around making sure the baby was in proper position for Mrs. Richter to begin laboring, except, except the baby seemed to be feet down. Mel hummed trying not to let her anxiety show, the last thing a birthing mother needed was to be strained.
“You are doing wonderfully Mrs. Richter. I am going to step away for just a moment and we will get back to it.” Mel flashed her a tight smile and turned towards Frank.
The second her eyes met his, the mask dropped and she hurried to his side, pulled slightly on his sleeve.
“This may be more complicated than anticipated.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Baby isn’t in position.”
“You know what to do,” Frank insisted and he’s right. Of course she knows, she’s seen it time and time over in her years.
“I know. I have this feeling is all. Will you keep an eye from here?”
Frank nodded.
“That’s all I need. Knowing someone is standing with me in this. Tell me if she starts to fade.”
“Aye, aye, captain.” He gave her a salute. “This is your ship.”
Mel tilted her head. “Joke?”
“Sort of.” His eyes flicked over to Mrs. Richter. “She needs you.”
Mel’s attention was instantly back on mother and baby. She took Mrs. Richter’s hand and explained the situation calmly. Mel had never believed in lying to her patients, it’s better for them to know what they were facing. As she manually worked to turn the baby encouraging them into the proper position Mrs. Richter was a trooper. Mel could tell the situation pained her, more so than the typical labor agonies. She spoke in encouragements, voice fluctuating with enthusiasm before remembering to compose herself. Slowly but surely with their efforts, baby moved into the proper position.
“Mrs. Richter you’re going to push now, with all you have. It’s time to meet your baby.” Mel gave her a big smile.
It took roughly another hour for the delivery. Baby wailed with his first breaths in the world. A perfect little boy just as his father had predicted. Mel briefly checked over the babe and set him in his mother’s arms where he belonged.
Frank had remained in his spot the entire time.
Mrs. and Mr. Richter were sent home later that evening to begin confinement. Mel went over the next afternoon to check in on them and each day after for the following fortnight to ensure mother and son were in good health. Frank had taken to walking there and back with her, finding distractions in the hours in between. He was becoming more and more comfortable around Allegheny City, something that warmed her heart due to her own affection for the city and for him.
At first there was no issue.
Mel came and left at the same hours, efficient, thorough, and friendly. Waiting outside until she was safe behind the closed door or near to his side was Frank. They were in a neat routine. The company was welcome in comparison to her usually lonely walks. Being unchaperoned occasionally led to looks when she wore fine clothes, but those that knew Melissa King left well enough alone. With him now joining there are glances she pays little attention to. It’s curiosity more than anything.
But Mr. Richter was an observant man and overly interested in other people’s business. On the rare occasion he answered his own door or saw Mel out (hardly ever, though oddly more frequent as the days went on), he would look beyond the frame into the street. Each and every time Frank Langdon stood as sentinel.
Upon the end of her last regular visit, she was stopped in the hallway on the way out. Mr. Richter cleared his throat, catching her attention. “Miss King if I can have a moment.”
It was less question and more demand. She paused, keeping her distance but not leaving, there wasn’t much choice.
“Yes? I mean, of course.”
“That man who escorts you each day, is he courting you?”
He was too serious for her comfort and Mel shifted uncomfortably. “That isn’t quite the situation.”
“Yet if my information is correct he is staying at your house." Mr. Richter pressed on, "Is he a relative then?”
“No,” Mel felt herself physically cringe.
She knew an unmarried man of no relation continuing to stay at her house even after he’s healed is not behavior acceptable to gentle society. It was unladylike of a woman of her background. Still, it had been the right thing to do. Now she cannot imagine her life without him in it. It has been months since she found Frank in the river. Two seasons have passed in full, the cold sinking in heavily, and starting to ease once again.
Mr. Richter bristled, his dark eyes narrowing. “Allow me to impart some advice, Miss King. I am aware you have not had the wisdom of your parents to guide you in these recent years. Do not let that man sully your reputation any longer. If he is not making a commitment to you, and you are allowing this situation to continue, I cannot in good conscience recommend your services to anyone.”
“Excuse me?”
He sighed, “You may be a spinster, but you do not have to be a fallen woman. You have done well by my Annabelle and my Peter. I do not wish to shame you but there are morals and standards a proper society must uphold and I am a tenant of those virtues. See that the man does right by you and makes you a wife. I will not besmirch you but I will not stand by you or your reputation, either.”
Mel’s stomach clenched painfully. If rumors began to speculate, if no one spoke on her behalf she could lose her livelihood, but worse, her purpose. Unless Frank agreed to marry her. Unless their situation became correct in the eyes of an ever judging society.
“I have heard your advice, Mr. Richter, I will take my leave now.”
She hurried towards the door, heart pounding, eyes blurring with tears. How in the world could she fix this?
Pushing out into the slowly warming air Mel felt as if she couldn’t get enough air to her lungs. Without thinking she started to head in the familiar direction of her house, steps small but quick to getaway. The street was blurred in front of her when she’s grabbed around the arm.
