Chapter One:

Mother

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Her father paced, causing the floorboards in the upstairs hallway to creak with his every step, alerting Clara to the fact that he was more worried than he let on when she'd asked earlier. She couldn't blame him. She'd done the same thing in front of her younger sisters. Sometimes it was easier to simply say that everything was fine, even if it wasn't.

Clara listened to the sounds of her father's creaking footsteps as well as the soft murmur of her younger sisters' quiet breathing in their respective beds. Yet, even with all those sounds to distract her, she could still hear the moans of pain coming from her parents' room. Her mother had gone into labor just after lunch and was still in the throes of childbirth nine hours later.

Between Clara and her Father, Clara wasn't sure which of them was more tightly wound. The separate births of Harriet and Amelia, Clara's little sisters, hadn't taken as long as nine hours, and Clara was more than a little worried that there might be complications. Even if the midwife and the doctor assured her that everything was fine.

Although she was worried out of her mind over her mother's health and she hated how her mother had to feel the obvious pain of giving birth, Clara still looked forward to being an older sister for the third time.

Clara's ears twitched as she registered the sounds coming from her parents' room getting louder, but instead of the blood-curdling scream she had been dreading, a foreign cry pierced the air, and a happy smile flashed onto her face as she recognized it as the sound of a newborn baby's first cry.

Clara felt more than heard the stirring of her younger sisters in their beds nearby, and she stilled, not wanting to wake them. After all, the only reason why she was in her sisters' room was for them not to be scared and to distract them from the noises across the hall. She wouldn't be doing her job as older sister right if she let them wake up now before she was sure everything was alright.

She waited for a few minutes before getting out of bed as quick as she could. Listening for the sounds of Amelia and Harriet's breathing patterns evening out, she did her best to put on her dressing gown and pull on her slippers without making a single noise. Even the soft rustling that resulted felt too loud. Soon enough, her sisters resumed their restful sleep and she made her way over to the door that lead to the hallway.

In the soft candlelight the maids had lit despite the late hour, Clara could see that the hall was empty, her father having already gone inside to see his wife. The bedroom door squeaked and she paused, glancing back at the faces of her two sleeping sisters.

Harriet was snuggled against a teddy bear, her six-year-old arms draped over the stuffed animal, while Amelia was sucking quietly on two of her fingers. Clara gave a sigh of relief. They hadn't woken.

Slipping out of their bedroom completely, Clara padded as silent as a mouse to her parents' door, the sound of hushed voices drifting to her ears through the ajar door. Standing in front of it, Clara could just see into the room, taking in the form of her father huddled close to the bed.

Her foot then gave a hesitant step onto a squeaky floorboard and through the crack in the door, she saw her mother's head raise to look at the door hiding Clara from the direct line of sight.

"Clara, we know you're there, darling," her mother called, voice a margin above a whisper. "Come in, sweetheart, come meet your little brother." Clara opened the door, mindful to the maids, midwife, and her baby brother who seemed to already be asleep in her mother's arms.

"What is his name, Mother?" She asked as she looked down at the sleeping baby once she was close enough.

"His name is James," Clara's father answered. "After your grandfather."

"Actually, James Samuel, after your grandfather and your father," her mother said, and Clara brought her eyes up in time to see her father give a bemused sigh.

"If only because your mother insists."

"I do," her mother said, her voice firm. "This is our only son; he deserves to have a good, strong name." She looked down at her son, her eyes soft and lips smiling. "Plus, if he was a girl his name was going to be after his father's anyway."

"A girl named Samuel; well, I suppose there is a first time for everything," Clara's father joked, and her mother reached forward to give him a light whack on the arm, though still careful not to jostle the baby.

"I meant he would have been named Samantha," her mother said, her sweat-matted hair shining in the candlelight as she shot a look at her still chuckling husband.

"I would have been fine with either," he answered, leaning forward to press a light kiss to his wife's temple, his gray eyes that matched his eldest daughter's looking at his wife and newborn child with nothing short of adoration.

Clara had to smile at her parents' teasing of each other. They were always like that, but a blind man could see that the teasing was from love, not spite. She hoped to find a love like her parents', but she knew that as arranged marriages took dominance over any other sort, even a small amount of love was lucky.

Clara pushed the thought of the loveless marriage she would no doubt be committed to out of her head, instead favoring thoughts of James Samuel, her sleeping little brother. Tipping her head downwards she peered at her newest sibling, her heart warming to the point of bursting when James gave a small murmur.

"May I hold him?" Clara asked, and her mother, though smiling, shook her head.

"Not right now, dearest. He is sleeping. I promise that tomorrow when you wake up you can be the first of your sisters to hold him."

"Which means, of course, my dear Clara, that you must go to sleep first before you can wake up," her father said, a grin on his face.

"But Father-"

"Ah, ah, ah, no whining. Both your new little brother and your mother need their rest, and I dare say I might need some too. We can't all be night owls like some little girls." Clara scowled at her father as he ruffled her hair with his large hand.

"Father, I am hardly a little girl anymore! I'm thirteen now!"

"Nonsense! You will always be a little girl, at least to your mother and I. Now, off to bed with you. You have important things to do in the morning!" Her father said, giving her a gentle push towards the doorway.

While she would've liked to stay and hold her brother, Clara didn't mind leaving her parents alone with their newest child. She knew her father always hated not being able to be in the room when her mother was giving birth, but he stayed out for propriety's sake. Heaven forbid if the people in town found out that Lord Corden loved his wife enough to hold her hand while she was in childbirth.

Clara made her way back to her sisters' room, glad that the sounds of her brother's birth hadn't woken her sisters.

