The Bridesmaid's Baby (15 page)

She couldn’t speak.

‘I love you,’ he said again, and she tried to smile but she sobbed instead.

‘I love you, Goose.’

Will kissed her damp eyelashes. ‘You’re the most important person in the world to me. That’s got to be love, hasn’t it?’

She could feel a smile growing inside her. ‘It does sound promising.’

His eyes shone. ‘I want to protect you and your baby.’

‘Our baby,’ Lucy corrected, and yes, she was definitely smiling on the outside now.

‘I want to make you happy every day. I want to sleep with you every night and have breakfast with you every morning.’

‘That definitely sounds like more than friendship, Will.’ Smiling widely, she reached up and touched the grainy skin
of his jaw. ‘And I should know. I’ve loved you for so long I don’t know any other way to be.’

His hands framed her face and his eyes were shining. With love. ‘Do you think you could marry me, Lucy?’

She smiled as a fleeting memory from a time long ago flitted through her mind—pages of a school book filled with her handwriting:
Lucy Carruthers. Mrs Lucy Carruthers.

‘I’d love to marry you, Will.’

He punched the air and let out a war whoop. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘but I couldn’t help it. I just feel so damn happy.’

And then Will kissed her.

He poured his happiness and his love and his soul into the kiss and Lucy discovered that an old shed with a leaky roof was the most romantic place in the world.

T
HEIR
baby chose to be born on a crisp clear winter’s day in July.

Will rose early when it was still dark. He built up the fire in the living room so it could heat the whole house and, with that task completed, he returned briefly to his bedroom doorway. He smiled at the sight of Lucy still sleeping, the tips of her blonde curls just showing above the warm duvet.

He continued on to the back door, donned a thick, fleecy lined coat and heavy boots and went out into the frosty dawn to the first of his daily tasks—checking the condition of the pregnant ewes and any lambs born during the night.

The sun was a pale glimmer on the distant horizon and the sky was grey and bleak, his breath a white cloud. Grass underfoot was crisp with frost. Last week he’d started spreading hay and feeding their flock with winter grain stored in their silos.

Farming was constant work, but Will loved his new life. Loved being in the outdoors, loved working with the animals and the land, planning the seasonal calendar of tasks required to keep the business running smoothly.

Best of all, he loved sharing every aspect of farm life with Lucy.

His wife was a walking encyclopaedia when it came to sheep and there’d been plenty of times when he’d had to humbly ask for her advice. But lately Lucy had been endearingly absent-minded, her attention turning more and more frequently inward to their baby.

And that was the other grand thing about Will’s life these days—the pregnancy.

Of all the adventures he’d enjoyed, this surely had to be the greatest. Will never tired of watching the happy light in Lucy’s eyes, or the proud way she carried herself as their baby grew and grew. Never tired of seeing the baby’s movements ripple across her belly, or feeling stronger and stronger kicks beneath his hand.

Together Will and Lucy had converted his old bedroom into a sunny nursery, with yellow walls and bright curtains and a farmyard frieze.

‘The kid will only have to look out the window to see a farmyard,’ Will had teased.

But Lucy wanted farm animals so that was what they had, along with a wicker rocking chair and a fitted carpet, a handmade quilt lovingly pieced by his mother, as well as a white cot with a soft lamb’s wool rug.

And any day their baby would arrive and they’d be a family.

At last.

This morning, Will refilled the water troughs and pulled down extra bales of hay which he spread for the pregnant ewes, and he checked the three healthy lambs that had been born overnight.

Satisfied that all was well, he returned to the warm
kitchen, ready for breakfast, and found Lucy already up and busy at the stove. His heart lifted as it always did when he saw her.

She was wearing one of his baggy old football jerseys—blue and yellow stripes—over blue maternity jeans and her feet were encased in fluffy slippers.

‘Hey there,’ she said, turning to smile as he entered.

He came up behind her, slipped his arms around her and kissed her just below the ear. ‘How’s my favourite farmer’s wife?’

‘Fat, pregnant and in the kitchen.’ Lucy laughed as she leaned back against him and lifted her lips to kiss the underside of his jaw.

‘That’s exactly how I want her,’ Will growled softly, dipping his lips to trap hers for a longer, deeper kiss.

When they sat down to eat, he was surprised to see that Lucy had nothing besides a mug of tea.

‘Aren’t you hungry?’ he asked, feeling guilty that he’d already started on his mushrooms and toast.

She smiled and shook her head.

‘That’s not like you.’

‘It’s just a precaution.’

He felt a stab of alarm. ‘A precaution?’

‘I’ve been having contractions.’

Will almost choked on his food. ‘Lucy. My God, what are you doing, sitting here watching me eat breakfast? I’ve got to get you to hospital.’

