I regret nothing, because I have more than any man could ever hope for. With Ryah tucked safely against me and my hand on her belly, my world is complete.
Epilogue
Ryah
Our daughter is born on her grandparents’ farm in November, in the middle of a rainstorm. Mrs. Hearn—or Josie, as I call her now—helps deliver her while Cale supports my body, his strong arms wrapped around me. The labor is faster than I was expecting, and just a few hours after my first contraction, she arrives. Six pounds, three ounces. Ten little fingers and ten little toes.
We call her Mirrie.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a lovelier sight than Cale holding our newborn child, a radiant smile softening his face. He passes her to me, and whispers, “Clever mama. She’s beautiful.”
Josie cries when she holds her for the first time, but they’re happy tears. Joyful tears. At first I worried that it might be too much for Cale’s parents that we call her Mirrie, a baby girl born the same month as their daughter passed away, but Josie and George tell me it’s perfect. She even has Mirrie’s dark brown eyes. Cale’s eyes and Grandma Dilaia’s eyes, too.
After Mirrie’s had a feed and we’ve both had a sleep, I take her out to the stables to introduce her to Dandelion.
“This is Mirrie, Dandelion,” I whisper, showing her the little bundle in my arms. My horse snuffles interestedly at the baby blanket.
We spend four months at the farm while Cale and I adjust to being new parents. I have no idea what I’m doing, but Josie does, and I learn from her. Mirrie is an energetic baby and interested in everything, and keeps me up through the small hours.
Josie shakes her head, marveling at my resilience. “I was thirty-two when I had Cale, I wouldn’t have minded the energy of an eighteen-year-old back then.”
Cale and I depart the farm at the end of February and rejoin the circus.
He flat-out refused to have me in our act the second he discovered I was pregnant. I thought I could cajole him like I did the day I convinced him to include me in his act in the first place, but he wouldn’t budge. He won’t throw knives at his unborn child.
We’re about to resume our act when I discover I’m pregnant a second time, and he refuses to throw knives at me all over again.
Afraid that he’s going to lose his nerve if he doesn’t practice throwing at someone soon, I beg and bribe Elke into my place.
“Ryah, I always thought you were crazy. Now I’m standing in your shoes, I know you are.”
I laugh as I watch Cale line up a knife to throw at Elke, and her eyes squeeze shut. For a change, Cale’s the one grinning and saying it’s no big deal.
Anouk is sitting next to me holding Mirrie, grinning and shouting helpful advice. “Try it with your eyes closed, Cale.”
Cale grins. “What do you think, Elke? Shall we try?”
“I’ll mix up your face if you do,” she says through clenched teeth.
Elke’s face is pale after their first practice session, but she soon gets into it and is wearing her own red sequined catsuit in front of the crowds.
When Mirrie is fifteen months old and I’m five months pregnant, Cale comes back from a livestock market leading over the tiniest, sweetest pony I’ve ever seen.
“Is this for Mirrie?” I ask, smiling in wonder and holding our child on my hip. “Look what Daddy’s bought you.”
Our daughter is fascinated by the little animal, and with Cale holding the bridle and me with my hands around her waist, we lead Mirrie up and down the green for her first ride.
“She’s going to be riding in no time,” I say proudly.
“Just as good as her mama,” Cale agrees, kissing me. He studies my face. “Are you happy?”
I rub the tip of my nose against his. “Are you kidding? I’m blissfully happy. I want to go on like this forever.”
“Having lots of children and raising them in the circus, you mean?”
I pretend to consider this carefully. “Two. We’ll be sensible and stop at two.”
“Of course. That’s very sensible.”