She crawled into her makeshift bed next to her youngest sister's crib, let out a happy sigh, and then flopped onto her back to stare at the lavender painted ceiling. There was no way she was going to be able to fall asleep.

Between her own excitement, the soft sounds of her sisters sleeping, and the thoughts that flew through her head like birds heading south for the winter, sleep seemed unattainable. She contemplated counting sheep, but that sounded boring (even if that was the point), so instead, she let herself daydream about what James would be like when he grew up.

She was pondering over what he might look like when he was older when a startled shout came from just outside her bedroom door.

"Quick! Call the doctor! You there, fetch me some linens!" A voice shouted, and Clara recognized it as the midwife's. What was going on? A loud screeching filled the air as the sounds of hurried feet pounding on the stairs leaked into the room. Clara sat up abruptly, not bothering to throw on her robe and slippers. The wooden floor was cold beneath her feet as she ran to the door and threw it open.

Outside the room, chaos reigned. Maids rushed back and forth, the baby howled, and through it all, Clara saw straight across to the center of the commotion. It was her mother. Clara acted without thinking, dashing into her parents' room before anyone could tell her to stop.

"Mother! What's wrong? What's happening?" She cried, but instead of comforting words, the harsh sound of her mother's shallow breathing and a firm hand on her upper arm greeted her.

"Here, Miss Corden, take the child. Your mother is in no fit state to see you," the doctor said, putting the squirming baby into Clara's trembling arms.

"But-"

Her protest was lost amongst the sounds of a house in an uproar. She got one more look at the sallow face of her mother and the haggard one of her father before the door slammed in her face.

However, that one look made all of the difference, and as she stood there trying to comfort her baby brother, her tears started to land on his newborn hair and she knew. She knew what no one was going to tell her. Her mother was dying. Why else would they all be panicking?

She rocked James back and forth in her arms until he settled and fell asleep, but Clara did not have such luck. Her eyes blurred with tears, and she stifled the sounds of her own sobs, not wanting to wake up her siblings. It was already a miracle that her sisters had not woken up from the ruckus.

Clara could hear the sound of voices from inside her parents' room, and she felt her heart constrict when she heard the words "complicated birth" and "internal bleeding" through the thin walls. She didn't know much about the practice of medicine, but she did know that there wasn't anything that could be done. Internal bleeding couldn't be stopped.

After what seemed like an eternity, the doctor with the gruff voice slipped out of her parents' room, his eyes landing on Clara's frozen form. She stood in the exact place she was shoved into when she was shut out. He walked towards her like how one would approach a wild animal, with caution.

"Miss Corden, your mother wishes to see you," he said, his voice quieter than what was natural for a man like him, "Hand me your brother, I will look after him as you speak to her." He held out his hands for James, but Clara shook her head, her arms tightening in a protective circle around her sleeping brother.

"No, I've-I've got him," she answered. She took one last blurry-eyed look at the doctor and then stepped into the room that not three hours ago witnessed the birth of the child in her arms. Clara's eyes fell on the prone form of her mother and the hunched figure of her father in a chair beside her mother's bed.

"M-mother?" She whispered, the word catching in her throat. Her mother looked up at her when she spoke, a pained smile on her lips.

"Clara, my darling," she said, holding out a pale and shaking hand towards her daughter. Clara took it without hesitation, even though she still held James.

"You are dying aren't you?" She asked, squeezing her mother's hand with all of her might.

"Yes, my darling," her mother said, her own hand squeezing on Clara's weakly. They fell silent, the only sounds in the room her father's muffled sobs and her mother's wheezing breaths. Clara dipped her head down, trying to mask her tears, but raised her head when her mother placed a soft hand on her cheek.

"Clara, I am so proud of you," her mother breathed, her mother's eyes meeting Clara's gray ones. "You are the best daughter your father and I could've wished for, the best sister your siblings could have been given, and-" Her mother broke off into a coughing fit as her hand left Clara's face to cough into a blood-stained handkerchief.

"And," her mother continued, her voice sounding strained, "You are already growing into a beautiful, caring, and smart young lady." Her mother paused to take another rattling breath, her eyes drifting closed for but a second before fluttering back open.

"We already ask so much of you, your father and I, we know that, but Clara, my darling, once I am gone you will need to help your father in any way you can, more than you already do. It is unfair of me to ask you to help raise your siblings when you have not yet grown up yourself, but-"

"Mother, don't worry," Clara cut in, grasping onto her mother's hand even tighter. "I will do anything to help, you know that." Her mother gave her a watery smile in return.

"Yes, I do, my darling girl, I do, but don't forget about you in the process, do not lose yourself along the way. I won't have you throwing your life away for the sake of everyone else."

"I won't, Mother, I promise I won't," she said, speaking to her mother in earnest.

"Then that is all I could wish for." Her mother's hand squeezed her own, and as her mother breathed another wheezing breath, Clara looked into her mother's brown eyes. In them, she saw love and pain mixed into a poisonous concoction until both disappeared and her mother's hand slackened in her grip.

She allowed herself to be pushed out of the way by her grieving father and the gentle-handed maids, her whole body numb and her mind whirling with barely contained emotions. The last look she had of her mother burned into her mind even as she once again tried to calm her little brother.

Remembering her mother's vacant brown eyes and her limp hand holding the bloodied handkerchief, Clara made a promise. She made a silent promise to her father, her siblings, and lastly, her mother, that she would do exactly what her mother had asked her to. She would do her best to help in any way she could.

However, looking down at her squirming brother, her ears picked up on the sounds of her sisters waking. She would have her work cut out for her.

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What do you guys think? Will she be able to keep her promise to her mother? Tell me in the comments!

Also, please keep in mind that this is a first draft written over two years ago in 2015.