Be Still My Soul: The Cadence of Grace, Book 1 (31 page)

“It hurts!” Lonnie cried, not caring if she looked like a fool. “It hurts so bad!”

Orla’s voice rose stern. “You’re gonna have to stay calm, Lonnie. This is almost over.” She wiped her wrinkled forehead with the crease of her elbow. “You are so close.”

“How close?” Lonnie grunted.

Wrinkled eyes blinked quickly. “I can see the baby.” Her voice held a surprising tremor.

Orla’s words slapped sense into Lonnie’s heart, and she gritted her teeth.

“That’s it!” The old woman had Elsie slide her arm behind Lonnie and help her sit up.

With her heels braced against the footboard, Lonnie gave her child every piece of strength she had left.

“Good girl!” Orla leaned over the brass bars.

Lonnie rested between surges, and each time the pain came, Orla promised her that the end was in sight. Lonnie groaned, and her fingernails dug into her palm through thin sheets. Then suddenly, she felt a burst of relief. Elsie’s hands flew to her mouth, and Lonnie sank back—head spinning, chest heaving. She tossed her head to the side and gasped for breath, but there was no air to be had in the hot room.

Orla jabbered tensely to Elsie as they rushed about. Lonnie tried to lift her eyes to see her baby, but she was too weak. Moments ticked by like hours, and Lonnie forced her ears to be her eyes.

The room fell silent. Not a whisper. No cry.

Lonnie lifted her head. A hand squeezed her shoulder, and Elsie knelt beside her. “It’s over, sweetheart. It’s all over. You did so good.” She kissed her forehead—her arms empty, her eyes full of tears.

“Where’s the baby?”

“Elsie, I’m gonna need your help,” Orla called.

Lonnie watched in agony as defeat darkened Orla’s face. She wrapped the baby in a blanket, then handed the bundle to Elsie.

No
, Lonnie mouthed soundlessly.

Orla pushed her spectacles up and glanced through the wire frames, her mouth taut.

“Can’t you do something?” Lonnie cried as Elsie stepped closer. The bundle scarcely filled the crook of her arm. It was too small.

“I’m so sorry, Lonnie. The baby’s gone.” Orla’s voice thinned. “Been gone for some time.”

Her eyelids slammed closed, and Lonnie gasped for breath. “My baby,” she moaned tearlessly. Her heart rampaged inside her chest as if to crush itself against her bones. She covered her face with her arm, and just as she did, another pain flexed its angry muscles inside her. “What’s happening?” She choked the words out through her tears. Her stomach tightened, then burned.

“Lonnie?”

When she grabbed Elsie’s hand, the older woman helped her sit up. After several seconds, the pain subsided, and Lonnie realized Elsie was handing her the tiniest bundle of a baby.

“No,” Lonnie moaned at the sight of Elsie’s crumpled face.

“A girl.” Elsie tipped the baby, and Lonnie peered into the face of her child.

The lump in her throat choked her.
A girl?
Her hand shook as she pulled a flap of fabric away from a little nose, two eyes, and the tiniest mouth. Her fingers trembled against her baby’s cool, dusky forehead. Lonnie brushed a tear from her eyes, too overwhelmed to piece together the whole truth, yet too certain of her loss to keep control.

“I’m so sorry,” Elsie murmured.

Turning her soul and her body over to her grief, Lonnie sank against the mattress and shook with sobs. She lay that way for several minutes. Without warning, pain tightened around her belly. She cried out.

“Is this normal?” she heard Elsie exclaim. “Should she be feeling so much pain after the baby is born?”

Lonnie caught hold of Elsie’s hand and squeezed. Death could take her now. She held her baby in her arms and prayed that heaven would summon her as well.

Orla’s voice drew near. “I thought this might be …” She peered at Lonnie through her spectacles. “I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to overwhelm you from the start.”

“What do you mean?” Elsie insisted. She shook her head so fiercely, her bun tumbled out of place.

Orla glanced at Elsie and motioned toward the bundle. Elsie stepped forward, her hands grazing the blanket, and instinctively Lonnie tightened her grip. Orla peered down at Lonnie and squeezed her ankle in reassurance. “Give the baby to Elsie now, love.” Orla’s face was grave, but hope glinted in her old eyes. “There’s another one comin’.”

