Riverbreeze: Part 3 (9 page)

At any other time Evelyn might have been embarrassed to see a woman as exposed as Hetta was: nipples showing through the transparent fabric, her swollen belly large and round, her legs spread open in debilitated exhaustion, the patch of dark pubic hair. But not now. Evelyn only felt sympathy and compassion.

“Are you going to be all right?” Abigail asked in a whisper.

Evelyn nodded, drawing in a fortifying breath. That might not have been such a good idea considering Hetta’s unwholesome odor, but she managed to ignore it and reminded herself that she had once nursed countless dying children at the church orphanage in London. She knew she had the strength and courage to see this through because in her heart she knew that Hetta and this baby would live.

“Good.” Abigail gave her an approving smile, then knelt beside the bed and touched Hetta’s cheek. “Hetta.” She called. “Hetta.”

When the woman didn’t respond, Abigail slapped her cheek a little harder. “Hetta!” She called louder. “’Tis Abigail. Wake up now, Hetta. You have to wake up so you can have this baby.”

Finally Hetta moaned and her eyes fluttered open. “Abigail?” Her voice was so faint, it was merely a whisper.

“Yes, ‘tis Abigail. Stay awake now.”

“Oh Abigail. I prayed you would come and you did. I prayed so hard…” Her voice trailed off as she wept softly.

“How long have you been in labor, Hetta?”

Hetta wiped her eyes and nose with her hand and Abigail took a handkerchief from her sleeve and helped the woman wipe her face. She said. “My pains started last night at bedtime.”

“Why didn’t you send George to fetch me?”

Hetta just shook her head and she started to cry again. “I was too afraid to be alone.”

Abigail patted the woman’s hand in understanding. “All right, I’m going to examine you now.” To Evelyn she said, “Hold her hand, please.”

Evelyn nodded, suddenly feeling a nervous fluttering in her stomach. Things were going to start happening now.

Swallowing hard, she settled herself on the stool, being careful not to kick the bowl of water with a rag in it on the floor and took Hetta’s limp hand in hers. She hoped Hetta wouldn’t detect the shaking of her own hand.

Abigail gently pushed Hetta’s chemise up. With sure fingers and with her eyes closed, she examined Hetta’s belly by touch alone, feeling for the position of the baby. She was very thorough and Evelyn watched fascinated as she could actually see the baby move underneath the taut skin.

Hetta moaned again and twisted her body, digging her heels into the mattress. She cried out and squeezed Evelyn’s hand tight when Abigail pressed a particularly sensitive spot.

When Abigail was finished, she looked at Evelyn with worried eyes. “The baby is sideways. That’s why she’s having so much trouble. Do you want to feel it?”

Evelyn quickly shook her head no, too afraid.

Abigail put an understanding hand on Evelyn’s shoulder. Then she spoke to Hetta. “We’re going to have to try to turn the baby, Hetta. I’ll try not to hurt you.”

“Oh dear Lord.” Hetta started to cry and pray.

Evelyn was scared. “How do you do that?” She whispered.

“We push on her stomach, but first I’m going to have her drink some of the vervain tea. Hopefully it will relax her.”

Without another word, Abigail went to get the tankard of vervain tea. Evelyn waited nervously, watching Hetta out of the corner of her eye. She was afraid to speak to the woman; she didn’t know why. She continued to hold her hand, but…

“What was that?” Hetta suddenly came alert, trying to sit up. Her eyes looked wild.

Evelyn completely understood her reaction. It sounded like the roof might cave in. “That’s Jamie. On the roof.” She answered, eyeing the ceiling. “He’s trying to fix the leak.”

“Oh.” Hetta collapsed back onto the bed. Her eyes closed and Evelyn was afraid she had passed out again. She wished she could relax like that. She tried not to think too hard about Jamie being on the roof in this terrible weather.

But Hetta hadn’t passed out. Abigail returned with the drink and urged her to take several sips. Despite being rather bitter, Hetta drank quite a bit, being very thirsty. Abigail had also brought the cup of oil and placed it on the chest.

