The Vrooman mansion had been built in the 1780s. The building had withstood a major earthquake, hurricanes, and occupation by enemy troops. It had been the home of Dutch immigrants whose fortune was based on growing valuable long-staple Sea Island Cotton. After the cotton fell prey to the boll weevil, the plantation was abandoned, and although succeeding generations had renovated and lived in it from time to time, the house had been falling apart for years.
"Xan?" she said, climbing up on the brick porch at the rear of the house. Here the fragrance of the forest blended with the richness of the surrounding marshland's scent, which was wafted away by the ocean breeze. It was quiet here, and private.
Maura peered through one of the windows. It had been boarded up once, but vandals had torn away the planks. She rubbed a dusty pane with the side of her hand and looked through the clean spot.
Someone looked back. "Xan!" she exclaimed. Their eyes met and held with a startling intensity. Without a word he whirled and came to the door, where he hesitated. He wanted to rush to her and enfold her in his arms, but something stopped him. The look in her eyes wasn't soft but determined. His heart sank.
"I was looking for you," she said.
"You found me," he replied, and she couldn't detect a welcome in his voice. The words were just words.
"Interesting place," she said, stalling for time, striving for a semblance of normality.
He tried to match her tone. "I didn't know you wanted to see it or I'd have brought you here myself," he said.
She shook her head. "I'm not here because of the Vrooman mansion. I wanted to see you."
"What's the momentous occasion?" He immediately regretted the question and winced inwardly. It sounded much too cynical.
She shrugged. "I just want to talk," she said.
"Sit down here," he said, gesturing toward an area of the great open porch. "Right on the brick. That's it." There, that sounded more friendly. He inhaled deeply.
Maura put off saying anything, appreciating the sun's welcome warmth on her face.
"Now what were we going to talk about?" he asked. It was his eyes she noticed most; the pupils were large and dark, the irises deeply green. He looked upon her with expectancy, waiting.
If only he knew how hard this was for her! "I'm not going to be a labor coach in the birthing rooms," she said.
Despair clutched at Xan's stomach. It didn't bode well that she was leading with bad news. "I wish you were," he said quietly.
"I have to work the way I want to work. I'm going to continue with home births. I want you to know that first, before I tell you anything else."
"You mean there's more?" He stared at her. She looked beautiful, as always. But there was a courage about her, too, and a determination. He had always admired her determination.
Maura nodded. She'd gone too far to stop now. "In California—" she began, but Xan interrupted.
"Look, Maura, I don't expect to hear about unhappy love affairs or—"
"Love affairs? After that night we spent at your house, you think I've had love affairs?" She gaped at him, two red spots staining her cheeks.
"It has me puzzled, all right," he said ruefully. "I know I was the first man you ever slept with, but there must have been someone else, the way you clam up whenever the subject of California creeps into the conversation."
"All this time you've thought I had an ex-lover somewhere?"
"Until that night, yes, I did. Now I think—oh, hell, I don't know what I think."
She couldn't help it. She started to laugh, to laugh so hard that tears began to slide unheeded down her cheeks. Xan viewed her with alarm, wondering if she was hysterical. Should he offer her a handkerchief? He didn't have one.
Finally Xan did what his instincts told him to do. He reached out and pulled her into his arms, where she stopped laughing and sobbed and sobbed against his shirt, dampening it with tears. "Shh," he murmured, "it's all right. Whatever happened in California, it couldn't have been that bad."
She bit her lip and hiccupped, loving how strong his arms felt and how they provided such a safe haven. "It was horrible," she said. "At the time I thought it was the worst thing that could ever happen to me. Until lately, when I found out that the worst thing that could happen to me was to lose you. Oh, Xan, I've missed you so!"
He kissed her eyes, and when he looked down it was to admire the delicate tracery of veins on the lids. Maura—how much he loved her!
"Tell me," he said unsteadily. "Tell me everything."
