“Who shall I call to come?” Her brows were lifted, her mouth pursed as she eyed Ellie with an expression of horror. “How can we reach Winston?”
“We can’t.” Might as well tell her flat out, Ellie decided. “Ethel has gone to deliver a baby outside of town, and Kate is probably still at school. For now I think it’s just you and me.”
“I’ve never delivered a child,” Mathilda said pointedly.
“Neither have I,” Ellie said agreeably. “However, I don’t have a choice.” And then she was caught up in another series of contractions, and she closed her eyes to concentrate on the slow, steady breathing she’d watched Kate put into practice.
She walked. From bedroom to hallway to parlor, then back, she paced the floor. From front door to back, down the hallway, through the kitchen, she walked, ever listening should the sound of Win’s voice pierce the stillness. As one pain after another came on, she paused, leaning against the wall, or the newel post on the staircase, or the kitchen table. Wherever she happened to be, she waited it out, and prayed for Win to arrive.
The force of her misery was centered in her back, and she recognized that it was different from Kate’s labor. Knew that something was not as it should be.
There was no sun in the sky, only gray, hanging snow clouds, that alternately dumped heavy, thick drifts on the ground, or hovered low, bringing on early darkness. James came to the kitchen door during one of her treks to that room, Kate having sent him to check on her. He returned moments later to announce that she’d brought Tyler home early and he was running a fever.
“I’d watch him for her, but I’ve got a situation going on that I have to tend to,” he said apologetically. “Will you be able to hold out until Win gets here?”
Ellie grimaced. “I really couldn’t say, James. This is all new to me. I just know I’m about ready to climb in my bed and let this thing happen.”
She’d done just that when she heard a commotion in the hallway. Mathilda’s shrill tones spoke of anger and perhaps a smattering of fear, Ellie decided, but she was too caught up in misery to crawl from the bed and find out. The door opened with a bang and Mathilda’s form shielded Ellie from whoever was attempting to enter.
“You can’t come in here, you savage,” she said harshly. “You have no place in this house.”
“Ellie?” Ruth’s soft tones caught her attention, and Ellie lifted her head from the pillow. “Tell your mother-in-law to let me in.”
“Ruth!” It was a choked cry, and Ellie realized to her dismay that tears were gushing from her eyes. “Mathilda! Get out of the way,” she cried, struggling to sit up on the bed. “Let Ruth in!”
With barely a sound, soft leather moccasins crossed the floor and Ellie felt hot tears spring to her eyes as she held out a hand in welcome. Ruth’s fingers gripped hers with supple strength, their cold touch bringing a strange comfort to Ellie’s heart.
“I had to take off my heavy boots in the hallway, and then hang my coat,” Ruth explained quietly. “I thought I’d not be able to get past your watchdog out there.”
Ellie laughed, then hiccupped as she wiped her tears. “She’s not mine. And at this point, I’m not sure Win is willing to claim her, either.”
“He’s gone out to the Kirkpatrick place, hasn’t he?” Ruth asked. “I felt your need, Ellie. Caleb gave his blessings and rode with me to the edge of town, then left to go back home. He was fearful of me being alone in the snow.”
“You knew I was alone?” Ellie asked. “Did you hear that Ethel went out for a delivery, and Kate is at home with a sick baby? James had a problem to tend to, and Kate is upset because Tyler has a fever and she doesn’t dare take him out in the weather.”
“No,” Ruth said, a strange smile curving her lips. “I had no way of knowing you were alone here. I only knew that your need was greater than the force of snow and wind. And so I came to you.”
“Who is this heathen creature?” Her lips drawn flat by anger, Mathilda stood in the doorway, her glittering gaze casting contempt on the woman who held Ellie’s hands in a clasp that was almost an embrace. “What right does she have to enter my son’s house without a by-your-leave?”
“I am Ruth Kincaid, wife of Caleb,” Ruth said with a dignity that must surely be apparent, even to Mathilda, Ellie thought. “I’ve come to help in the delivery of Ellie’s child.” She looked back at Ellie. “Do you have the tea I left with you?”
