Endless Chain (36 page)

His eyes were steady in the flickering candlelight. “Why didn’t you tell me? Did you worry I would turn you in?”

“You have to turn me in or you can be arrested for harboring a fugitive. Do you want another prison term?”

She left before he could reply. In the bathroom, she clipped her short nails shorter, then scrubbed them three times with a nail brush using antibacterial hand soap from the sink dispenser. She finished scrubbing and made her way back to the bedroom, letting her hands drip dry.

Tessa was breathing deeply, trying to relax, and Sam was gripping her hand. Helen brought in freshly laundered sheets, along with the other supplies Elisa had asked for, and among the three of them they managed to get the sheets under Tessa. Elisa told Tessa how to position herself. The bed had no footboard, a definite plus under these circumstances. Sam stepped outside, and Elisa began her exam.

She could hear Tessa breathing loudly, but despite fear and pain, she managed not to cry out.

Elisa straightened and rinsed her hands in a basin of water Helen had provided. “The baby is still breech.” She knew pretending otherwise or trying to keep the other women in the dark would be foolish. This was a cooperative venture, and everyone needed to understand the details.

She continued before they could question her. “There are three kinds of breech positions, and this is by far the best. The baby is presenting rump first, what we call a frank breech, because the legs are not bent. The feet are near the baby’s head. More jackknife than cannonball, if he was competing in an Olympic diving event.”

“He?” Helen said.

“Figure of speech. I’m not that good.” Elisa managed a smile, knowing that if she appeared relaxed and confident it would help immeasurably. “There’s more good news. I’ve seen frank breech babies delivered without the slightest help. They pop out when Mama pushes, just like babies have done all over the world forever. This isn’t your first baby, which is a very good thing. The baby is large enough that I’m not really worried about him. The birth is a little premature, which is a risk factor, but not so premature that I’m concerned. I see no reason why we can’t do this.”

She looked at Tessa, who was breathing faster and harder. “And it looks like we’re going to do this very soon. Are you feeling the urge to push yet? You’re completely dilated, Tessa. Either you didn’t recognize what was happening, because it feels different, or this is a very swift labor.”

“No…Not…” Tessa’s eyes widened. “Lord…I don’t want to lie down. I need to get up.”

“Okay, let’s get you up on your hands and knees. Helen, help her, okay? Sam?” This was no time for formality. Tonight “Helen” was easier than “Mrs. Henry,” and Sam wouldn’t mind being yelled for. He came back into the room, and she gave a brief nod and a short explanation before she turned back to Tessa.

“This will make you feel better if we can do it and get things moving. Squatting for a breech delivery has problems associated with it, and so does standing. So let’s try this for a bit. Sam, you get in front of Tessa so she can lean against you. Prop her up like so.” Elisa helped them position themselves. Tessa was making noise deep in her throat, and Elisa recognized that sound. Tessa was gathering her strength and focus, preparing herself, as women had done throughout history, to bring her child into the world.

Elisa had missed this moment, the preparation for birth, the anticipation of an important job she could do and do well. She had missed it so intensely that for her own mental health she had been forced to push her real work out of her mind. She had not allowed herself to think what she had lost, but now it flooded back. She had been born for this, and she had been kept from it by fate.

The room was too cold, but no colder than many delivery rooms Elisa had worked in. Helen had blankets in the dryer, and she had filled a hot water bottle with hot water from the sink. The baby would be welcomed into the coziest environment they could produce under the circumstances.

Elisa soothed Tessa, keeping her voice low and even. “Once I delivered breech twins. One came feet first, and the next came out rump first, like your baby. The last time I saw them, they were chasing chickens through the streets of their village. The mother got up after the birth and made coffee for everyone who came to offer their congratulations.”

“Don’t…expect coffee!”

“Do you feel like you want to push now?”

“No!”

“You will, and soon. But we’ll do this slowly. I want to warn you. Breech babies come at their own rate, and the worst thing we can do is rush them. So don’t be surprised if the actual birth takes longer than it took with your daughter. This is natural and normal. The baby will know what to do, and I will only provide a little help.” She hoped this was true. It was the best scenario.

“Sam, are you wearing your watch?”

He sounded calm. “Yes.”

“Then you’ll time for me. When I tell you.”