And so she settled down in his arms, his heartbeat steadying her, and she poured out the story. She was all right until she got to the part about the mother superior ordering her to stop her outreach practice. Her voice quavered as she told Xan how she'd pleaded to continue.
She'd sat before the mother superior, hands folded demurely in her lap, but underneath her quiet facade her emotions were seething. Finally she'd lost her cool. "But Rosa Vaccaro is in labor right this very minute, her husband has sent for me, I must go," she'd babbled. With the stern mother superior staring her down, she couldn't really believe that it was all over, the practice she had built from nothing. What would these people do? Rosa had never been in a hospital in her life, was scared of hospitals and couldn't afford one. What would happen to women like Rosa?
The mother superior was steadfast. "You must telephone Mrs. Vaccaro and tell her to call an ambulance to bring her to the hospital. We cannot guarantee your safety on the streets of this neighborhood any longer. We will not allow the same thing that happened to Sister Angela to happen to you."
"Mother, please listen," began Maura, ready to plead, to bargain, to do anything. Her place was with the poor people in their homes and doing the work she had been called to do. She had no fear for her own safety.
"No," said the mother superior. "When you came to us, you took solemn vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience. Obedience, Sister Maura. Remember that vow. From now on, your outreach practice of home births is discontinued." She dismissed Maura with a wave of her hand. "Now go."
Maura had gone. She'd prayed, and she knew what she had to do. She could not submit to authority, not in this instance. Her work, the work she loved, was all-important. With deep regret and many a backward glance, she left the convent. And knowing that she couldn't remain in that neighborhood where the looming presence of the hospital and the convent would continue to remind her of that heartbreaking conflict, she had fled to Shuffletown, where the people were also poor and had need of her services.
She could be dedicated to the service of people who needed her, even outside the convent. But in her wildest dreams she had not foreseen the complication of meeting Dr. Alexander Copeland.
* * *
"You're an ex-nun?" Xan asked incredulously when she had finished.
She nodded solemnly.
"There was no other man," he said as if to convince himself.
"No," she assured him.
"I thought—I thought you were thinking of someone else those times that you wouldn't let me—" He stared at her. "I was trying to make love to an ex-nun."
She nodded again. "I didn't want you to know. I couldn't talk about it, the subject was so painful. Can you imagine how terrible it was for me to leave, Xan? Giving up my dreams? Even my whole identity, the way I thought of myself, was gone after I left the convent. It wasn't until I met you that I began to think of myself as a woman for the first time, with a woman's wants and needs."
Xan was very quiet. Then he pulled her into his arms and held her tightly, as though he would never let her go.
"To work in a hospital," she said, her words muffled against his chest, "would remind me too much of what it was like in California after I had to discontinue my outreach practice."
"How? Surely Quinby Hospital is different from that place in California."
She shook her head. "I coached patients in labor at my convent's hospital for several months after I was ordered to give up my outreach practice. It was an intensely
unhappy period of my life, and during it, I slowly came to grips with the understanding that I might never enjoy the privilege of officiating at home births again. It was a time of great inner conflict and crisis. I examined my conscience and ultimately was guided to leaving the convent. Maybe someday I'll be able to work in a hospital, but not yet."
"Now that you've told me these things, I won't ask you to work in Quinby's birthing room," said Xan. "If you'd told me before, I never would have mentioned it in the first place. I understand wanting to be your own person, believe me." And to Maura this hard-won understanding, at last, was a wonderful relief.
"I'm going to recommend Golden to Dr. Lyles when I see him tomorrow," she told him.
"Golden will do a fine job."
"She's eager to do it. We may add more midwives to our birth center staff, and they could be backups." Just yesterday, she'd received an email from Bonnie Trenholm, who had told her of a midwife who was planning a move to another sea island off the coast and looking for work.
"Raymond will be pleased. He was quite taken with you," Xan said.
