Page 13 of Love, Will

I excitedly climbed her window for yet again another night of passion, only to find her lying in bed. She did not stand to welcome me or even look at me while I made my way across the room; she simply stared at the door. My first reaction was to run and check on her, to make sure that nothing happened. When I scanned my lover’s face, I understood that she was physically alright, but her pillow had become wet with tears. They ran down her face like honey from an overloaded honeycomb, pouring heavily over her nose and cheeks.

“Anne, what happened?” I asked while sitting on the bed next to her, starting to caress her shoulder.

“You happened,” she replied without even looking at me.

“Anne, tell me what is wrong, I am here for you.” That attracted her attention and made her look my way. She stood on the bed and wiped her nose with the back of her right sleeve.

“Are you really?” she gazed at me with hopeful eyes.

“Of course I am. Tell me what happened,” I demanded, while trapping her in a hug. My lover grabbed onto me like I was a lifesaving float and she had been swimming for days. I realized at that moment that I had given her hope, though I did not understand the matter yet. After we hugged for a few minutes and I caressed her hair soothingly, she finally let go and looked at me. We were both sitting on the bed, holding each other’s hands.

“At the beginning of the month I felt sick. Everything I ate made me either vomit or gave me stomach cramps, and my breasts are swollen.” She looked at me then, quietly expecting my answer. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t realize what she was trying to tell me.

“So...is everything alright?” I asked, mainly just to reply to her and make her give me more details.

“I went to see Madam Fraser this morning, and she said I am correct.”

I frowned. Where was this going? What business did Anne have with the town’s midwife? Unless...I looked at her, panicked. It couldn’t be, not this early.

“Will, I haven’t bled for two months,” she confessed, confirming my fears.

“So you are pregnant then?” I almost shouted.

“I am.”

I was astounded; I grabbed my hair with my hands and angled forward in the bed, finding myself in a fetal position. It couldn’t be. She remained silent, waiting for me to say something. But what could I say? What was there to say? How could she be so careless?

“Will…” I heard Anne finally say. “We need to get married,” she demanded while taking a seat closer to me on the bed and grabbed one of my hands.

I just then realized this had been her plan all along. To invite me into her life, fuck me and then get married. I was only eighteen while she was twenty-six, she was already an old maid while I, only a young man. Too young to get married, but youthful enough to fall into her trap.

“This was your plan all along!” I snapped and stood from the bed. I didn’t want her touching me. “To make me interested in you, bring me to your bed, so you can find a husband!” I was shouting, and I didn’t care who heard me.

She froze. “What?...no...Will!” she only said.

“Well, your plan will not work!” I spat and grabbed my coat to return to the window. “You will not trap me just because you were stupid enough to get heavy. It’s your own damn problem,” I heard myself say while jumping out the window. Anne remained motionless, bewildered by my reaction. As I was leaving, I heard only a whisper.

”Will…”

Almost a week passed since I turned my back on Anne, so I spent my nights at home, helping with paints and deliveries. Even though my help seemed to be appreciated by both father and the apprentices, mother was not so easily fooled. She knew I hadn’t spent the time out late with friends and my presence so early at home on consecutive days made her suspicious. That evening, after dinner, she asked me to help her bring a sack of potatoes into the kitchen. To do this, I had to follow her in the garden and pick the potatoes from the small barn. While I did so, she sat on a small chair next to me and crossed her arms, looking at the back of my head as I picked potatoes.

“Tell me then, William.”

I turned to face her and read her stance. Mother rested her back on the wall and wore a severe look on her face. She could sense something serious had happened and, stubborn as she was, wouldn’t give me a chance to avoid talking to her. I had no other option than to confide in her, as I’ve always done in my childhood and teenage days.

“Anne Hathaway…” I stopped. I almost couldn’t say it.

“Yes…” she pushed me.

“Is with child.” I stood then to look her in the eyes, reading her shock. “Mine,” I added. In less than a second, she stood, took two steps towards me and smacked me across the face.

It was the only time mother raised a hand at me.

“She tricked me,” I added, trying to defend myself, but this only upset her more because she smacked me again.

“William Shakespeare.” She pointed a threatening finger at me. “Don’t you dare blame only her!”

“But I…” I wanted to protest and defend myself.

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