Wailmouth

Prologue

She was in complete disarray.

The young woman had been pacing up and down the room for the past hour. Dark brown tresses held up in a clumsy bun. Nightgown hanging askew on her shoulders. Restless hands in her pockets, then out, then in again. She made tea to keep herself warm, but it ran cold half an hour ago.

Mirroring the woman's distressing state was the rain falling in sheets outside the window. The street lamps shone weakly in the moonless night, and the storm reduced visibility to a near naught. The only source of light now was the fleeting lightning streaking across the sky.

Her hazel eyes flitted towards the clock on the mantel. It was well past midnight, well past the time for her visitor to arrive. Anxiety began to creep into her mind. Did the rain delay her trip? It was terribly dark tonight; perhaps she got lost.

A slow rap on the front door made her jump. Heart thrumming in her chest, the nervous woman swiftly reached out and pulled open the door.

On the porch stood a cloaked figure; panting heavy, head to toe soaked in rain. The bulge under the figure's cloak caught the woman's attention first. When she looked up, a hint of recognition flashed in the visitor's eyes that bore resemblance to her own.

Her midnight visitor, finally here.

Sensing the woman's curiosity, the figure pushed her cloak aside to reveal a bundle of blankets in her arm. There was movement among the folds before small, stubby fingers protruded out and began grabbing air. The brunette gasped softly.

"T-This the one?"

Her question was simply met with an urgent nod.

"Give it here, quickly."

Gingerly, the woman plucked the damp bundle off of the visitor's hold and rushed back into the house. The figure followed her inside, and the door was subsequently shut behind them.

"Anything unusual during labor?" the woman asked as she worked over a makeshift warmer in one corner of the living room.

"Preterm. Baby's as light as pound cake." The visitor shook her cloak off and flung it over the counter. Her short red hair tossed in contrast against her pale skin. She appeared younger than her host despite the frown lines etched deep between her brows.

The woman spoke again, her tone suddenly assertive. "Change your clothes and get some rest. I readied the old room for you."

For a moment, only the sound of pattering rain filled the air. The girl sighed. She knew it wasn't just a night's lodging the brunette was offering. Her host had prepared everything, clothes and all, with every intention of keeping her here.

"I can't stay, Faith. I need to go back to Middle Vale. You know I do."

"Grace..." the woman started, but she knew it was no use convincing the girl. Her shoulders dropped, dispirited. "Stay the night, at least. Until the storm's passed."

The girl said nothing as she strode towards the stairs, the earthy scent of the old house finally reaching her senses. Her steps faltered, and she found herself halted on the landing, staring through the discolored balustrade above her.

This staircase. This wall. This house. It used to stifle her to no end. Tonight, it's an almost welcomed pang of nostalgia.

"Tomorrow makes it ten years," Faith announced out of the blue, pulling the redhead out of her reverie. The girl inhaled sharply and collected her thoughts. Ten years. Almost a decade since their lives changed for the worse.

"We'll stop by their graves in the morning," Grace responded matter-of-factly. "Then I'm off."

Her ascending footsteps resumed and the click of a door closing followed soon after. No more words were exchanged that night.

In the dim solitude, Faith's hands continued to fuss over the baby. Her mind, though, was completely lost to the rain; to the white noise enveloping her brain. A strange emotion made of both joy and sorrow welled in her chest, and she wasn't sure which one to feed.

If it wasn't for the phone call she received this morning, tonight wouldn't have happened. When she opened the door and saw the girl's eyes she swore she was going to break into tears. It made her happy to see Grace again, even if it was just for a while.

On the other hand, the circumstances of the call was everything but festive. If their conversation over the phone was anything to go by, it would mean Grace was caught in a predicament not of her own doing. But she felt guilty enough to shoulder the blame. Desperate enough to reach out to Faith.

The brunette finished her work as soon as the clock struck two. Outside the rain had subsided. The house shifted on its old columns and came to a rest.

A sleepy coo came from the swaddled baby in the warmer, now cleaned and fed. The woman carried it upstairs and quietly tucked it in alongside the other infants in the nursery. As she turned to retire for the night, Faith cast a curious glance at the small newborn.

Heavens know what kind of mess Grace got herself into for this baby. All she knew was that her sister—her hard-bitten, no-nonsense sister—was not at all at fault.