Martha closed her journal gently. She was physically exhausted and mentally drained. She had not realized that writing this confession would be so taxing. Tears streamed down her hollowed cheeks, falling unheeded on the journal’s sleek, expensive cover.
She could still picture it – the little bundle, the heavily-stained sheet – hastily tied up in canvas, and buried in the family plot out back. A white wooden cross identified it only as Baby Wellworth. If only she could be sure there had been no movement, no life in that bundle it might not weigh so heavily on her heart. But visions of a slight movement had haunted her ever since that night and she wasn’t at all certain that it had been her imagination.
Nauseated and sick at heart, Martha had helped Daisy cover up her indiscretion. Certain that her sins had condemned her soul to the flames of Hell for all eternity, Martha had become withdrawn and even more quiet than usual. The only source of joy and happiness in her life was the time she spent with her sister’s children but even that changed as they grew up and developed busy lives of their own.
Since Daisy’s death, ten years ago, Martha’s conscience had given her no peace. It was too much for her to bear alone. Confession was the only way she could reconcile her sins and make her peace with God before the end. Now that it was written, she could give it to Sarah and let her decide what to do with it next.
Martha had never felt so emotionally worn out but the sense of relief she felt was immense. Perhaps she would be able to sleep not that her writing was finished. She rose from her chair in slow motion. A sharp pain stabbed her chest, radiating outward quickly and hotly.
Having made peace with God, and with her conscience, Martha crumpled daintily into a little heap between the desk and the bed.
If only…
