Teresa Bodwell (24 page)
Authors: Loving Miranda
Miranda stared into the dangling barrel of O’Reilly’s pistol. She kept her knees drawn up over her belly in case he decided to start kicking again. And she prayed God wouldn’t let O’Reilly pull that trigger.
A few months ago, she hadn’t cared whether she lived or died. She had been certain that her life made no difference. Everything was different now. Ben needed her, and she wanted to be with him for every moment he’d allow it. And there was the small life that would die with her.
“Shoot if you like, O’Reilly.” The quaver in her voice betrayed her fear.
“No.” O’Reilly holstered his gun. “No, ma’am. I want the pleasure of watching Mercy see you die. Each of you. Her sister, her husband, and her precious little boy. I’ll kill each of you slowly while she watches, and then I’ll kill her.”
Chapter 21
Ben was on the porch shaking the snow from his hat when Mercy opened the door and rushed out of the house.
“Jonathan?” She looked around.
Ben blew out a breath. “Sorry,” he said, “I was hoping I’d find him here.”
“Thad hasn’t been back yet.”
He noticed Mercy shivering under the light shawl she had wrapped around her shoulders and guided her back into the house. The heat was nearly overwhelming after the biting wind outside. He pulled the door closed behind them.
“I won’t stay long.” Ben hung his hat and coat on one of the pegs near the door. “I’ll take a lantern if you have one; it’s near dark out there already.” Ben looked around. “Where’s Miranda?”
“She should be back any time.” Mercy pulled a large mug off the shelf. “Some coffee to warm you, before you go out?”
“Miranda left?”
“She had an idea of where Jonathan might have gone.” Mercy glanced out the window before handing Ben the cup. It felt so hot against his numb fingers that he nearly dropped it. He set the cup on the table.
“How long has she been gone?”
“An hour.” Mercy glanced at the clock on the shelf. “No, a bit more.”
Ben’s stomach pulled into a knot. The storm was building fast. If Miranda was out there, she could easily be lost. “Which way is it to—”
Mercy sucked in a quick breath and closed her eyes for a moment as she rubbed a hand over her middle. “Coming closer together,” she mumbled.
“What’s coming closer?” Ben searched her face, but he had a feeling he knew what she was going to say.
“Birthing pains.” Mercy kept one hand across her middle while she rubbed her back. “I don’t think it will be long now.”
“I’ll . . . I’ll get your pa.” Ben headed for the door.
“Gone to town.”
Damn!
“Don’t worry.” Mercy attempted to smile, but he could see she was worried herself. “Miranda was going to make a quick check of the small cabin out on the winter range. She’ll look for Jonathan and come right back—should be here soon.”
“I’ll go find her. It’s getting hard to see out there.”
Mercy grabbed the back of a chair and leaned against it as another pain gripped her. She nodded, but Ben wasn’t certain he should leave her.
“Will you be all right, alone?” Ben realized he’d shouted at her.
Calm yourself, man. Women give birth every day.
It was likely much easier than he imagined.
Calm yourself, man. Women give birth every day.
It was likely much easier than he imagined.
She paced back to the window and peered out, holding the shawl wrapped tightly against her. Then she paced over to the stove, opened the door, and added fuel.
“Should you be walking around?” Ben asked.
“I’m fine, Ben.” She gave him another quick smile that disappeared almost as fast as it came. “Don’t you fret over me.” She walked back to the window and stared out into the darkness again.
Ben started to grab his coat but stopped short when he heard Mercy grunt in pain. He turned back to where she stood leaning against the wall, looking pale and fragile as she fought the pain.
“It’s against my back,” Mercy said, rubbing her back. “The baby needs to turn.”
Ben wondered what the hell that meant. He’d heard of breech births and knew they were dangerous.
Hellfire and damnation.
Surely Miranda would be back in a moment, and she’d know what to do.
Hellfire and damnation.
Surely Miranda would be back in a moment, and she’d know what to do.
“Should you sit down?” Ben led Mercy over to a chair.
“I . . .” Mercy sucked in another breath and shook her head. “Better to be up and walking as long as I can.”
He swallowed hard as she leaned on him this time. He could feel her tense with pain.