She continued to talk, telling more stories of successful deliveries to relax everyone. For once Helen was silent, simply providing the physical support her granddaughter needed. Sam said nothing, but Elisa could feel him watching her.

“Ahh…” Tessa began to pant. “I need…to push. Now. The baby is coming.”

Elisa was sure she was right. Had she been reassured that help was on the way, Elisa would have tried to delay the birth by putting Tessa on her side, hoping to slow the contractions. But now she only wanted the birth to progress as naturally as possible. There was nothing to be gained from trying to stave off the inevitable.

Tessa’s knees were shaking. She seemed to be sinking. “Are you comfortable that way?” Elisa asked.

Tessa shook her head wildly.

“Okay, we’re going to do this sitting up at the bedside. It’s a good way to deliver. Helen, we’ll have you get behind her on the bed. Right here.” Elisa directed her to a spot, then signaled Sam to help her get Tessa in position leaning against her grandmother.

“Sam, can you stand just to the side there? We may need you to help lift and hold her legs. Can you do this?”

He nodded, but he looked the tiniest bit pale. She hoped it was the low light and not a tendency to faint. She was filled with love for him. Even under these demanding circumstances, his response was admirable.

“Okay, we’re set now. Tessa, go ahead and push with the next contraction. We’ll see what happens.”

It took three hearty contractions and an enormous amount of energy on Tessa’s part, but at the peak of the third one Elisa saw the baby’s rump before it retreated as the contraction waned. “Okay, we’re on our way here.”

“Sam!”

Sam jumped at Tessa’s scream and nearly lost hold of her knee. “What?”

“Cell…phone?”

Elisa was about to tell Tessa it was too late to get a ride anywhere anymore when the other woman ordered, “Call Mack. He can listen.”

Sam looked to Elisa for permission. There were seconds before the next contraction. She nodded. He pulled it out of his pocket and punched in the number of Mack’s cell phone as Tessa spat it at him.

“Is the phone working?” Elisa asked.

“There’s a lot of static, but I think it’s ringing.”

The next contraction began. Elisa was about to tell him to forget it when Sam spoke. “Sam Kinkade here. Your wife’s about to have your baby. We’re at Helen’s, and there’s a doctor doing the delivery. This is now on speaker phone.” He punched a button, then dropped the phone on the nightstand.

“Mack! Can you hear me?” Tessa shouted.

The phone crackled; then they all heard a man’s voice. “Just get busy.”

Tessa took a deep breath and began to push again. This time Elisa saw more of the baby’s bottom. “Sam, please note the time,” she told him.

After one more contraction and push, the bottom crowned. She was right there, expecting it, and as gently and patiently as she could, she helped the baby’s legs unfold. Then she released pressure and waited, providing only the most minimal support. The cord was pulsating and, fortunately, hanging free.

“What are you waiting for?” Helen demanded. “Get that baby out of there.”

“Shh…” Elisa watched as the baby’s legs began to kick and his body twist. And it
was
“his,” she saw. Tessa and Mack were having a son. “He’s doing what he needs to. He’s turning from posterior to anterior. One of the miracles of birth. Go ahead and push with the next contraction, Tessa. He’s almost here.”

Tessa made an unearthly sound, but she pushed, and an arm slid out as Elisa skillfully turned the baby. Then she gently and surely helped release the second arm. “Just the head now. This may take a few minutes. That’s perfectly natural. We need to keep the chin tilted toward his chest, so I’m going to reach in and help guide. Are you with me, Tessa?”

Tessa made a sound women all over the world echo at the end of delivery. Elisa knew what it meant. “Be patient,” she said. “Your son’s nearly born. Helen, go get those blankets out of the dryer. Right now. Sam, get behind her and prop her for all you’re worth.”

“Son?” Mack’s question was unmistakable even though the line was crackling loudly.

“Yes, son.”

Elisa had hoped this part would be as easy as the rest of it had been, but she could not reach the baby’s chin. “I’m going to let him dangle a little. This will help get his head in the right position. Bear with me, Tessa. We’re almost there.”

“Mack, why the hell aren’t you here!” Tessa shouted in the direction of the telephone.

Elisa propped the baby’s body against her arm and let him dangle. A professor had once told her the definition of eternity was the time it took a breech baby’s head to emerge. More than once in her life, she had remembered his words.

