Cherished Beginnings (26 page)

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"You're an ex-nun?" Xan asked incredulously when she had finished.

She nodded solemnly.

"There was no other man," he said as if to convince himself.

"No," she assured him.

"I thought—I thought you were thinking of someone else those times that you wouldn't let me—" He stared at her. "I was trying to make love to an ex-nun."

She nodded again. "I didn't want you to know. I couldn't talk about it, the subject was so painful. Can you imagine how terrible it was for me to leave, Xan? Giving up my dreams? Even my whole identity, the way I thought of myself, was gone after I left the convent. It wasn't until I met you that I began to think of myself as a woman for the first time, with a woman's wants and needs."

Xan was very quiet. Then he pulled her into his arms and held her tightly, as though he would never let her go.

"To work in a hospital," she said, her words muffled against his chest, "would remind me too much of what it was like in California after I had to discontinue my outreach practice."

"How? Surely Quinby Hospital is different from that place in California."

She shook her head. "I coached patients in labor at my convent's hospital for several months after I was ordered to give up my outreach practice. It was an intensely unhappy period of my life, and during it, I slowly came to grips with the understanding that I might never enjoy the privilege of officiating at home births again. It was a time of great inner conflict and crisis. I examined my conscience and ultimately was guided to leaving the convent. Maybe someday I'll be able to work in a hospital, but not yet."

"Now that you've told me these things, I won't ask you to work in Quinby's birthing room," said Xan. "If you'd told me before, I never would have mentioned it in the first place. I understand wanting to be your own person, believe me." And to Maura this hard-won understanding, at last, was a wonderful relief.

"I'm going to recommend Golden to Dr. Lyles when I see him tomorrow," she told him.

"Golden will do a fine job."

"She's eager to do it. We may add more midwives to our birth center staff, and they could be backups." Just yesterday, she'd received an email from Bonnie Trenholm, who had told her of a midwife who was planning a move to another sea island off the coast and looking for work.

"Raymond will be pleased. He was quite taken with you," Xan said.

Maura rolled her eyes. "After staring me down and intimidating me?"

"That's just his way. Aromatherapy isn't old-school enough for him." Xan managed a laugh, but he was glad that the conversation had taken a more casual turn.

Maura slid her eyes sideways. "So you won't be annoyed with me if I continue my home births?" Her voice sounded tentative but hopeful.

He leaned back and looked down at her, shaking his head. "I won't be annoyed at you, no matter what. I've seen you work. I've come to believe in you, and I admire what you do. I think I've been old-fashioned and stubborn and, well, I've been a fool. I'd like to be your sponsoring obstetrician. That is, if you still want me to be."

"You mean it? Really?"

"Really. I think I can get you delivery-room and emergency-room privileges at Quinby when and if you want them. Raymond Lyles will come around; he's already proved that he's ready to change childbirth procedures at Quinby by bringing in birthing rooms. In fact I suggest that we institute some sort of merger so that our patients may choose any birth method that appeals to them. You've opened my eyes to all the possibilities, Maura."

"You mean you want to be part of McNeill Birth Center?"

Xan shook his head. "I'd like my office and your birth center to remain separate, but we'll refer patients to each other and consult with each other when necessary. We can let our patients make their own decisions. I know we can work it out if we try. You and me—the art of midwifery and the science of modern obstetrics blended. Would that suit you?"

"It sounds perfect," she said, amazed.

"You look so surprised," he told her.

"I am. Very."

"And I have another merger in mind also."

She looked at him questioningly, unsuspecting.

"Marry me, Maura. Soon."

It was too much to take in at once. "Marry you?" she said weakly.

He smiled down at her, a fond smile. "I want you to be mine, forever and ever. To wake up beside you in my big rice bed. To make babies together, wonderful, beautiful babies. To eat your lumpless oatmeal on cold winter mornings, because McNeills always eat oatmeal in the winter. Ah, Maura, I love you." And he kissed her in a way that left no doubt in her heart that he meant it.

"The woman you were with last night. The blonde," she said, trying to comprehend it all.

"I took her home right after dinner and rushed back to your house to wait for you. But you never arrived. By the way, something arrived. Mehitabel is now the proud mother of four kittens."

"You mean she didn't mean anything to you? She's not one of your—"

"Who? Mehitabel? I barely know her." His eyes were sparkling with mischief.

"Don't be funny, Xan. I'm serious. The blonde in the restaurant."

"She was a blind date. A very lovely lady, but she's not you. Weren't you paying attention? I love you.
You
."

She was filled with the happiness that came with being held in Xan's arms, and overlying that was the stirring, deep within her, of her hungering passion for him. She knew instinctively that her life was just about to begin, now, with Xan. It was the beginning that she would cherish most of all.

"And I love you," she said, sure of him and sure of herself for the first time in a long, long time.

"Then your answer is yes?" he said, his lips brushing her cheek as he spoke.

"Yes," she said, and then after he kissed her again, a long sigh, "Yes."

And finally, joyously, with a knowledge so sure and so deep, Maura knew she had found, in Xan Copeland's arms, the world she was meant to know and the woman she was meant to be.

Epilogue

One Year Later

"Bear down, Maura," said Golden.

Maura gasped at the force of the pressure. Never mind how many birthings she had attended, it was different when it was your own baby being born. She gripped Golden's hand and, when the contraction was over, lifted her head to smile at her husband. She lay supported in his arms, half sitting, half lying between his thighs, in what she had found was the most comfortable position for her in her labor. Xan kissed her tenderly on the temple and worked a hand around to her swollen abdomen, massaging gently.