“It isn’t bad.” She gave him another quick smile. “Truly.” She licked her lips. “I could use some water, though.”
He brought it for her and she took a sip, then resumed her pacing about the room. Ben didn’t know what he should do. He wanted to go out and search for Miranda, wanted to assure himself that she was fine. But he couldn’t leave Mercy alone.
“She will have made it to the shelter by now.” Mercy read his thoughts. “I’ll wager she’s decided to stay there, especially if Jonathan is with her. Too dangerous to be out there now.” Mercy grunted. “Too hard to see.”
“I’ll be of more use here, then.”
Mercy gave him a quick nod and closed her eyes. She leaned on his arm and seemed to concentrate on something for a minute, perhaps two minutes. Then she relaxed her grip. “Sorry,” she said, “I’ll try not to squeeze your arm.”
“Don’t worry.” He attempted a reassuring smile. “You won’t hurt me.”
Mercy looked into his eyes. “I know.” She licked her lips and looked around the room. “Could be with the storm that you’ll be the only one here when the baby comes.”
Ben nodded. The same thought had occurred to him. “I don’t have a lot of experience in these matters.” For a moment, he worried that Mercy didn’t either. After all, she’d never given birth before.
“Don’t worry.” Mercy sank onto a chair. “It isn’t difficult. I could use some help, though.”
“Tell me what to do. How can I help?”
“I have everything ready, I think,” Mercy said. “Could be a long wait.” She rubbed her hand over her belly and leaned back in the chair. “First babies are usually slow. But there’s no telling for certain. They have their own timing.”
Ben nodded. He tried to appear confident, as though he weren’t terrified. Women died giving birth. He knew that much. And babies died sometimes. His mind flitted to Miranda out alone in the cold. No, she was safe, as Mercy suggested. Safe and warm in the shelter. “There’s a stove—where Miranda is?”
“A fireplace. Thad just stocked it with wood. Don’t you worry about your wife. She knows how to take care of herself.”
“I know she does.” Ben swallowed. Lord help him, he wished he had talked to her before she’d gone. There was so much he needed to tell her. He looked at Mercy. “I worry about her is all.”
“It’s natural to worry about our loved ones.”
Mercy was caught up in another wave of pain, which saved Ben from having to respond. He hadn’t yet said out loud that he loved Miranda. It was true, though. He did. It was only right that the first time he said it would be to his wife. To the woman he loved and hoped to spend a lifetime with, if she would have him.
Mercy changed out of her dress and showed Ben the preparations she’d made in the bedroom. They put some blankets near the stove to warm them and opened the bedroom door to allow the heat into the room.
“I wish we had a stove in here,” Mercy said. “The baby needs to be kept warm. I reckon if we leave the door open the bedroom will warm some, and we can take the baby into the kitchen after.” She paced back out to the kitchen and busied herself. “Miranda made some soup before she left. Would you like something to eat?”
“I . . . What if I’m eating and you need me?”
“You have time. Don’t worry, you’ll know when it’s getting close.”
Ben watched Mercy pace as he ate the soup and cold biscuits. “Shouldn’t you eat something? Keep your strength up?”
Mercy shook her head. “I’ll be fine.” She resumed pacing, back and forth, and kept her eye on the door. After a while she walked up to the window, wiped the frost, and looked out.
Neither of them said aloud what they were both thinking: Miranda wasn’t going to make it home before this storm ended. Ben closed his eyes and mumbled a brief prayer for her safety. The thought crossed his mind that the Almighty probably found it strange hearing from him.
It’s for Miranda, Lord. Don’t blame her for my failings. Protect her in this storm.
It’s for Miranda, Lord. Don’t blame her for my failings. Protect her in this storm.
Assisting a woman in labor was a test of patience. The entire exercise was about waiting and feeling helpless. There was little Ben could do for Mercy as she struggled with each pain. After he’d begged her to give him something to do, she suggested he press against the small of her back as the pains came, and he found that this provided her with some comfort.
He imagined how it would be to see Miranda going through this. And worse, how it would be to imagine her going through this without him by her side. As the night went on, the latter prospect became an impossibility. He knew that no force on earth was going to keep him away from his wife as she gave birth to their child.