After long moments she searched for the baby’s chin again, this time with better results. A thrill passed through her. They were nearly done. The baby was nearly born. “Got it. We’re almost there.” She lifted the baby’s body. A mouth, then his ears and nose appeared. “You’re doing great, Tessa. We’re almost done. Just the crown…and here he is!”

Helen arrived just at that moment. Elisa caught a glimpse of her as she stepped back and rotated the baby so she could see him clearly. He wasn’t yet breathing. She strode across the room and laid him on the warm blankets Helen had prepared. She wished for better light, for a stethoscope, for oxygen, for a heated isolette, for a hundred different things to make this easier. A premature baby this well-developed had every chance if the right care was given.

She cleared his nose and mouth with a piece of cloth, then dried him roughly with a warm towel Helen had provided. Just as she was considering resuscitation, he gulped and gave a cry that grew lustier after he’d drawn another breath. She watched his color change to a dusty rose.

“Oh!” Tessa burst into tears.

Elisa did the briefest of exams, monitoring his breathing as she did. He was breathing as if he’d been doing it for years. She wrapped him snugly in three blankets, then brought him to his mother’s side, along with the hot water bottle to tuck in beside them. Since he was breathing so well on his own, now they had to worry most about keeping him warm.

Helen and Sam had already helped Tessa lie back, and Elisa placed the baby in his mother’s arms.

“I’m guessing he’s at least five pounds. I suspect he’s not as premature as you thought, maybe only four, or at most five, weeks early. He’ll need to be thoroughly checked by a pediatrician as soon as possible, and I can guarantee they’ll want to keep him in newborn ICU for a little while, at least, for observation. But he’s going to be fine.” She raised her voice. “Did you hear that, Mack? Your son is going to be fine.”

“Who’s speaking?” he shouted through the line.

“Dr. Alicia Santos,” she said. She felt Sam’s hand on her shoulder. “Of
Hospital General San Juan de Dios
in Guatemala City. Congratulations. Your wife and little boy are real troupers.”

W
hen the emergency crew arrived fifty minutes later, Tessa was nursing her son. The fact that the baby knew what to do and seemed interested in doing it so quickly after birth was an excellent sign.

After a quick exam, the paramedics let Tessa continue until they transferred her to a cot and the baby into a portable isolette to carry them down the stairs. Elisa recounted the basics of the birth and the expulsion of the placenta. Then she bent over and kissed Tessa’s cheek before the paramedics began their journey.

“You saved us both,” Tessa said.

“I doubt it. That baby wasn’t waiting for permission. I think you’d have done it without me whether you wanted to or not.”

Tessa managed a weak grin. “Not with such great results. Mack and I won’t forget this, not ever.”

“Just keep certain details between us? That will be thanks enough.”

Tessa nodded. Elisa felt a hand on her back. She straightened and found Sam standing just behind her.

“Tessa was very lucky you were here,” he said. “Don’t downplay your contribution.”

“She
was
lucky,” one of the paramedics, an older man with a steel-gray ponytail, agreed. “I’ve seen these kinds of deliveries end differently. You ought to think about taking some classes and maybe getting certified. You handled yourself like a pro.”

Elisa smiled at the irony. “Maybe I will.”

“I’m going with them.” Helen had left the room to change out of her nightgown and robe just a few minutes before. Now she was back, dressed in wool and corduroy. The cardigan gapped where she’d missed a button.

The ponytailed paramedic started to object, and the old woman narrowed her eyes. “Don’t even think about arguing with me or I’ll follow on foot and you’ll have to explain my frozen body lying in the middle of some road between here and there.”

He gave a low whistle. “You’re playing hardball.”

“Call it whatever you like.”

“You’ll have to squeeze up front with me.”

“Just keep your hands to yourself.”

Behind her, Elisa felt laughter rumbling in Sam’s chest. She was suddenly exhausted. She leaned against him, and his arms encircled her. He felt so warm, despite the rapidly dropping temperature inside the house, and his strength fortified her.

“Don’t plan on staying here the rest of the night if you don’t have to,” Helen warned before she followed the others out of the room. “It might take days to get electricity, or it might take hours. No telling which.”

One of the men called over his shoulder, “You can follow in our tracks to the main road. They were plowing it when we came through.”

“Do you want to give it a try?” Sam’s breath warmed Elisa’s ear and tickled her cheek. “My electricity was on when I left the house. You’re not parked very far into the driveway. We might make it out to the main road, then we’re home free. If we don’t, we can walk back.”