Maura rolled her eyes. "After staring me down and intimidating me?"
"That's just his way. Aromatherapy isn't old-school enough for him." Xan managed a laugh, but he was glad that the conversation had taken a more casual turn.
Maura slid her eyes sideways. "So you won't be annoyed with me if I continue my home births?" Her voice sounded tentative but hopeful.
He leaned back and looked down at her, shaking his head. "I won't be annoyed at you, no matter what. I've seen you work. I've come to believe in you, and I admire what you do. I think I've been old-fashioned and stubborn and, well, I've been a fool. I'd like to be your sponsoring obstetrician. That is, if you still want me to be."
"You mean it? Really?"
"Really. I think I can get you delivery-room and emergency-room privileges at Quinby when and if you want them. Raymond Lyles will come around; he's already proved that he's ready to change childbirth procedures at Quinby by bringing in birthing rooms. In fact I suggest that we institute some sort of merger so that our patients may choose any birth method that appeals to them. You've opened my eyes to all the possibilities, Maura."
"You mean you want to be part of McNeill Birth Center?"
Xan shook his head. "I'd like my office and your birth center to remain separate, but we'll refer patients to each other and consult with each other when necessary. We can let our patients make their own decisions. I know we can work it out if we try. You and me—the art of midwifery and the science of modern obstetrics blended. Would that suit you?"
"It sounds perfect," she said, amazed.
"You look so surprised," he told her.
"I am. Very."
"And I have another merger in mind also."
She looked at him questioningly, unsuspecting.
"Marry me, Maura. Soon."
It was too much to take in at once. "Marry you?" she said weakly.
He smiled down at her, a fond smile. "I want you to be mine, forever and ever. To wake up beside you in my big rice bed. To make babies together, wonderful, beautiful babies. To eat your lumpless oatmeal on cold winter mornings, because McNeills always eat oatmeal in the winter. Ah, Maura, I love you." And he kissed her in a way that left no doubt in her heart that he meant it.
"The woman you were with last night. The blonde," she said, trying to comprehend it all.
"I took her home right after dinner and rushed back to your house to wait for you. But you never arrived. By the way, something arrived. Mehitabel is now the proud mother of four kittens."
"You mean she didn't mean anything to you? She's not one of your—"
"Who? Mehitabel? I barely know her." His eyes were sparkling with mischief.
"Don't be funny, Xan. I'm serious. The blonde in the restaurant."
"She was a blind date. A very lovely lady, but she's not you. Weren't you paying attention? I love you. You."
She was filled with the happiness that came with being held in Xan's arms, and overlying that was the stirring, deep within her, of her hungering passion for him. She knew instinctively that her life was just about to begin, now, with Xan. It was the beginning that she would cherish most of all.
"And I love you," she said, sure of him and sure of herself for the first time in a long, long time.
"Then your answer is yes?" he said, his lips brushing her cheek as he spoke.
"Yes," she said, and then after he kissed her again, a long sigh, "Yes."
And finally, joyously, with a knowledge so sure and so deep, Maura knew she had found, in Xan Copeland's arms, the world she was meant to know and the woman she was meant to be.
Epilogue
One Year Later
"Bear down, Maura," said Golden.
Maura gasped at the force of the pressure. Never mind how many birthings she had attended, it was different when it was your own baby being born. She gripped Golden's hand and, when the contraction was over, lifted her head to smile at her husband. She lay supported in his arms, half sitting, half lying between his thighs, in what she had found was the most comfortable position for her in her labor. Xan kissed her tenderly on the temple and worked a hand around to her swollen abdomen, massaging gently.
"Want some ice chips?" Golden asked.
"Mmm, yes," said Maura drowsily. In between contractions she felt so sleepy, even though she'd only been in labor for five hours.
Golden moved swiftly to the kitchen area of the birthing room. Every birthing room at Quinby Hospital was equipped not only with a kitchen where simple meals could be prepared but with its own bathroom. The birthing bed was covered with percale sheets in pastel colors.