“Hey, where are you running off to?” The casual calm was wiped off his face the second he got a good look at hers. His voice hardens, “What’s the matter?”
“I cannot–” Mel sucked in a gasp of desperate air trying to keep moving.
“Hold on a second, Mel, you need to breathe.”
“I’m trying.”
“Try slower.”
He locked his eyes on hers and took in a deep breath guiding her to do the same. It’s shaky but Mel followed to the best of her fragile ability at the moment. In and out slow and unsure, watching him go first and then repeating the act. Frank rubbed her shoulders. The repetitive motions were soothing to her body. It doesn’t at all help her panic over their inappropriate behavior especially just off the street in potential view of others.
Mel glanced around to see no one nearby, only bodies in the distance paying them no mind. She stepped slightly away from Frank. “We should get home. There’s a matter we need to discuss.”
Frank agreed instantly though she could tell by his face he was concerned. He did tend to wear that expression a lot when she mentioned leaving at late hours or how she was unable to sleep through the previous night.
The walk back lacked their usual back and forth chatter. How wrong that felt!
Mel made her way straight to the library, Frank followed close behind. She closed the door behind her for the privacy this conversation entailed. Her hands clasped in front of her stomach, still glove clad, as her fingers squeezed in a familiar pacifying gesture.
“Can we talk about it?” Frank said.
He hovered close by yet not in her space. Maybe he sensed she needed it at this moment in order to explain.
“I want to. Mr. Richter…” Mel began and Frank was already shaking his head. He had never been a big fan of the man. “He demanded to speak with me before I left. Apparently he’s noticed our-our habits? Behavior, rather, I would call it. Our closeness. The impropriety of it all.”
His jaw tightened. He gripped the edge of the desk he leaned on tightly, as if to keep himself there.
“It’s none of his business.”
“No, it isn’t exactly, but many men and women consider the virtue of single women of good background a profession.”
Mel closed her eyes, squeezing them tightly for one, two, three seconds before opening them once more. It was now or she would never get it out. “He said that I should not let you make a-a fallen woman. That you should do right by me. Marr-”
Frank cut her off, “Marriage?”
Mel nodded. “To make me a wife or he would not stand by my reputation, nor my business. That he could not in good conscience recommend me to other families.”
Frank couldn’t hold himself back anymore and was standing so close she could feel the heat of his body. “That ass threatened you?” She had never seen him look so angry before.
“In all his pompous glory, yes.”
He leaned even closer still. “Do you want to be married? A wife?”
“What?”
Frank raised an eyebrow at her and Mel could feel her cheeks heating and turning pink.
“I hadn’t considered it a true possibility in a very long time.”
“But do you want it?”
She looked at him again, not letting her hazel eyes stray from his blue. “With you? Fiercely.”
“Then marry me.”
“Are you asking?”
Frank got down on a knee, taking her hand in his, sliding the glove off to touch skin to skin once more. “Melissa King, I have never felt this desire so strongly before. Not at all. I am asking you to marry me. Will you?”
She squeezed his hand tightly in her own gasp. The fireworks beneath her skin exploded. Her vision blurred once more but for a very happy reason.
“Yes.”
Her lips were captured in a kiss as Frank surged back up. Their hands still held together were pressed between their chests, his other now resting against her warmed cheek.
He pulled back dazed but happy, clear as day.
“I want to give you something.”
Mel followed him to his room, once a guest space but now firmly his. She watched as he rummaged in a drawer near the bed for something. What it was, she hadn’t a clue. Mel rocked forward and back on her feet in anticipation. A moment later, presented to her in the palm of Frank’s hand was a gold and garnet bracelet she had not seen in years.
A gasp escaped, “Where did you find this?”
“A store. Before I–before you found me.” He worked to slide the bracelet onto her delicate wrist. The stones glinted in the daylight shining through the window. “It was in my pocket that day. I want you to have it.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “But Frank, this was my mother’s. It was stolen when we let go of a maid after her death and the extra help wasn’t necessary. I thought I would never see it again.”
He brushed the tears from her eyes. Sounding a bit choked up himself he said, “I’m glad I could return it to you then.”
He pulled him into a tight hug. Her future husband! She knew it solidly in that moment: Mel had always been meant to find him on the river banks.
“There is… one other thing.” Frank clears his throat. “Mel, I can’t let you agree to marry me until you know everything.”
Her brows furrowed, lips downturned. “What do you mean? What don’t I know?”
“I told you I wasn’t from here and that’s true. I’ve never lied—not outright.” Mel’s heart sunk, another wild swing of emotions in this already tumultuous day as he continued his confession. “But there was context missing. It’s that…I’m not of this time either.” the
“I don’t understand.”
“The day we met, before I was unconscious, the year was 2025. Then when I woke up, I was with you and it was 1886.” Mel took a step back but not fully out of his grasp. He pleaded, “It sounds insane, Mel. I know it does but it’s the truth. Everything I told you about myself was honest but I didn’t give you the context. I was born in 1993, more than a hundred years from now. I grew up, and lived, and I had a life in the 21st century. If it’s unbelievable I get it. I can’t explain it, I don’t know if anyone can. But you deserved to know.”