Ellie nodded, feeling the angry surge of pain surrounding her once more, her belly drawing forward as though the child within would burst through flesh to be born, rather than take the path nature decreed. She groaned with anguish, pushing at the taut rounding of her belly, her skin straining from the tension and swelling of her womb.
Ruth’s hands were gentle, removing Ellie’s clutching fingers and replacing them with her own firm palms and widespread clasp. She closed her eyes and measured the height and width of the child who was struggling to be born, and her head bowed as she pressed even harder, as if her fingertips could receive a message from the babe within.
Easing its bite, the pain left Ellie, and she shivered, the sweat on her body chilling her as she relaxed against the mattress. Ruth pulled a quilt to cover her and brushed dark hair from Ellie’s face. “I ask you to go into the kitchen, Mrs. Gray, and find a package of tea leaves Ellie has placed in a flowered sugar bowl on the buffet. Heat water, if you please, and brew it in a large cup.”
Without looking up at Win’s mother, Ruth settled on the side of the bed beside Ellie. “I fear the child is breech,” she said quietly. “Do you know what that means?”
“No,” Ellie whispered, dreading the meaning behind the word Ruth uttered with such solemn pronouncement.
“The head has not come down as it should, or perhaps the baby has turned recently, and Win hasn’t noticed. Has he checked you within the last days?”
Ellie nodded. “The first of the week, just like always. He listened to the heartbeat and felt for…” She halted. “I never know just what he’s feeling when he moves his hands over me. He just smiles and tells me that all is well.” She hesitated, and then a thought came to her. “I know I’ve felt some hard movements in the last day or so, as if the baby was turning around, trying to get comfortable.”
Ruth nodded. “So impatient they are to be born sometimes, they try another way to seek the light.” Her smile was tender, but Ellie felt the tension that darkened Ruth’s eyes and brought her lips together tightly. “We’ll take care of it, Ellie. When you have your next pain, I’ll try to turn the babe.”
Mathilda approached the bed, her head high, her jaw set. “Surely, there must be a midwife in this godforsaken part of the world. Is there no one we can send for?” In her hands was a large mug, steam rising to scatter a pungent scent through the air. “The water was almost boiling in the kettle,” she told Ruth, placing the cup on the bedside table.
“Lift up a bit and sip at this,” Ruth told Ellie, holding the cup to her lips, her other arm supporting her shoulders. The tea was spicy, with a distinct flavor, and Ellie, remembering Ruth’s promise that it would ease her labor, held the hot liquid in her mouth and swallowed it as instructed.
“Are you worried about me?” Ellie asked Mathilda with an amused glance in the woman’s direction. She eased from Ruth’s grasp and lay back on her pillow, and her subdued laughter was sharp, as if such a thing were next to impossible.
“I don’t like the thought of anyone suffering unduly,” Mathilda said stiffly. “And I certainly wouldn’t trust myself to the hands of a savage, if I were you.”
“Ruth is a healer,” Ellie said in a thin whisper as pain once more became her tormenter, and its arms circled her body with an agony she’d never thought to know. “Help me,” she cried, her body lifting from the bed as she twisted in the throes of labor.
Ruth’s fingers sought out the baby’s head with one hand, there where it pressed upward almost between Ellie’s ribs, and with the other gripped the rounded part that bulged
just below her navel. A high, piercing shriek erupted from Ellie’s throat, and she sobbed her distress as Ruth exerted pressure.
With a sigh, Ruth released her hold and gripped tightly to fingers that clawed for purchase. “Hold me,” she whispered, seemingly uncaring of Ellie’s fingernails that dug into her darker skin.
The pain receded once more and Ellie was limp, weary from the hours she’d spent in walking throughout the house before she’d taken to the bed that held her now. “Win?” she asked, her voice ragged, the tears again in evidence.
Mathilda bent to peer at her, her face strangely strained, her eyes no longer cold, but instead filled with a concern Ellie could hardly believe. “Are you certain there’s no one I can look for?” she asked. Her gaze sought Ruth. “This girl will die if you can’t take the babe from her womb.”