In the privacy provided by Golden's temporary absence, Xan whispered in Maura's ear. "Comfortable?"
"I'd like more support for the small of my back," Maura told him. Xan maneuvered the pillows until Maura sighed in relief. "That's better," she murmured, lacing her fingers through his and bringing their entwined fingers to rest on one rounded breast. She had long ago shed the confining hospital gown, and she lay naked in his arms.
"I can feel your heart beating, strong and sure," Xan told her.
And then the next contraction came, and his eyes held hers, and Maura drew strength from their message of love. In this first year of their marriage, she had never felt closer or more connected to her husband than now, as they waited for their child to be born.
What a wonderful year it had been! Maura's practice had grown to embrace women who wanted home births in the most elegant homes on Teoway Island as well as in modest homes in Shuffletown. She and Xan had combined their practices and developed a working rapport that was fulfilling for both of them. Although they both now lived in Xan's house, Maura continued to work at McNeill Birth Center every day, and Xan kept his regular office hours. When Xan had been put in charge of the new birthing rooms at Quinby Hospital by an ailing Dr Lyles, Maura had guided Xan toward making the hospital birthing rooms practical, comfortable, and homey. It seemed only right that, since they'd both worked so hard to make the Quinby Hospital birthing rooms a reality, their own child be born at Quinby with Golden's help.
Golden returned quickly and, waiting until a contraction had passed, placed slivers of ice on Maura's tongue. Maura closed her eyes until the next contraction overtook her.
"Maura, push, that's right, oh, your baby's head is crowning!" Golden sounded excited, happy.
Panting, Maura lifted her head and watched Golden over the mound of her abdomen. No, not her abdomen, her baby, her and Xan's baby, and the thought gave her strength so that her next push was a strong one.
"Let me lie back," she gasped, and instantly Xan slid from beneath her and moved around to where Golden was sitting between Maura's upraised legs. Now Maura could see him better, and she focused mightily on the love she felt for Xan. For this was the utmost expression of her love for this man, bearing his child.
And with beautiful harmony it happened: Maura felt t
heir baby's body passing through hers, first the head, and then with another powerful effort that took all of Maura's strength, the baby itself slipping into Xan's waiting hands, and in the joy of that perfect moment the three of them were irrevocably bonded into a family.
After cutting the cord, Xan placed the baby gently, reverently, upon Maura's abdomen while Golden did what she had to do, and when Maura lifted her eyes to those of her husband, she was touched to see tears of love and pride and happiness shimmering in their depths.
And there were joyful tears in Maura's eyes, too, and they slid unimpeded down her cheeks.
"A girl," said Xan, his voice breaking. "A beautiful, perfect baby girl." The baby began to cry, gathering air into her lungs, and Maura's heart gladdened at the sound.
With both hands she reached for her daughter, but she was exhausted from the effort of childbirth. Xan helped her to draw their baby to her full breast, where the sweet pink mouth groped for and finally found Maura's nipple.
Xan eased himself onto the side of the bed, marveling at the miracle. For it was a miracle. Maura had made him first perceive birth as a miracle long ago, back in Annie Bodkin's shack. But now he knew what the real miracle was. Not birth, not sexual contact between a man and a woman, but love. Love was the miracle, perhaps the only one that still existed in this crazy world.
Gently he lay down on the bed beside his wife and his child, thinking that he had never seen Maura looking more beautiful than she looked now. He would never forget the way she had looked with the sun shining through her ruby-red hair as she delivered Annie Bodkin's baby. Nor would he forget the glow in her eyes the first morning she'd ever awakened beside him in his bed. Xan would always remember Maura as a lovely bride, swaying gracefully toward him down the aisle of the quaint Teoway Island church. But today Maura was radiant, and her beauty transcended mere physical attributes.
Cherished Beginnings Page 18
