The Beginnings of Redemption

Chapter 1

"Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling clementine," the soft breeze carried those lyrics among the deep valley, her rasp Appalachian accent echoing through the weeds. "You are lost and gone forever, dreadful sorry, Clementine."

The landscape was all too familiar to young Mary Evans, a place of both comfort and reflection. She let out a soft sigh as she gazed at the rolling fields of yellowed grass, with stubborn patches of green pushing through toward the waning summer sun. The dandelions were at their final stage, delicate cotton balls waiting to be blown away with the softest breath, each seed carrying with it the promise of a whispered wish. From where she sat atop the hill, she had a clear view of St. Loraine in the distance. The city was a hazy blur now, its edges softened by the late afternoon light. The tips of the tallest buildings peeked over the horizon, their outlines glowing faintly as they brushed against the cherry-lit sky.

Far beyond, the sea, vast and deep, was growing quieter as evening approached. The boats that had once filled the harbor were now docked, their sails furled, no longer crackling in the wind. The shouts of sailors and the creak of their ships had faded into a distant hum. Even the parasols of the well-to-do women, which earlier had bustled through the city's streets, now rested like quiet sentinels, no longer clattering over the cobblestones. From where Mary sat, the world below seemed at peace, as if the city itself was slipping into a slumber.

But it was the trees around her that drew her focus. They swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves rustling like whispers, creating a soothing melody that filled the air. Their song was soft and sweet, lulling Mary into a quiet reverie as she closed her eyes, letting the moment wrap around her like a warm blanket.

Her peace was broken by a voice, gentle but real, cutting through the soft murmurs of nature.

"Mary, you alright?"

Her eyes fluttered open, reality tugging her back. She looked down to see the young man resting his head on the edge of her lap, his body sprawled lazily on the dry grass, shaded by the trees. His dark hair was tousled, and his face, usually full of mischief, was now relaxed, his eyes gazing up at her with concern.

"I'm fine," she murmured, exhaling another sigh. "Just a little—"

Before she could finish, he reached back, his hand finding its way to her belly. His knuckles grazed gently against the curve of it, his touch soft and full of quiet understanding.

"Is it the baby?" he asked, his voice tender.

Mary wasn't surprised by his question.

It had been four months since Mary discovered she was carrying a child, and that knowledge had struck fear into the heart of young Arthur Morgan. They had gone to the doctor together, initially to diagnose the relentless morning sickness that had plagued Mary for weeks. It was a brisk autumn afternoon, though the chill in the doctor's office made it feel more like winter. Arthur had scraped together enough money—by means he refused to explain—to pay for the checkup.

The city of St. Loraine, with its usual clamor and chaos, had seeped through the cracked windows of the small, cramped office. The vibrant beauty of its sunset-touched streets did little to mask the stench of filth that clung to the air—piss, sweat, and rot mingling together. Mary hated the city for its noise, its smells, and the cold, unfeeling buildings that lined its streets. She sat on the exam table, surrounded by strange, unfamiliar tools, while Arthur fidgeted nervously in the chair beside her, his rough hands tapping anxiously against his knee.

The doctor had come in, done his examination, and then disappeared, leaving them alone with the news.

Pregnant.