P
anting, Gideon clambered up the steep slope. Snow drenched his pants and slid inside his boots, but he struggled forward and, with a last grunt, scaled the top of the slope. He saw his footprints from that morning and felt a surge of relief that he was on the right path.

He straightened and hurried on as much as the deep snow would allow. The sun had vanished behind the trees. The light was gray. Ducking his head against an icy wind, Gideon strode forward, his heart thundering in his chest. But each footstep seemed harder than the last. Frustrated, a growl rose in his chest. He lost his footing and stumbled. His hands struck the snow, and he caught himself. The sleeves of his coat grew wet as he struggled to stand. Despite the cold, sweat dampened the fabric between his shoulder blades. He needed to get home to Lonnie. He needed to know she was all right. He took a few more steps, and when exhaustion poured through him, he pressed his palms to his knees, panting. The land was darkening. Night would be upon him within minutes.

He spotted a cabin—no more than a shanty—in the distance, amazed that he had traveled so far in an hour. He could rest there. Lie down, even if only for a little while. Head off well before sunrise.
Gideon ran his damp temple against his shoulder and trudged toward it even as exhaustion poured through his every limb.

There was no time to grieve. Pain held no fear for her anymore. A spasm came, and even as it tore her in two, Lonnie determined that this child would know its mother.

“This one will be quick.” Aunt Orla’s eyes danced alive, her voice drawing Lonnie’s gaze forward.

Hope. She saw hope in the woman’s face.

Lonnie clung to her words. Elsie lit another lamp and set it on the nightstand, illuminating the room.

Without Orla even speaking, Elsie picked up a blanket and held it ready. Orla’s hip knocked a bottle from the table, and without bothering to pick it up, she shoved a stack of clean rags onto the bed. A curl of silver hair slid from her bun, and Lonnie stared at her, trying to believe that this moment was truly happening.

A rag fumbled from Orla’s hand, and she gripped Lonnie’s knee. “Here it is.”

All pain faded away.

And with her eyes closed, Lonnie saw only one face—the face of her daughter. She fought with everything she had. She bit her cheek to keep from giving a voice to a fresh wave of agony. She heard gasps, and it was over.

Orla flipped the baby over and, using her finger, cleared its mouth. She pulled back and the baby gurgled, then let out a wail. Lonnie lifted her head.

“It’s a boy.” Orla grinned.

Lonnie peered into the tiny face of her child. His crumpled forehead was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.

Elsie wrapped them in a hug. “He’s beautiful.”

“He’s alive,” Lonnie said breathlessly. Her fingertip grazed a tiny fist. She looked up into Elsie’s face.

Orla grabbed a length of clean fabric and helped Lonnie sit. She fashioned a snug sling around the tiny baby and, after tying it over Lonnie’s shoulder, buttoned the nightgown over them both. The velvet head pressed to her chest made Lonnie gasp in wonder.

“He’s weak.” Orla knotted the fabric. “He needs to stay this way until he gets stronger.”

Lonnie slid her hand beneath the warm bundle. “How weak is he?”

“He’s very small. These next few days will be the most important. You keep that baby pressed up against you like that to keep him warm.” A soft smile lit her face. “He will be able to hear your heartbeat. Babies like that, especially when they’re first born.” She stroked his cheek with the back of her gnarled finger. “He will hardly have to move, even to nurse. The more you keep him still and warm, the better. He’s got a little growing to do. Growing that was meant to be done inside of you.”

Lonnie nodded. “I will.” She glanced down at her son when his cries tapered off. “I think he’s falling asleep.”

“Good. He will be like that for a while.”

“Is he hungry now?”

“Not yet.” Orla pulled her doctor’s bag off the nightstand. “First thing is to get a few herbs into him. Best to brew a tea.” She pulled out a tiny satchel and handed it to Elsie, who hurried out of the room. Orla rooted in her bag and removed a small glass bottle. With steady hands,
she put a drop of liquid in each of the baby’s eyes and rubbed gently. “That should do it.”

Elsie returned with a steaming cup. “This might need to steep another minute.”