“She’s strong,” Ruth decreed. “And I feel that Win will be here soon.”
Mathilda snorted her disbelief. “Do you interpret dreams, too?” she scoffed. “How could you possibly know such a thing?”
Ruth ignored her, bending to wipe Ellie’s brow. “I want you to drink more of the tea, and then we must try once more to turn the baby,” she whispered. “I know it will be painful, Ellie, but I fear it’s too large to be born with its bottom coming first.”
Ellie nodded, and eased upright with Ruth’s help, drinking the brew eagerly, hopeful that it would live up to its promise. Then, unable to utter a word, she slid to her back once more, as the contraction began anew and she was torn on the rack of agony.
Win hadn’t prepared her for this. You’re built for having babies. She recalled the laughter in his eyes as he’d smoothed his hand over her waist and downward. You’ve got nice hips. And then he’d…
She caught her breath, and in the black vortex of misery that gripped her, she heard his voice, listened as harsh words spewed from his mouth. And then, he was there. Cold hands touched her face and he whispered a faint promise.
“It’ll be all right, sweetheart. Let me wash, Ellie. I can’t touch you until my hands are clean.”
He left her then and she sobbed at the vision that had been taken from her. Until his voice called her again, and his hands, no longer cold, but large and firm against her flesh, brought reassurance. He spoke quietly to Ruth, his words terse and stark, their meaning lost in the mists of Ellie’s pain, and then he placed a cloth over her face and she turned her head, fearful of it cutting off her breathing.
“Hush, sweetheart. Hold still. I’m giving you something to relax you. I don’t want you to sleep, though. Just listen to what I tell you.” More murmuring met her ears as she inhaled the sickly, sweet odor of chloroform deeply into her lungs.
“Your hands are smaller than mine, Ruth. It’ll be easier on her if you do it. You’ll have to push upward and then bring the feet down.” Hands pushed at her, fingers worked her flesh, and Ellie floated higher on the relief given her by the dripping dose Win administered. Stretched almost beyond bearing, she groaned as Win called her back from the netherland that beckoned.
“Ellie, we need you to push now,” he said urgently, holding her hands in his and rousing her with gentle strength. A pain that overwhelmed the relief she’d gained tore at her, and she opened her mouth to cry aloud. But Win was there, bending close to speak encouragement, his voice spurring her to do his bidding.
“Take a deep breath, Ellie. Now, push hard. Push against Ruth’s hands. Don’t quit pushing, sweetheart. Just one more time.”
If Win said to climb the mountains, she would do as he asked. And if bearing the pain one more time would bring the laboring to an end, she could do no less. In moments, another cry split the air, one that began as a weak, tentative wail, only to escalate into an angry squeal, and then a scream that brought sudden laughter from Ruth.
“You sassy little girl-child,” Ruth said with relief and humor combined. “Look here, Ellie,” she called out. “See your daughter.” Holding high the small body, the cord still attached, Ruth reached to place the squirming babe on Ellie’s stomach.
“Hand me that string and those scissors,” she told Mathilda, and Ellie was only vaguely aware of the movement between her legs. Through tear-drenched eyes, she viewed the infant she’d delivered and watched as Win wrapped a clean flannel cloth around the slippery form, swaddling the dark-haired babe with practiced movements, leaving only the last fold incomplete.
He held the bundle closer to Ruth for a moment, watching as she cut through the thick tissue of the umbilical cord with a single stroke. And then he turned back to Ellie. “Do you want to hold her, sweetheart?” His hands completed wrapping the wriggling infant, and Ellie smiled and nodded as she watched.
His voice was soft, yet deep with emotion, and she searched his face, wondering at the expression of pure joy that lighted his features. He had eyes only for the babe, and his head bent as he blest the wrinkled forehead with a touch of his lips. Then he looked up to meet his wife’s gaze.
“She’s beautiful, sweetheart. Looks just like her mama.” His eyes shining with pleasure, he placed the child in Ellie’s arms. Then he lifted them both, until they were surrounded by his embrace.
