Page 96 of The Pirate Lord
“That’s true enough,” Queenie said mildly. “But I know a thing or two about bringin’ a child into the world. And you ain’t got much choice just now, Miss La-Di-Dah.”
Gideon went to stand at the doorway and looked in, but all he could see was Ann, Louisa, and Queenie crowding around the bed. Just beyond them, he glimpsed Molly’s pale face and her hair matted with sweat.
Queenie settled herself on the edge of the bed with a murmur of distress. He couldn’t tell what she was doing, but when she finished, she wiped her hands on her apron and announced, “Aye, the baby’s breech, all right. We’ll have to turn it.”
“Turn it? Can it be done?” Louisa asked anxiously.
“Aye, it can be done. Sometimes. I’ve tried it a couple of times before.” Queenie sounded grim. “It worked only once, though. Sometimes you can’t turn the baby.”
“Do whatever you have to!” Molly’s high-pitched voice rose above the others’ murmuring. “Just get the baby out of me, damn it!”
Suddenly, Ann and Louisa moved away from the foot of the bed, both going around to help comfort Molly, and Gideon got his first sight of Molly’s parted legs. He gasped. Blood and water smeared her thighs nearly to her knees.
“By God, do something!” he choked out.
“I’ll take care of it, cap’n,” Queenie retorted. “You go fetch us some boilin’ water, all right? And have Silas make extra for tea. The poor girl’s gonna need it after this.”
She didn’t have to ask twice. Gideon fled at once, cursing himself for his cowardice. Dear God, Molly was so small, so fragile. How would she make it through this? And what would become of her baby and little Jane if she didn’t?
He found Silas in their new communal kitchen and gave him Queenie’s order. Silas already had a pot boiling. He took it off the fire, then came up next to Gideon. “You’re lookin’ green around the gills, cap’n. She’s havin’ a rough time of it, eh?”
Gideon looked at the older man with wild eyes. “She might die. The baby might die.” He pounded his fist on the table, full of self-loathing. “And it’s all my fault, do you hear? I should have brought doctors to this place and midwives. But what do I know about taking care of women? I don’t know a damned thing! Sara was right. I didn’t even consider their needs, not once! It’s no wonder she left me.”
Setting down the pot, Silas patted Gideon’s shoulder, then went to the cupboard and poured him a cup of whisky. “Here now, settle down and drink this. It can’t be so bad as all that. And Miss Sara didn’t leave you because you didn’t bring doctors here. She left because she had to take care of family. But she’ll be back. She said she’d come back, and I believe her.”
“She won’t,” Gideon said grimly. “She hates me, as well she should.”
“Stop talkin’ that way. It don’t do no good to think such things, most especially when they ain’t true.” He picked up the pot again. “Now you sit here and drink a bit while I bring this to Louisa. And maybe by the time I come back, I’ll have some good news for ye.”
Good news? What good news could Silas possibly bring? Even if Molly lived, which looked doubtful, the poor woman was still trapped here, thanks to him.
And he was still without Sara. He had to get out of bed every day and move forward and work and eat and live, all the while knowing that Sara had not loved him enough to stay. For that matter, he didn’t even know if she had loved him at all. She’d never said she did. Of course, he’d been equally silent on the subject, afraid to put into words something that might makehim even more vulnerable than he already was. But he’d lost her anyway, and now it was too late to tell her that without her he was a ship without sails—dull, listless, emptied of meaning.
No wonder his father had drunk himself into a stupor every night after losing the woman he loved. It was one way of getting through the silent nights and the empty, cold days.
Gideon wouldn’t do that, however. He had too much self-respect for that. No, he would just . . . exist. He would go on. But no matter how he tried, he would never succeed in driving her image from his mind.
With a groan, he dropped his face in his hands. If she had wanted to punish him for all his sins, she’d certainly found the way to do it. He hadn’t realized how much she’d brought to his life until she’d taken it all away, not even giving him a chance to ask her to stay.
Rising from his seat, he thrust his chair aside in sudden anger, watching as it skittered across the new plank floor. Yes, that was what made it hardest. She hadn’t waited for him, hadn’t said a word, not even good-bye. She’d slipped away as if eager to take her chance to be rid of him.
And after all she’d said about wanting to help, after all she’d said that night on the deck of the ship. He remembered that night so clearly, the way she’d given him hope, the way she’d goaded him out of his despair by saying they could rebuild Atlantis?—
Confound it, what had she said?If you’re willing to fight for it instead of letting it die. Perhaps he hadn’t fought hard enough for her either. She’d gone away, and he’d let her, so angry over her betrayal that he hadn’t acted when he could have.
But now that he looked back on those weeks they’d had together—and especially the last two days—he couldn’t believe she hadn’t meant any of the things she’d said about wanting to marry him and help him rebuild Atlantis. No one had forced herto agree to marry him, after all. And if she’d known her brother was coming to rescue her, why hadn’t she simply resisted Gideon’s attempts at seduction until her brother arrived?
His blood ran cold. Perhaps he’d been too hasty in assuming she wanted to leave. He strained to remember what Ann and Petey had told him that night on the beach. Peteyhadhinted that Sara had been forced, before Ann had stopped him. And what had Ann said about Sara’s begging her brother not to attack the island? Perhaps it hadn’t been her brother she was concerned about.
He shook his head. He was pinning his hopes on a few chance words and misconstrued meanings. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that something else had gone on that day to make her leave without a word.
“Well, Cap’n,” came a lilting voice from the door, “she’s borne a fine baby girl.”
He turned to find Ann standing there beaming. Relief swept through him, so intense it staggered him. “And she’s all right? And the baby?”
“Both right as rain. Queenie surprised us all, she did, but she knew what she was doin’ and took good care of them both.”
“Thank God somebody knew what to do.” He raked one hand through his hair wearily. “I certainly didn’t.”
