The Master & the Muses by Amanda McIntyre

failure to keep the water warm, as he had promised. Daily, for over a month and a half, I’d spent four to six hours in tepid water. I’d watched for my monthly and, when it did not come again, was pressed to tell Thomas, but chose to wait until I was sure.
    The painting was at a critical point. John was as immersed in what he was doing as I was in the water. Though the water had grown cold, I lay there thinking that I could endure it a few moments more. However, those few moments turned to minutes and those minutes to even longer. He did not break for a meal, nor offer me anything to drink. I sensed myself growing numb and bent my fingers to encourage the blood flow.
    John cleared his throat in way of reprimand, indicating that I should not move.
    â€œYour eyes, shut your eyes,” he said from behind his canvass wall.
    I took a deep breath, clasped my hands over my chest and fought the urge not to ask him how much longer he would be. Instead, I tried to think of other things.
    My thoughts turned to Thomas, wondering what time it was and if he would fetch me soon. I thought of my family. I thought of Mama and what her reaction would be to the possibility I was with child. The image of her face swam in my mind as I remembered how we laughed while hanging laundry on a warm summer’s day. My mind wandered to when I was young, playing hard all day and falling asleep on my bed—totally, utterly exhausted…
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    I could not remember right away what had happened. One moment I was in the studio and the next I was lying in a white bed, surrounded by four white walls. I struggled to keep my eyes open. I was aware of people’s voices, but my strength was gone,and every time I tried to answer a question, the darkness would suck me back into blackness.
    Then I felt a hand holding mine.
    â€œStay with me, my muse.”
    It was Thomas’s voice. The harder I tried to respond the more the blackness held me tight, trying to drag me down.
    â€œI swear I’ll never do such a thing again.” It was Thomas. Where was I? How long had I been here?
    â€œIf you can hear me, Helen, squeeze my hand.”
    I tried as hard as I could, but the effort was too much.
    â€œShe moved her hand.” Thomas’s voice was excited, returning the faint squeeze. He urged me to move my hand again.
    â€œThank God,” another man stated, although I did not recognize his voice. The blackness was tugging at me again, draining my energy, pulling me back to sleep.
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    My body was listless, but when I was finally able to hold my eyes open, I realized I was in a hospital room, a sheer curtain surrounding my bed.
    Thomas, seated at my bedside, held my hands. He smiled and the look of relief on his face warmed my heart.
    â€œYou’ve returned to me, my muse,” he said, his blue gaze steady.
    â€œI feel so weak,” I said, trying to smile. “How long have I been here?”
    â€œA little over a week,” he responded.
    There was no one else in the room, but I remembered the voices. “My family, did you send for them? Did they come?”
    He rubbed his fingers over my knuckles. “No, I didn’t send for them, Helen. The doctors didn’t want a lot of visitors until they could assess your situation.”
    I let the sting of wondering if they would have come even if they’d known drift from my mind. “What is my situation? What happened, Thomas?”
    â€œThe doctor says you succumbed to exhaustion, brought on by lack of sleep, proper nutrition…and your pregnancy.”
    There was my confirmation. My gaze darted to Thomas. “How is…the baby?” I whispered through a dry throat. My voice cracked and it hurt to swallow.
    â€œUnharmed.” He lifted my hand to his cheek. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    I shook my head. “I didn’t know for sure, until now.”
    He shook his head. “Well, there is no question now, you must marry