“Did you put sugar in it?” With her earpiece in place, Orla pressed the other end of the tube to the baby’s chest.

“No. I didn’t think about it. Should I fetch some?” Elsie started toward the door.

“It would be a good idea. Makes it go down easier.” Orla’s eyes seemed to stare at nothing. Finally, she lowered the earpiece, draping the contraption around her neck. “Heart sounds strong and he’s breathing well.” She smiled. “That’s very good.”

After a minute, Elsie returned with a bowl and sprinkled sugar into the tea.

Orla set the steaming cup aside and saw to Lonnie’s needs. She shoved soiled rags to the floor. “So, Lonnie, what are you going to name him?”

Lonnie looked down at the tiny face and saw her husband’s image. “His name’s Jacob.”

“That’s a fine choice.”

Lonnie cleared her throat. “The girl …,” she whispered and sad eyes turned toward her. “I want her name to be Sarah.”

“Every baby needs a name.” Elsie’s words were strained.

When she was finally finished, Orla pulled the sheets up over both Lonnie and the baby. “Even those that don’t make it.” Heartache laced her words. She washed her hands near the window, then picked up the teacup and sat on the edge of the bed. She dipped her finger in the tea and forced Jacob’s tiny lips apart. “He’ll take it. You can keep going.”

She held the cup out for Lonnie. Lonnie dipped her finger in the
warm brew, and the baby’s mouth sucked. “He’s drinking it.” Her heart soared at the sight of a perfect, breathing baby—but the tiny bundle nestled in Gideon’s crib wrenched her heart in two.

Orla drew her from her thoughts. “Good. Try and get him to take a little more. Then you can nurse.” She left the bedside and murmured to Elsie, who, after a brief hang of her shoulders, lifted the baby from the cradle.

Lonnie sniffed. “Just once more?”

Elsie ducked her head. “Of course.” She carried the tiny bundle over. It was difficult with Jacob strapped to her body, but Lonnie took her daughter and held them both close. One was warm and full of life. The other wasn’t.

“You two remember each other, don’t you?” Lonnie whispered. Her throat was so tight it was almost impossible to speak. “You knew each other so well. Remember all that time you were together inside of me?” She envied Jacob for having known Sarah. “You are a lucky boy.” She kissed his head, then her daughter’s. Her skin was cold against her lips. “How I love you.” Her chin quavered.
How your pa will love you. Oh, Gideon
. How she needed him. How they all did.

Elsie reached for the baby, and Lonnie tightened her grip.

Pulling back, Elsie stepped away, her face apologetic.

A cool hand landed on Lonnie’s arm. “We best take care of it directly,” Orla said soberly. “She’s with Jesus.”

Just then Jacob started to fuss and squirm.

“He might be hungry. You could try feeding him now.” Orla’s voice was soft, and her eyes were sad as she unwound a length of thread.

Lonnie tightened her grip, but Jacob’s fussing rose, and tears blurred her vision as Elsie reached for her daughter.

“It’s hard.” Elsie kissed the top of Lonnie’s head. “Believe me, I know.”

Lonnie nodded, unable to speak, and with a tender hand, Elsie reached forward. Gritting her teeth, Lonnie forced herself to loosen her grasp.

Orla opened the door and whispered something to Elsie about a box.

Elsie swept the baby from the room.

Pinching her eyes shut, Lonnie clung to Jacob and wept.

L
onnie woke to the sound of Elsie tiptoeing into her bedroom, a tray rattling in her hand. “I brought you something to eat,” she said softly, kneeling near the bed. “How is he doing?”

“Still sleeping.”

Elsie kissed the tip of her finger, then touched Jacob’s tiny ear. “He is precious.” Her eyes looked as if she’d been crying. “I have never been so worried. I checked on the two of you all night long.”

“You did?”

“You slept for hours. I kept adjusting your pillows to keep you propped up. I didn’t want you rolling over.” Elsie moved the tray to the bed. There was a plate of hotcakes with a pat of melting butter.

“Do you feel like eating?” Elsie asked.

Lonnie nibbled on a piece of pork sausage. Slowly, she reached for her fork. She found it tricky to get her arms around the sleeping baby without bumping him. “He’s so fragile.”