‘It’s OK, Will. There’s no rush.’ She smiled at his dismay. ‘The contractions are still twenty minutes apart.’

‘Twenty minutes?’ He couldn’t have been gone much longer than twenty minutes. ‘How many have you had? When did they start?’

‘They began around four this morning.’ She must have seen the panic in his face and she laughed. ‘Don’t worry. With a first baby it might take ages. I could go on like this all day.’

‘But you might not. And it’s a good hour’s drive to the hospital.’ How could she sit there looking so calm? Was she crazy? ‘Shouldn’t you ring the doctor?’

Lucy nodded. ‘I’ll ring him when I’m certain that it’s not a false—’

She didn’t finish the sentence. Without warning, her entire manner changed. She sat very still, her face concentrated. Inward. Breathing steadily but deeply. In, out. In, out.

Nervously, Will watched his wife. If Lucy was in labour he wanted her safely in hospital, surrounded by a team of medical experts.

‘Phew,’ she said at last. ‘That was stronger.’

‘What about the timing? How far was it from the last one?’

She looked at the clock. ‘Gosh, it was only ten minutes.’

‘That’s it then.’ Will lurched to his feet. ‘Come on, we’ve got to leave
now.’

Lucy caught his hand. ‘Are you sure you don’t want your breakfast?’

‘Not now.’

Lucy’s suitcase had been packed and ready for some weeks. ‘I’ll put your bag in the car,’ he said, grateful that they’d bought a comfortable all wheel drive station wagon some months back.

‘OK. I’d better get the rest of my things.’

He gave her a tremulous smile, but there was nothing tremulous about Lucy’s grin. Her face was alight with exhilaration. ‘Isn’t this exciting, Will? Our baby’s coming.’

A tidal wave of emotions flooded him. Glorious love for
her. Chilling fear and a desperate need to protect her. Closing the gap between them, Will took her in his arms. ‘I love you so much.’

‘I know, my darling.’ She touched a gentle hand to his cheek.

He clasped her to him, his precious, precious girl. ‘I’m going to get you there safely, Lucy. I promise.’

Will drove with his heart in his mouth. Despite Lucy’s calm assertion that all was well, he knew her contractions were getting stronger and he suspected they seemed to be coming closer. He could tell by her bouts of deep breathing and the way she massaged her stomach and he knew she needed all her concentration just to get through the pain.

Now he cursed himself for not making better contingency plans. He’d tried to suggest that Lucy stay in town with her father for these final weeks, but she’d insisted she’d be fine. He’d read the books on childbirth. He knew every case was different. Hell, he shouldn’t have listened to her.

‘Sorry, this is going to be bumpy,’ he said as they came to the old wooden bridge crossing Willow Creek.

‘It’s OK,’ she said, smiling bravely. ‘I’m between contractions.’

But they had only just made it to the other side of the bridge when Lucy gave a loud gasp.

‘What’s happening?’ Will sent her a frantic sideways glance.

She couldn’t answer. She was too busy panting.

Panting? Didn’t that mean—?

‘Lucy!’ he cried, aghast. ‘You’re not in transition already, are you?’

‘I think I might be,’ she said when she’d recovered her
breath. For the first time she looked frightened. ‘First babies shouldn’t come this fast.’

She no longer sounded calm. All too soon, her eyes were closed, her face twisted with pain, one fist clutched low, beneath the bump of the baby.

Oh, God. They were still thirty minutes from the hospital. Will felt helpless and distraught as he pressed his foot down on the accelerator. His heart began to shred into tiny pieces.

As they rounded the next curve, Lucy cried out and the guttural animal force of the sound horrified Will. Seizing the first possible chance to pull off the road, he brought the car to a halt.

‘I’ll ring for an ambulance,’ he said, already reaching for his mobile phone.

Lucy nodded and managed a weak smile. ‘Good idea. I…I think the baby’s coming.’

Will choked back a cry of dismay.

The voice on the other end of the emergency hotline was amazingly calm as he explained their situation and gave the necessary details, including their location.

‘The ambulance is on its way,’ he said, wishing he felt more relieved.

Lucy nodded and fumbled with her door handle.

‘What are you doing?’ he cried as her door swung open. Had she gone mad?

Leaping out of his seat, he hurried around the car and found his wife slumped against its side, panting furiously.

Helplessly, he tried to stroke her arm, to soothe her, but she pushed him away and shook her head. He stood beside her, scared she might collapse, arms at the ready.

When the panting was over she opened her eyes. She looked exhausted. Sweat beaded her upper lip. ‘It’s too
painful sitting in that front seat. I think I need to get into the back.’

‘Right,’ he said, biting back his fear. ‘Let me help you.’

