Page 55 of Never Leave Me
“On the next contraction, I want you to begin pushing the head out.” Ellen released the baby for a few seconds, letting the weight of the baby’s body add to the momentum.
Only seconds later, another contraction tightened Marian’s stomach, and she pushed until her face was red.
“Breathe, Marian. You can do this.” Ellen guided the baby, even as Marian screamed with pain. The other pregnant woman held Marian up, gripping her and keeping her in place while the midwives put pressure on Marian’s abdomen.
Ellen prayed the head wouldn’t become stuck in the birth canal. Without forceps to help the head along, Marian would have to do the work now without her.
Exhaustion drew lines across Marian’s face, and she closed her eyes. The pregnant servant had her eyes shut now too, and her lips were moving in prayer.
Ellen lifted a short prayer of her own then positioned her handson the baby’s bottom half. “This is it, Marian. You’ve always worked hard to get what you want, and you can’t stop now.”
Once again Marian’s screams filled the room. The sound would have driven the sturdiest soul to weep, but Ellen couldn’t. Not yet. She had to finish the job first.
“Come on. Almost there.”
Marian gave a final heave. It was just enough that Ellen could help guide the baby the rest of the way, and in the next second the baby slipped into Ellen’s waiting hands.
The red, wrinkled infant didn’t make a sound or move.
Ellen’s pulse tripped apace with the need to call out in frustration, but she gave herself a mental shake. Quickly, she began to clear the baby’s nose and mouth, then thumped the baby’s back to dislodge anything farther back in the baby’s mouth and throat. A gurgle, then a choking cough followed by a soft cry brought swift tears to Ellen’s eyes.
The baby was all right.
She worked for several more moments, until the infant gave a hearty wail. She held the baby up for Marian to see, the umbilical cord still attached. “Meet your daughter.”
Ellen handed the child off to the midwife so that she could focus on delivering the placenta. She didn’t have an oxytocic to help cause immediate contractions. But one of the midwives was already preparing a tincture from among an array of bottles meticulously labeled in Marian’s handwriting. Ellen hoped it was one that would help stop the bleeding.
Marian had dropped back against the bed, disheveled, her face pale, with exhaustion causing dark circles under her eyes. She was focused on the baby, who was flailing her arms and legs and crying in short but strong bursts. Tears trailed down Marian’s cheeks. Then her gaze shifted to Ellen, and their eyes connected.
Gratefulness, love, and admiration radiated in the depths of those brown eyes—eyes Ellen hadn’t thought she’d see ever again.
Ellen’s throat tightened with the need to sob. As much as she wanted to throw herself on Marian and hug her and hold her, their reunion would have to wait. She still had work to do making sure her sister and new niece were both safe.
“I bid you to drink the holy water.” A man spoke in low, urgent tones.
The voice woke Ellen. She’d positioned herself in the chair next to Marian’s bed, intending to watch over her sister. But she’d dozed and somehow missed the entrance of the newcomer.
Marian would be very sore for days ahead. But with the help of the midwives, Ellen had compressed the uterus, prevented hemorrhaging, and then cleaned out the clots. The pregnant servant woman had taken care of bathing and swaddling the baby. Once she’d placed the squalling bundle in Marian’s arms, the baby had nursed for a few moments, quieted, and fallen asleep.
Not long after Ellen finished stitching a small tear, Marian succumbed to fatigue and pain. While the servants cleaned up the bedchamber, Ellen perused Marian’s array of medicines in an assortment of small, colorful bottles. Ellen hadn’t been sure what some of them were or the necessary doses, but she’d suspected Marian had replicated a few important modern medicines to the best of her ability. Hopefully, one of them was an antibiotic that would help Marian through the healing process.
“I do not need the water.” Marian’s response was hushed. “I shall heal on my own in due time.”
Ellen opened her eyes to the sight of Marian reclining in the feather-stuffed mattress and propped up with pillows, the baby cradled in her arms. The room glowed with candlelight, revealinga fierce-looking but strikingly handsome man perched on the wooden bed frame on the opposite side of the bed. He was dust-covered and disheveled, strands of his dark hair loose from the leather thong tying it back. While his eyes were intense and his face grooved with worry, he stroked Marian’s cheek with a tenderness and intimacy that meant only one thing. He was her husband. Will.
“A few drops.” Will held a small, colored bottle.
“We cannot use up the last of what we have. We must save it for when we truly have need.”
Ellen marveled at the change in the way Marian spoke. She sounded formal, more like someone from the Middle Ages than from modern times.
At a sudden yawn that crowded for release, Ellen lifted her hand to stifle it. At the movement, both Marian and her husband startled and looked at her.
“Ellen.” Marian’s tone held a soft rebuke.
Ellen sat up and smiled at her sister and then at the sleeeping baby, who was still wrapped as tightly as the swaddling cloths could be wound. “I see that one of you is awake.”
Marian held out an arm in an invitation for a hug.