“Frank I-. That’s-“ She was at a loss for words. It felt as if her brain was short circuiting. The 21st century? A whole life years beyond when she would die? How had he even traveled back all this way? Could he even answer that? “I mean surely it’s impossible and yet-“ she sighed letting her mind sort itself out before trying again. This was Frank. A man she had known to be nothing but kind and caring and fun. A man who wanted to marry her. Why lie and risk that at the last second? “Well, I can’t say I understand any of it exactly. Yet I think…I believe you.”
Frank returned to the drawer taking something else from within.
“Here.” He held out an object to her: black, rectangular and fit in the space of his hand. At first glance she thought it a notebook, though bound in no kind of fabric she was familiar with. There was a shine to it though (metallic perhaps?). She could not place it as anything she knew.
“What is it?”
His lips pressed together and he explained, “It’s called a cellphone. It’s like a telephone except it doesn’t need wires to work. You could make calls and send messages, uh, almost like notes or short letters, from one device to another instantly. I had it in my pocket that day too. It doesn’t work but it’s something. It’s real.”
“Alright,” Mel said, voice rising with falsity—her thoughts were spinning again. Frank was from a future she couldn’t even begin to perceive, with objects that seemed impossible. If this was hard for her to wrap her head around, then she can’t imagine how difficult it had been for him adjusting to all the differences. Her heart ached. “How have you managed this alone?”
Frank grinned, replacing the phone with his hand to hold her again. “You’ve been an amazing distraction, sweetheart.”
Mel smiled right back.
“I’m glad I was able to help, even when I didn’t know. But I do now.” She hesitated to ask but it was necessary, “Do you…want to go back to your time?”
“No. I don’t think I do. If I can help it, that is.”
It was honest. She didn’t know where that left them though.
She burst out in a laugh, a little frantic, a little amused. Frank’s bushy brows pushed together, mouth open, as he watched her.
“A widow!”
“What?”
“Before we met, I used to wish to be a widow without the whole having a husband part. Retaining my own property, my money is difficult as an unmarried woman. Men often found me odd or off putting despite the talents my mother attempted to foster in me. So I wished to one day wake up as a widow, that I might have the benefits without having to have a husband. And now-“ Mel laughed again, body shaking as her eyes turned glassy. “And now I may have a husband I do not want to lose at all but…but if you came to me by chance, by some force neither of us can explain, couldn’t they take you back too? Then I would truly be a widow and I no longer wish for it at all.”
She laid her heart out with the admission. They were beyond simple friends. Frank was the man she loved, the man wanted a life with. The possibility he could disappear just as suddenly as he had appeared was terrifying.
“Do you want to call it off Mel?” She could tell it pained him to even suggest it. “You know everything. It’s your call.”
Mel raised to her toes and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “No. I want to marry you, Francis Langdon. I want you now and I want you always even with the understanding you could be torn from my grasp. I’ve lost-“ she swallowed hard, unable to push back the sobs that were beginning to consume her whole. “I’ve lost nearly all I hold dear and I am risking it happening again and that is wholly terrifying. I would regret it every minute if I didn’t get to have you for the time I’m allowed.”
“Mel, Mel, angel.” Devotion laced his words, as he held her around the waist, and pressed a flurry of kisses over her face. “I can’t promise to stop whatever powers might yank me away, but I promise that I’m always yours. Death, time, God, the universe, they all get their say one way or the other but so do I. If there’s a choice to make–it’s you. I choose you, Mel. I will choose you every day we have. I will choose you in 2025 or 1886 or 1444 or 800 BC, it doesn’t matter.”
“I think I can live with that.”
Mel held him back just as tight. She wasn’t letting go this time.
Francis Langdon married Melissa King three weeks later in the fresh blooming air of spring at her childhood church.
The event is surprisingly well attended. There were a smattering of friends, of social acquaintances, but most of the pews were filled with couples and their children all delivered by Mel. She cried as she walked down the aisle herself, in her very best dress. A pink beauty detailed with flowers along the trim and a veil upon her head. Mel beamed like the sun itself across from him. She was the most stunning thing he had ever seen. They made their vows in front of all. Becca cheered the loudest as it was sealed.
A simple celebration followed with good food and good company. And finally, best of all, that evening Frank got her alone in her room, all to himself.
His hands were steady as they worked to unfasted the buttons that covered the back of her top. They made quick work of a tedious task. Yet Mel was trembling by the time he had finished. He eased the layers off of her, large hands soothing as he went. They laid down together on the bed for the first time and he took her with such care tears sprung to both their eyes.
Each day after was something cherished. They had each other. They had Becca and Samson and Louise. Mel had her work as a midwife, while Frank had started to make house calls, putting his skills to good use in their neighborhood and beyond. The King home was more lively than it had been in a decade. And their family would continue to grow because not long after the wedding Mel found herself with child.
Sometimes as part of their routine, when they strolled down by the river, its path running opposite to their own, he would see that silvery specter dancing in the distance. Frank was always careful to turn the other way. There were plenty of journeys to go on right here. He was already home.