by H D Coulter
“I am here, my love.” He stroked her forehead and her damp, dark hair.
“Something...” she let out another moan, “something is wrong...”
“Won’t you help her doctor?” Beth shouted desperately, staring at her sister and then back at the doctor, who had frozen instantly to the spot.
Joshua, stroking Bea’s hair with one hand, grasped her right hand with his other, and felt a fraction of her pain, as a sense of dread washing over him. He couldn’t lose her, not like this. Hanley’s baby was killing her, finally getting what he had wanted all along. After everything they had endured, making a life here, for it all to just end like this? No, he wouldn’t let it happen. Joshua pulled his gaze away from Bea and glared at the confused doctor. A bitter anger began building inside of him, and he opened his mouth, ready for harsh words.
At that moment, they all heard a small knock at the bedroom door. For half a second, no one stirred, too embedded in the moment. Then Sarah let go of the small rag in her hand, dropping it into the bowl of water, and made her way to the door. Behind which the small errand-boy was standing.
“Tell me you found her?” she whispered.
“Yeah, she’s downstairs, in the kitchen.”
Sarah nodded her head and followed him out of the bedroom.
Highlighted by the low burning embers in the hearth, and the afternoon light straining through the basement windows, a larger black woman hovered in the corner. She clasped a small carpet bag close to her body, not yet trusting the owners of such a house.
“Miss Fisher? Good to see you again, thank you for comin.”
“Why am I here? Why am I in this house?”
“My mistress needs you. I heard about yo’ skills through others at meetin’ house, Mma.”
“Them white folk who live here, they do not want my skills; they will not want me here.” She shook her head and made her way towards the back door.
“Sir, the - Mr Mason-” she still could not use the word ‘Master’, having vowed to herself once she was free never to use that word again, “he asked me to send for you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, Mma – they have need of a wise woman, a midwife.”
“Is the baby coming?”
“I don’t know, I think so, but somethin’ is wrong with the Mistress.”
“I will come, but for a price.”
“He will pay you whatever you ask him Mma, he is good for it. I give you my word.” She held a hand to her heart. In the distance, Bea’s cries filtered down to the kitchen as Miss Fisher made her way up the staircase.
Chapter 8
“Sir – sir?” Sarah tapped Joshua on his shoulder as he gently stroked his wife’s hand. The room was fixed in the same tableau as when she had left. “Miss Fisher is here.” Joshua looked up at her, slight confusion on his face. “You asked me to fetch her, sir?”
“Where is she? Bring her in, please.” Sarah nodded and made her way back towards the door.
Miss Fisher observed the stillness of the room, with the doctor standing awkwardly in the centre. Sarah made her way to Bea, gesturing to Miss Fisher to follow as she clutched onto her carpetbag, filled with herbs and tonics. Bea let out another low moan. Miss Fisher stepped back and studied her movements, how her body shook and contracted, and the swell of her skin. The baby was coming soon, but something was indeed wrong.
Sarah stood aside to give Miss Fisher space as she knelt beside the sick woman. Joshua said nothing. He hovered a foot away and watched, praying silently that she could help. Miss Fisher started at the head, feeling her forehead, the heat and sweat flowing out of her. Her hands moved over Bea’s chest, and she lent closer, and tilted her head nearer Bea’s mouth, listening to her breath. She heard a tightness in her chest; the baby pressing on her lungs. Next, Miss Fisher brought out a tarnished pocket watch. One side was dented, and the clock face had a slight crack across the glass. She mirrored the previous doctor’s motions, placing her two fingers onto Bea’s wrist. She counted the beats as she watched the tiny second-hand tick. The breathing was too shallow, and the heart too fast. She carefully placed the watch back into her dress pocket and moved her hands towards the bump. Her fingers pressed into the overstretched skin and felt for the baby. The legs were under her ribs and the bottom high. Her hands skimmed over the baby’s back and towards the head. The baby was engaged. As her hand moved lower, Bea let out another low moan.
“Stop – stop, she is in pain!” Joshua called out, stepping closer to Bea.
“Sir, she – your wife - she is in labour. I need her to move to the bed.”
“The baby is coming?” He said in shock. He wasn’t ready, they weren’t ready.
“We will help you.” Beth stepped forward, looking at Sarah.
The movement in the room brought life back to Doctor Hutton, who looked startled and disgruntled at these latest developments. “What do you think you are doing? What is this - woman – doing here?”
“She is helping us,” replied Joshua plainly.
The Doctor stepped closer to Joshua and muttered under his breath: “Trust me, you do not want her kind touching your wife. She needs to leave.”
Joshua took a step back and shot a hard glance at the Doctor. “I asked for her to come, and she will stay.”
“What can she do? How will she help? I am the only qualified medical practitioner here.”
“My wife is in labour and you failed to notice, when she did not - I think that is enough of a reason for me.” Joshua gave the doctor a challenging stare.
“If she stays, I will not,” threatened the other.
“She stays.” Joshua turned his back and made his way to the bed.
“Then I will not take the blame when she causes harm to your wife and child with her dark voodoo. I’ve seen this evil craft before, women with their smoke and herbs. They know nothing of the genuine science of this world, and-”
“Blood,” said Miss Fisher abruptly, cutting off the Doctor’s righteous flow.
