"It's hard to say—something depends, of course, on her natural vitality." He stood, choosing words. "I don't believe you will lose her until after Christmas."
The word rang in my head, as I watched him drive away.
How many Christmas days had we planned, years ago in Deep Harbor? And now—I could think no longer.
Miss Brock appeared in the door. "Mrs. Jevons is awake. She wants to see you."
"I'm coming." My Helen—my Helen—I could feel the blood beating against my temples on the way to her tent.
November, the beginning of December—I checked the days off. Helen could not stir from her chair now—the dark circles were deepening under the grey eyes—the cheeks that once glowed on horseback in the winter fields of Hertfordshire were white and drawn in the warm California sunshine.
It was pain, agony, to look at her, and yet I laughed and joked with her, between our love-making, as we had always done. For, strangest thing of all, Helen thought she was getting better. The first day she discovered that walking was too great an effort, I was terror-stricken, thinking, "Now she will guess." But no, she attributed it merely to some passing phase—to being overtired—and her gentle good humour and faith were as steadfast as ever. She noticed that she coughed more, and that the coughing spells left her exhausted. Nevertheless she attributed even that to the normal progress of the disease toward its cure. Thus each day made it more certain than ever that I could not tell her the truth.
There were many nights that I lay awake in our tent, beside Helen, and fought this question over again and again. To this day I have not found the answer. Would she have more directions to give me about the baby, if she knew, I wondered? and several times this thought nearly forced me to speak. Would it be right to let her leave her baby without a word about her future? Then, when morning came, Helen would talk to me about going home in June, or make plans for doing something to our house in Hertfordshire, and I could not speak.
Christmas day came, after great preparations on our part to observe it as we always had. There was a tree for the baby, and I ransacked Los Angeles for things to please Helen, or other trifles to make her laugh. The coloured genius of the kitchen cooked a marvellous turkey. We had a plum pudding all the way from England. Dinner was served on a little table before Helen's tent. Miss Brock allowed Helen to eat some of the white meat of the turkey. Hand in hand Helen and I sat watching the baby's joy in her heap of new toys.