Several minutes passed while Abigail checked supplies and allowed Hetta to rest and to give the tea time to work. Hetta had done a good job of preparing for the birth by covering the mattress with old linens and stacking clean linens at the foot of the bed for wrapping the baby. There was also string and scissors. Abigail needn’t have brought her blankets and sheet, although the blankets had come in handy on their trip here.

George remained at the table reading from their family Bible. The women could hear his low voice, a soothing monotone in contrast to the harsh hammering on the roof.

“All right, Hetta. I’m going to do a lot of pushing. Be ready.” Abigail said, then looked at Evelyn and nodded. No words were spoken but Evelyn knew this was going to be difficult for Hetta and if it didn’t work, Hetta would die.

Evelyn had heard of cutting a woman’s stomach open to take a baby out, which always resulted in the woman’s death, but Abigail didn’t have that level of knowledge. Consequently that was not an option at this birth, but even if Abigail could cut the baby out, Hetta would still die.

She continued to hold Hetta’s hand, feeling a fine tremor in her own.

Abigail placed her hands at a particular spot and bent over the body, pushing down hard using her whole weight. She pushed on the baby’s body, a spot close to the baby’s side, trying to manipulate it into the correct position, head down.

Hetta screamed and writhed. It was awful to observe. Abigail continued to push, speaking through clenched teeth. “Turn, baby. Please, God, turn this baby.”

George abandoned his reading. He stood up and watched, wringing his hands and praying.

The baby didn’t seem to want to move. Hetta groaned and grunted, her breath coming out in pants. Abigail pushed some more, then rested, pushed more and rested. She did this at least ten times and then all of a sudden, Evelyn watched in shock and amazement as Hetta’s stomach rolled and shifted. Thank God, the baby had turned.

Abigail straightened, took a huge breath and wiped her sleeve across his forehead. “Good job, Hetta.” She said. “Now we get to work.”

She called George back and told him to bring a candle. When he arrived she instructed him on how to support Hetta’s back and shoulders when the time came. He was glad to do it and gave his wife a tender kiss on her forehead once he was settled.

It was Evelyn’s job to hold the candle steady so Abigail could see between Hetta’s legs. But she was filled with apprehension and her hands were not so steady. The flame danced and quivered tellingly.

Just as Abigail was warning Hetta that she was going to touch her, Hetta had another contraction. This one was very strong. She cried out; her face turned bright red, and she rose up and grabbed her knees. Abigail motioned to George that this was the time to support her back and shoulders. He did so, his face taut with tension.

Evelyn’s hand shook even more. Her heart was pounding. Abigail positioned herself between Hetta’s knees and dipped her fingers into the oil. With gentle fingers she massaged and stretched the flesh at the opening of the birth canal. “It won’t be long now.” She said.

When the contraction was over, Hetta collapsed back down onto her husband, panting.

Abigail kept massaging and rubbing, talking encouragingly to her.

Things sped up then. Her water broke next; the gush of fluid soaked the sheets and dripped onto the floor. Another strong contraction and another long growl.

The door opened and Jamie appeared, soaking wet, water dripping from his slicked-back hair and muddy boots. When he heard Hetta’s scream, he put the pail of goat’s milk on the floor so fast some of it spilled over and he turned and left, terror on his face. Evelyn smiled to herself. He was so afraid to be near a woman having a baby he would rather be out in the rain.

She suddenly realized that nobody had even noticed that the dripping from the leak in the ceiling had stopped.

Back to business. She kept the candle close, watching in fascination as Hetta’s body stretched and contracted a few more times and then the opening stretched impossibly wide and a head eased out along with more fluid and blood. She jumped a little when it happened. Abigail quickly wiped the baby’s face, concentrating on clearing his mouth and nose.

“What is it?” George asked, trying to see, but he was behind Hetta supporting her shoulders.

“One or two more pushes, Hetta.” Abigail said. “Hold her up, George.”

Hetta pushed one more time, letting out a long, drawn-out grunt. With Abigail’s hands guiding the baby’s shoulders, he slid out, flaccid and blood-smeared.