He hated to see Lucy’s pain as he struggled to help her with the unwieldy transfer. Her contractions were fast and furious now and there seemed to be no spaces between them. He found a cushion for her head and helped her to lie along the back seat.

In a tiny lull, she sent him a wan smile. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t dream it would be this fast.’

‘Our baby can’t wait to get here,’ he said, doing his best to sound calm. ‘He knows what a great mother he’s getting.’

After the next contraction Lucy said quite calmly, ‘Do we have any towels? Can you get the baby blanket out of the suitcase, Will?’

The baby blanket? He must have looked shocked.

‘In case we beat the ambulance,’ she said.

No, no. That couldn’t happen, surely?

But by the time he’d found a beach towel—freshly washed, thank God—and retrieved the baby blanket from the hospital suitcase, Lucy was panting so hard she was in danger of hyperventilating.

‘It’s coming!’ she cried. ‘Will, help me!’

With frantic hands, she was trying to push her clothing away in preparation for the baby’s imminent birth.

Oh, God it was actually happening. This was it. The birth of their child. On the side of the road beneath a river red gum.

Over the past nine months Will had imagined this birth, but he’d always pictured himself watching from the sidelines while medical experts did the honours. Mostly he’d seen himself emerging from a delivery room wearing a
green hospital gown and a beaming smile as he shared the good news with their waiting families.

But, to his surprise, as soon as he accepted that he had no choice about where their baby might be born, an unexpected sense of calm settled over him. The terror was still there like a savage claw in the pit of his stomach, but Lucy needed him and he had to pull himself together.

Before they’d left home, he’d promised to protect her. He’d never dreamed what that might involve, but this was the moment of reckoning. She needed him to be calm and competent.

He could do this. For her. For their baby.

‘OK, Goose, you’re doing really well,’ he said as he settled the folded towel beneath her.

Lucy merely grunted and went red in the face. Her right hand was braced against the back of the front seat. With the other she clung to an overhead strap.

She held her breath and grimaced, and Will couldn’t bear to think how much this was hurting her.

Then he saw the crown of their baby’s head.

Lucy finished pushing and let out an enormous gasp as she wilted back against the cushion.

‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘Our baby has dark hair.’

She tried to smile. ‘I’m going to have to push, Will. I can’t hold back any longer. If you can see the baby’s head, that means I can push without doing any harm.’

‘Tell me what to do,’ he said, ashamed of the hint of fear that trembled in his voice.

‘Just be ready to catch. Support the head.’ Lucy sent him an encouraging smile before her belly constricted and she was overtaken by the force of another contraction.

Inch by inch, their baby emerged.

‘You’re brilliant, darling,’ he told her. ‘I can see the eyebrows, eyes, nose.’ Excitement bubbled through him now. ‘I can see the mouth. It’s kinda scrunched but cute.’ He held his hands at the ready. ‘OK, the head’s out.’

Somehow he managed to sound calm. ‘It’s turning.’

With the next of Lucy’s grunts, he gently but firmly held his child’s warm damp head. He saw a slippery shoulder emerge and then another. In the space of three heartbeats, he was steadying his baby as it slipped from its safe maternal cocoon.

He and Lucy had chosen not to know the baby’s sex, but now his heart leapt with incredible joy.

‘Lucy, it’s a boy.’

‘A boy?’ Her eyes opened and a radiant smile lit up her face. ‘Oh, the little darling. I had a feeling he was a boy.’

Will’s throat was too choked to speak as he lifted his son onto Lucy’s tummy. Their son had thick dark hair, and his little arms were outstretched, tiny fingers uncurled, as if he was reaching out for life, or bursting through the winner’s tape at the end of a race.

‘Oh, Will!’ Lucy whispered, looking pale but happy. ‘Isn’t he handsome? Isn’t he gorgeous?’

‘He looks like a champion,’ Will agreed, but then he frowned as a new fear worried him. ‘Should I do anything? Is he breathing OK?’

‘I think he’s fine.’ Lucy spoke calmly as she rubbed the baby’s back and, as if to answer her, the little fellow began to cry, with a small bleat at first, then with a loud gusty wail.

She grinned. ‘He’s got a terrific set of lungs.’

‘He’s got a terrific mum,’ Will said as he helped her to wrap their son in the soft white blanket dotted with yellow ducklings.

The whine of a siren sounded in the distance and Will felt a weight lift from his shoulders.

‘Help is on its way,’ he said.

Lucy smiled. ‘I’ve already had all the help I needed.’ With a wondrous, soft expression she touched the top of their son’s head. ‘Thank you, Will. Thank you.’

By midday Lucy was happily ensconced in a private room in Willowbank Hospital in a lovely big white bed, with her darling baby boy, wrapped in a blue bunny rug, beside her.