He still couldn’t imagine himself as a father. He was terrified at the thought of holding the new life that Mercy was fighting to bring into the world, let alone his own son. But that dread could not compare with the fear that he would do something to make the child’s life miserable. That somehow his child would grow to resent him. That his own flesh and blood would wish Ben had gone to that tropical island and never met Miranda, or fathered her child.
But what he most dreaded was to think of life without Miranda. He might be completely selfish in thinking that it was right for him to stay with her. He had little doubt she’d be better off without him. The child certainly would be, yet Ben did not have the courage to leave her.
“I think I have . . . to yell.” And then Mercy let out a sound that scared the hell out of Ben even after her warning. He reminded himself how tough his sister-in-law was as he watched her take in another deep breath and blow it out between clenched teeth. She was red in the face and obviously tired, but he was certain she would soldier on. As she’d told him hours ago, there was no turning back now.
“We’re making . . . good progress,” she told him between quick breaths. “Won’t be much longer.”
“Good. I’m not sure men are meant to go through this.”
Mercy started to laugh, but another pain took her and she screamed again.
“Just as well Jonathan isn’t in the house,” she joked. But he knew from her worried expression that her son and husband were not far from her mind.
He’d long ago given up looking at the clock and wondering how bloody long this laboring could last. Babies, Mercy kept reminding him, came in their own time, and there wasn’t much anyone could do to hurry them along. He’d spent the first hour or two asking her to slow things down, to wait until Miranda or Thad or anyone else could be here to help. Now, he just wanted it to be done.
“The mirror,” she snapped.
The birthing room was no place for polite formalities. She’d given up “please” and “thank you.” He’d stripped down to his shirtsleeves. He wore no collar and his top button was open so that he could breathe. He held the mirror so that Mercy could see what was going on between her legs. It was impossible to avoid looking himself. Strangely, his sister-in-law seemed to have no modesty. And Ben didn’t really feel as though he was looking at a woman’s body. The changes brought about by the impending birth were that dramatic.
Thad, on the other hand, might well disapprove of Ben looking. He’d felt Thad’s fist on his jaw once and didn’t look forward to having that experience again. Yet Mercy needed someone, and Ben was the only one available.
“I see the head. Do you see it?” Mercy asked.
Ben looked and saw something, though he had no idea whether that bulge could be an infant’s head. “I . . . um . . .”
“I’m going to push . . . now!” Mercy strained with effort, and the bulge did increase.
“Could that be a human head?”
“It is a head!” Mercy shouted at him. Or at least he thought she tried to shout. She sounded tired.
“I’m sorry.” Ben set down the mirror. “What can I do?”
Mercy caught her breath. “We’re getting close. I’ll push and you watch—”
“Your husband—”
“Will be most grateful to you for helping his child into the world.” Mercy stopped for several breaths. “I need to push. You’re going to need to support the baby’s head when it comes out. I should be able to feel it, but it will help if you tell me what you see.”
It happened as she said it would but not on the next push. In fact, Ben lost count of the pushes; he lost track of time altogether. He’d seen a lot of courage in the war. Had seen men go on when they were wounded and in pain. This was different and yet the same. She’d been past exhaustion hours before, and now raw determination gave her the strength to press forward. By contrast, Ben felt more and more helpless. Or perhaps a better word was useless.
He heard her sigh as she collapsed back onto her pillow. His pulse started racing. He moved to her side and squeezed her hand. “No turning back, remember?”
She nodded. “It can’t be much longer now.”
“It won’t be.” He gave her hand another squeeze and she squeezed back as she began pushing again. He helped her sit more upright as she bore down with all her strength.
“Almost,” Ben croaked. “One more will do it,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. He could see tears streaming down her cheek and knew she was nearly spent. If he was wrong, his words might prove more discouraging than helpful.
But he wasn’t wrong. The baby’s head emerged on the next push. “It’s out.” Ben touched the small head, bracing it gently in the palm of his right hand. “The head is out.” It occurred to him that the body would be larger, and he wondered how it would fit through the narrow opening that was barely wide enough for the head.
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