"Want some ice chips?" Golden asked.

"Mmm, yes," said Maura drowsily. In between contractions she felt so sleepy, even though she'd only been in labor for five hours.

Golden moved swiftly to the kitchen area of the birthing room. Every birthing room at Quinby Hospital was equipped not only with a kitchen where simple meals could be prepared but with its own bathroom. The birthing bed was covered with percale sheets in pastel colors.

In the privacy provided by Golden's temporary absence, Xan whispered in Maura's ear. "Comfortable?"

"I'd like more support for the small of my back," Maura told him. Xan maneuvered the pillows until Maura sighed in relief. "That's better," she murmured, lacing her fingers through his and bringing their entwined fingers to rest on one rounded breast. She had long ago shed the confining hospital gown, and she lay naked in his arms.

"I can feel your heart beating, strong and sure," Xan told her.

And then the next contraction came, and his eyes held hers, and Maura drew strength from their message of love. In this first year of their marriage, she had never felt closer or more connected to her husband than now, as they waited for their child to be born.

What a wonderful year it had been! Maura's practice had grown to embrace women who wanted home births in the most elegant homes on Teoway Island as well as in modest homes in Shuffletown. She and Xan had combined their practices and developed a working rapport that was fulfilling for both of them. Although they both now lived in Xan's house, Maura continued to work at McNeill Birth Center every day, and Xan kept his regular office hours. When Xan had been put in charge of the new birthing rooms at Quinby Hospital by an ailing Dr Lyles, Maura had guided Xan toward making the hospital birthing rooms practical, comfortable, and homey. It seemed only right that, since they'd both worked so hard to make the Quinby Hospital birthing rooms a reality, their own child be born at Quinby with Golden's help.

Golden returned quickly and, waiting until a contraction had passed, placed slivers of ice on Maura's tongue. Maura closed her eyes until the next contraction overtook her.

"Maura, push, that's right, oh, your baby's head is crowning!" Golden sounded excited, happy.

Panting, Maura lifted her head and watched Golden over the mound of her abdomen. No, not her abdomen, her
baby
, her and Xan's
baby,
and the thought gave her strength so that her next push was a strong one.

"Let me lie back," she gasped, and instantly Xan slid from beneath her and moved around to where Golden was sitting between Maura's upraised legs. Now Maura could see him better, and she focused mightily on the love she felt for Xan. For this was the utmost expression of her love for this man, bearing his child.

And with beautiful harmony it happened: Maura felt their baby's body passing through hers, first the head, and then with another powerful effort that took all of Maura's strength, the baby itself slipping into Xan's waiting hands, and in the joy of that perfect moment the three of them were irrevocably bonded into a family.

After cutting the cord, Xan placed the baby gently, reverently, upon Maura's abdomen while Golden did what she had to do, and when Maura lifted her eyes to those of her husband, she was touched to see tears of love and pride and happiness shimmering in their depths.

And there were joyful tears in Maura's eyes, too, and they slid unimpeded down her cheeks.

"A girl," said Xan, his voice breaking. "A beautiful, perfect baby girl." The baby began to cry, gathering air into her lungs, and Maura's heart gladdened at the sound.

With both hands she reached for her daughter, but she was exhausted from the effort of childbirth. Xan helped her to draw their baby to her full breast, where the sweet pink mouth groped for and finally found Maura's nipple.

Xan eased himself onto the side of the bed, marveling at the miracle. For it was a miracle. Maura had made him first perceive birth as a miracle long ago, back in Annie Bodkin's shack. But now he knew what the real miracle was. Not birth, not sexual contact between a man and a woman, but love. Love was the miracle, perhaps the only one that still existed in this crazy world.

Gently he lay down on the bed beside his wife and his child, thinking that he had never seen Maura looking more beautiful than she looked now. He would never forget the way she had looked with the sun shining through her ruby-red hair as she delivered Annie Bodkin's baby. Nor would he forget the glow in her eyes the first morning she'd ever awakened beside him in his bed. Xan would always remember Maura as a lovely bride, swaying gracefully toward him down the aisle of the quaint Teoway Island church. But today Maura was radiant, and her beauty transcended mere physical attributes.

Xan and Maura had worked side by side for several months, now that Maura had delivery-room and emergency-room privileges at Quinby Hospital, and there had been many times when he thanked whatever providence had sent her his way. But this lovingly achieved moment was the pinnacle of their relationship, and Xan exulted in it.

It moved him immeasurably that this new human being, this tiny scrap of potential, his daughter, existed because of his love for this woman, his wife, his Maura, his love. Maura, adjusting to the entirely new sensation of her baby's mouth tugging at her breast, could barely take her eyes off her child. Their new daughter was a pretty baby with a damp tuft of dark hair, long curly eyelashes and a healthy sucking reflex.

Maura leaned her head toward Xan, longing to rub her tear-streaked face against the comforting warmth of his cheek. Xan looked at her with so much joy and love and, yes, ecstasy that instead she lifted her lips to his.

They kissed, and she wanted to tell him that she had never before known how sexuality and spirituality could meld into one. She wanted to tell him that he had made her calling as a midwife more clear to her by his emotional involvement in the birth process. She wanted to tell him how much she appreciated his sensitivity and perception and caring. And she wanted to tell him how much she loved him, only she knew that there was no measure to describe it.

And so they kissed lingeringly, encompassing their child in their love, and the kiss was their past and their future, and it was their present.

For now, their kiss said it all. They had their whole lifetimes ahead of them to say the rest.

The End