“It’s a boy!” Abigail said, quickly taking a cloth and rubbing the baby all over. It was only after the baby had been stimulated that he started to cry and wave his little fists.

Evelyn realized she was crying as well. It was the most terrifying and wonderful thing she had ever seen. It was a miracle and she felt ever so grateful that she had been a part of it.

George had tears in his eyes and he kissed his wife over and over. “A boy, darling.” He said. “A strong boy. Listen to him.” He was beaming.

“Give him to me.” Hetta said, reaching her hands forward. She was panting, relief and exhaustion on her face.

Abigail placed the baby on Hetta’s stomach and Hetta gently stroked the wet tufts of brown hair.

“All right, one more push, Hetta, and then we’ll be done.”

A final contraction and the afterbirth slid out. Abigail efficiently tied the cord and cut it with the clean scissors. Thankfully there was no excessive bleeding.

She then took the baby for just a minute and wrapped him in a clean linen towel. From that moment on the baby didn’t leave Hetta’s arms.

Evelyn, Abigail and Jamie stayed the rest of the day and overnight. Jamie finally came back into the house, bringing a basket of eggs in with him. He told George he had taken care of the goats in the barn and the chickens were secured in their coop. The storm passed and Evelyn and Abigail took care of cleaning up after Hetta and settling her with a mug of pea broth. The rest of the afternoon was spent restoring the bed to a clean state, disposing of the soiled linens and cooking dinner for everyone. At the table, George gave thanks for his new son, good friends and Abigail’s expertise.

After the meal he proudly entered the information into the Turner family Bible under the other two little lost female children, a boy born the day of the full moon, December 1, 1643. 2:30 in the afternoon. His name: George James Turner Jr., healthy and whole.

That night as Evelyn settled down next to her husband on a pallet on the floor close to the fireplace, she thought of the amount of effort and pain it took to bring a new baby into the world. But after seeing the joyous looks on Hetta’s and George’s faces, she determined that it was all worth it. And she couldn’t wait for the day when she would give her husband a child of their own.

Sleep didn’t come too easily even after the exhaustive day. There were periods of time when the baby slept soundly, usually after Hetta had fed, cleaned, and swaddled him, but otherwise he was up crying every two hours. Hetta was an attentive mother though. She was not going to let this child die. She listened carefully when Abigail gently instructed her in the proper care of infants: bathing in warm water was essential to good health, keeping his hands and mouth and nose free of dirt and paying particular attention to his privy parts which Hetta was a little nervous about. It was all good information to know, Evelyn thought, and tucked the information away for when it was her turn to have her own son.

She smiled to herself then. She remembered the first time she had seen a little boy in the flesh. She hadn’t been nervous like Hetta had been, but then she hadn’t had to touch the boy and clean his delicate little penis.

Just as she was on the verge of sleep and imagining what Jamie had looked like as a little boy, a feeling came over her. Tension. Tingling. Breathlessness. It was a familiar feeling and immediately she knew what Elizabeth and Robert were doing.

“What’s wrong?” Jamie whispered in her ear. He had felt the stiffening of her body.

“Nothing is wrong.” She whispered back, smiling languidly as the intensity of tension released and her whole body relaxed.

“That rascal!” Jamie hissed good-naturedly. “They’re probably doing it in our bed!”

Evelyn chuckled. “Why would you believe that?”

“A change of scenery. To get away from Robin. I know him!”

Evelyn smoothed her hand over Jamie’s temple and jaw. “When we get home, should we send them away?” She was joking, of course.

“I wish we could.” He growled low in his throat only for her to hear, pulled her close and kissed her soundly.

“Oh. That was nice.” She sighed, feeling boneless.

“That is only a sample of what you can expect when we get home. No second-hand pleasure for my wife.”

Again Evelyn laughed a little. “Oh Jamie, I do love you.”

“And I you, my little miracle-maker.”

“I’m not a miracle-maker! Abigail was the one who turned the baby and delivered it safely.”