As tired as she was, Elisa knew she wouldn’t sleep. The birth, the secrets revealed, would keep her awake. She also knew that Sam would not allow her to be alone. She had told the truth, but it wouldn’t set her free. She was in more danger now that she had recounted her story, and as his arms tightened around her, she knew he was aware of that. He was not going to let her go without a fight.

“We can probably dig out the car,” she said. “The snow shovels are in the mudroom.”

“Let’s try.” He squeezed her tighter before he let her go.

She washed up one more time; then she changed into the warmest clothes she owned, ending with a pair of rubber overshoes from the mudroom closet that looked to be thirty years old.

Sam was already digging when she joined him. Between them, they shoveled a wide enough path to get the Honda out to the road again. Sam threw one of the shovels into the back seat and motioned for her to get in on the passenger side. She handed him the keys, and he started the engine to warm it while he went down to the road and shoveled his way into the wide tracks the paramedics had left behind.

The snow had nearly stopped now, and except for their footprints and the path they had shoveled, the world was white and breathtakingly beautiful. She drank it in while she waited. Snow crystals adorned the windshield in feathery patterns, completing the fairy-tale illusion. She wondered if she would ever see Helen’s house this way—or any way—again. Except for the crunch of Sam’s footsteps, the little world that surrounded her was so still, so perfectly at peace, that for a moment it was easy to pretend she was a genuine part of it, that the life she had known in Guatemala was a fiction and this the only reality.

The driver’s door opened, and Sam lowered himself to the seat, slamming the door behind him. “Are you ready?”

She wondered what he was really asking. Ready for a short trip? Ready to run? Ready to stand and fight? Ready to believe there was something more for her future than a life of subterfuge and lost dreams?

When she didn’t answer, he slung his arm over the back of her seat and carefully maneuvered the little car into reverse.

Sam estimated the trip to the parsonage, which normally took less than ten minutes, took most of an hour. When they weren’t crawling, they were stopped. Twice he was forced to get out and shovel sections of the road, then push, while Elisa cautiously applied the accelerator, so they could get enough traction to begin moving again. Even the main road was treacherous. Sam, who had grown up in western Pennsylvania’s colder climate, couldn’t remember a worse night for driving.

His driveway was piled with snow, and he stopped in front of the house instead, beside a knee-high snowdrift, and turned off the engine at last. “We’ll have to wade through to get to the porch.”

“I don’t care. I can’t wait to get inside.”

“The lights are still on.” He pointed across her. He could see the lamp in the living room lighting their way.

She rubbed her hands together. “The pleasures of city living.”

They had talked so little since getting in the car that he paused a moment just to soak up the sound of her voice. “I’ll make coffee the minute we get inside. You’re heading for a hot shower.”

“That would be wonderful.”

“I’ll see if I can shovel you out and open your door.”

Taking short high steps, he plowed his way around the car, but Elisa had managed to shove the door into the drift so she could exit without him. Holding on to each other, they tramped their way up the buried walkway. The dogs were waiting inside to greet them. Their smothering, furry weight against Sam’s half-frozen legs was more than welcome.

“Go,” he told Elisa. “And take your time. Just save me a little hot water.”

She finished more quickly than he’d expected, and came to join him just as the coffee stopped dripping and the toasted bagels were ready for cream cheese. As she entered the kitchen, she was toweling the damp ends of her hair. “Your turn.”

He couldn’t help but notice the firm outline of her breasts against her wool sweater as she lifted her arms. “I won’t be long. Go ahead and start without me.”

When he returned in a dry jogging suit and T-shirt, she had set the table for two with blue place mats and folded paper napkins. She’d put out orange marmalade for the bagels, and cream and sugar for the coffee, and added a bowl of freshly washed grapes.

The simple domesticity of it seemed both out of place and extraordinarily welcome. He wished they didn’t have life stories to sort, more secrets to uncover, futures to debate. He wished their lives were this simple, reduced to coffee and gentle conversation. He wished all they had to talk about was the birth of Tessa and Mack’s baby, and the good things that awaited the MacRaes now, after the sadness of losing their daughter. He wished they could end this night in bed together, making love and holding each other for hours afterward to chase away the cold.

“Feeling warmer?” she asked, and the fantasy ended.