Ruth muttered darkly as she disposed of soiled pads and replaced them with fresh linen. “You’re supposed to be doing this, Doc. I’m just the helper.”
Win laughed aloud. “You do that so well, you’ll be taking my business, Mrs. Kincaid,” he said, teasing the healer as readily as though they had not just passed through the travail of childbirth, as if Ellie had not minutes since survived the trauma of a breech delivery.
“I don’t want your business, Doc,” Ruth said, looking up with a smile. “Although I hope you’ll note, I didn’t allow her to tear.”
Ellie felt euphoria take her, recognized the residue of the drug she had inhaled as it brought surcease from the discomfort of the tugging and scrubbing Ruth was initiating. “I told you it would be a girl,” she whispered. Triumph tinged the words and she was suddenly exuberant, her mind ignoring the pain and misery of the past hours.
“So you did, Mrs. Gray. So you did.” Win’s kiss was gentle, his touch tender as he spent comfort on his wife. And across the room, Mathilda watched, her mouth pursed, her bearing regal, her eyes narrow as she viewed the aftermath of new birth.
Chapter Seventeen
“I’ll be leaving in the morning.” Mathilda’s words held her usual reserve within each syllable, but Ellie chose to see beyond the facade Win’s mother put in place. In the depths of her eyes, behind her habitual shield of control, lurked a spark of humanity Ellie had caught a glimpse of during her long night of labor. And so, she bridled the impetuous response that begged to be spoken, to focus on a softer reply.
It would not do for Ellie to bristle every time Win’s mother ruffled her feathers, and now seemed the time to make a new beginning.
“I’d hoped you’d stay for the baby’s baptism,” she said quietly from her perch on a kitchen chair. Mathilda sat across the table, her face a mask of indifference as Ellie spoke her wish.
“It seems you have enough women running in and out of my son’s house without adding myself to the clutter,” Mathilda said in a tone that appeared to demean Ellie’s stream of visitors.
And Ellie listened to her heart before she replied. Closed her mind to the words and concentrated instead on the lonely woman who watched her with wintry eyes.
“I have some wonderful friends,” she said finally. “And I appreciate them stopping by to see the baby and bringing meals for all of us. But, I don’t think you understand what it’s meant to Win to have you here. Those other women are friends…but you’re family.”
Win cast her an unbelieving look from his position by the stove, but fortunately, his mother was not in a position to view the cynical twist to his mouth.
“Winston all but divorced himself from his family several years ago when he decided to pursue the practice of medicine.” Mathilda’s words vibrated with pain, and Ellie suddenly recognized the achi
ng heart beneath the woman’s stiff reserve.
“He only did what he had to,” Ellie said. “And how you could be here and watch him, and know how much he cares about his patients, without recognizing that, is beyond me.” She reached across the table, placing her fingers over Mathilda’s delicately formed hand. It was slender, the fingers long and tapering. The hand of a lady, and Ellie mourned for a moment that she would never possess such elegance.
Mathilda’s hand twitched, but it was a mark of her upbringing that she allowed Ellie’s palm to rest where it lay. “I’ve certainly made note that Winston is in demand, and I’m sure he’s more than competent. I only rue the day he decided to leave the streets of civilization to spend his life on the frontier.”
“And I,” said Ellie with a look in her husband’s direction, “will be eternally grateful for the day he arrived in Whitehorn.”
“I’m sure,” Mathilda said, and then her mouth twitched as if the words within must be spoken. “He saved your baby’s life, Eleanor. Possibly yours, too. For that I’m thankful. I would never wish you ill. I hope you are aware of that fact.”
“I am.”
“She’d have lived through it, Mother,” Win said dryly. “It would have been harder for her to deliver a true breech baby, but Ellie’s strong. I just made it a little easier for her. Or maybe I should say, Ruth did.” He grinned at Ellie. “It seemed I was just an ordinary father at the last there. Ruth did all the work.”
“You told her what to do,” Ellie reminded him. “And I’m glad you were with me. I couldn’t have gone through it without your help.”
A Convenient Wife Page 26