He looked away. “Marginally. Shall I pour the coffee?”

“Please. I warmed the bagels again when I heard you turn off the water. I’ll get them.”

He poured coffee into two large mugs and brought them to the table. She slid a bagel onto his plate, then one onto her own. In her seat, she lifted her mug and read the logo out loud, idly tracing the words with a fingertip. “Heroes. Sojourner Truth, Helen Keller, Susan B. Anthony, Coretta Scott King.” She fell silent. The mug was covered with names.

“Alicia Santos?” He lifted his coffee to his lips and savored the heat of it.

“Gabrio was the hero, never me.”

“I want to hear everything.”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Then start with Ramon.”

“It’s all so mixed up, Sam.” Elisa tried to smile, but it was simply a movement of her lips; her eyes remained sad. “Eat your bagel.”

“I’ll need the strength?”

“It’s not an easy story.”

He picked it up; then he put it down again and picked up his coffee instead. “Go on.”

She sighed and cupped her mug just under her chin, as if the steam would infuse the story and make it simpler to tell.

“I told you about the way my parents met. They were so in love. Mamá adopted Guatemala as her own country. Papá’s family had come to Antigua two generations before from a nearby village,
San Miguel Dueñas,
and they were still very poor. Some missionaries discovered Papá in one of their classes and realized how smart he was. Through their efforts, he got a scholarship to the university, even though many of the people in his family were still illiterate, or nearly so.

“But even after he got his education and started a successful coffee exporting business, Papá never forgot who he was or where he’d come from. He bought handicrafts, mostly weaving, at good prices no one else would pay, then sold them abroad. He wanted to help all the people, like his family, who had so little and needed so much. And Mamá, after two years in the Peace Corps, wanted the same.”

Sam knew enough about politics in her country to realize that sentiments like these had gotten many of her fellow citizens killed in the 1970s and ’80s. “I’m afraid to ask where this is leading.”

“I was an only child for most of my life. My mother wanted a large family, maybe because her own family was as good as dead to her, and my father’s family had dispersed through the years or died. I don’t know how many miscarriages or stillbirths she had, but I do know that finally, after yet another, I knew someday it would be
my
job to make certain women like my mother had all the children they wanted, safely and happily.”

“Tonight Tessa MacRae is glad you made that decision.”

She managed a real smile this time. “Then, when I was fifteen, Ramon was born, and my parents were so happy that everything that had come before seemed worthwhile. Not long afterward I went away to college.” She looked up. “Stanford. I finished in three years.”

“That explains your excellent English.”

“Not entirely. My parents wanted their children to be completely bilingual. We spoke English inside the house, Spanish outside the home. No exceptions. I also know several Mayan dialects,
Kaqchiquel
best of all, some others just well enough to get by. Papá helped found craft cooperatives in half a dozen villages. I went with him every summer to visit and learn.”

He reached across the table and touched her hand. “So far it’s a happy enough story. You speak of your parents and brother with love.”

“No child had better.” She cleared her throat and sipped the coffee.

He waited a moment as she composed herself. “What did you do after the years in California? Medical school?”

“Just after I graduated, my parents were killed in a car accident. Although there was no proof it was anything but an accident, some people who knew them and weren’t afraid to whisper the truth said my parents had been run off the road. You see, during the worst troubles in my country, Papá had been an outspoken advocate for human rights, and he had been questioned repeatedly by officers in the army. Mamá was a liberal American activist who still had contacts in the U.S. Both of them were dangerous to the people in charge. The only real surprise was that they were not killed sooner. It was not a good time to be outspoken in my country. It was not a good time to be alive.”

She said the words matter-of-factly, but Sam heard the bitterness behind them, and what he thought was still shock that the parents she loved had been taken so abruptly and cruelly.

“Ramon was not in the car,” she continued. “Or he would have died, as well. That was thirteen years ago. He was only five when they were killed, and suddenly I was no longer a sister but a mother.”

“I’m sorry.” There was nothing better to say.

She ate a little, more as if she needed the time than the food. Then she picked up the story again.

“Papá’s best friend was a doctor named Gabrio Santos. He was a little younger than Papá, twenty years older than me, a generous man with a social conscience who gave much of his time and most of a large inheritance to provide medical treatment in villages where no one else would go. He established several clinics and made quarterly trips up into the mountains. I grew up calling him Tío Gabo.”