“She is bleeding?” The worry was clear in Beth’s voice.
“I need to examine her, properly – it might hurt.”
“Joshua?” Bea’s voice was faint.
“I am here – we are going to look after you, I will not leave you.” He grabbed her hand, taking the pain as her fingers squeezed his until they turned white. Joshua turned his head back to the Doctor. “Leave us; send me your bill, I will pay you for your time.”
Beth stood behind Miss Fisher and saw the first blooms of crimson liquid soak into the sheets.
“Joshua...” moaned Bea.
“The baby is comin’, but your wife is bleedin’ too soon. Her body, it is in distress, and if she gives birth, we might lose both, mother and child.”
“What are you saying?” The unbearable thought refused to filter into his brain.
“We need to take the baby out.” Miss Fisher said plainly.
“Cut the mother open, are you insane?” cried the Doctor, looking at Joshua, incredulous.
“’Tis the only way now, sir,” Miss Fisher insisted, ignoring the older man.
“You will kill her!” Interjected the Doctor again.
Joshua hesitated. The image forming in his mind was surely too terrible to give grounds to, but the alternative was to watch Bea die slowly, with the baby, in her own world of pain.
“This way I might save at least one of them.” Miss Fisher turned and faced Sarah.
“Do it.” Bea’s strained voice filtered across the room. She moved her gaze from Miss Fisher to Joshua, the tears pooling in the corner of her eyes. “Save my baby.”
“You could die... I cannot let her cut you.” He pleaded.
“Please Joshua, save our baby.” Joshua felt his heartbreak, her face straining in pain, her hands damp with sweat, and the choice she had made.
Joshua leaned in, careful not to put any pressure on her body, and kissed her lightly on the lips. “I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too.�
�� The words etched in sadness at the possibility they could be her last words to him, yet again.
“You have my blessing, Miss Fisher - what do you need?”
“This is insane, I will not be a part of this.” The Doctor turned, pick up his leather bag and made his way out the door.
Joshua jumped to his feet. “How many? How many of these procedures have you performed?”
“I have seen eight, done three myself – five lived, mother and child - two under my hands.”
“I have helped two others,” added Sarah.
“What do you need?” Added Beth.
“I need towels, boiling water, and she needs to drink a tea before we start. It will bring down the fever. We need to be fast, everybody. Then brandy, towels, something to bite down on – for the pain.”
Sarah nodded.
Beth stopped Sarah before she ran out the room. “Where are the towels? You fetch the boiling water and whatever else she needs.” Sarah pointed down the hallway as they left the room together.
Miss Fisher examined Bea once more, making sure she wasn’t fully dilated. Once the baby was in a decent position, they could no longer help her.
Bea let out another low moan. She reached her hand out to Miss Fisher. “Thank you for helping me and my baby.” Miss Fisher took hold of her hand and nodded. After saying a little silent prayer, she let go.
Beth came back into the room carrying a stack of towels and laid them out on to the bed. As Miss Fisher lifted Bea’s night dress, Beth placed two towels on top of each other, draping them over Bea’s hips, allowing for modesty and to absorb some blood. Sarah came back into the room, carrying a tray. On it was a jug of boiling water, a mortar and pestle, a fine china teapot, and a small cup. Miss Fisher gave Sarah a small nod of thanks and opened her carpetbag. A smell of herbs wafted out. To Sarah it was a smell of home. Miss Fisher produced a bunch of mint leaves, moringa, and small nob of fresh ginger.
“Moringa.” Sarah said, smiling.
“Nebebaye – neverdie,” Miss Fisher corrected her, using the African name.
She took out a slim kitchen knife and peeled back the skin from the ginger root and shaved a small amount into the mortar and pestle. She picked the tiny buds at the top of the stems from each herb and dropped them into the grey stone, grinding everything together, scraping stone against the stone until a pulp formed. Using the knife, she scooped it into the teapot and brought out a round jar of honey from her bag, adding a teaspoon. She filled the pot with boiling water and allowed it to settle whilst she laid out the rest of her items.
“Do you have any brandy - whiskey?” Miss Fisher asked Sarah.
“Yes, a bottle for guests.”
“Fetch it, my child, she will need a glass, and - he will too,” gesturing to Joshua, who was turning white as he watched the newcomer take a brown calico roll from her carpetbag and spread it open to reveal a set of shining silver knives. Sarah nodded and left the room. Joshua ran his hands distractedly through his hair, repeatedly.
Bea let out another low scream, following by a pulsing groan. Miss Fisher rushed to her side and examined her. She was almost fully dilated, and the midwife could feel the tiny hairs on top of the baby’s head. “We must act now, are we all ready?”
Sarah came back into the room, placed the tray on the sideboard, and poured a large measure of whiskey into two glasses. She placed one into Joshua’s hand without a word and he drank it in three gulps, making his way almost instantly towards the tray for another. Sarah sat on the edge of the bed and smiled gently at Bea.
“I need you to drink, it will help with the pain.” Bea attempted to lift her head, but couldn’t find the strength. Sarah leaned over, gently slid her hand under Bea’s sodden hair, and lifted her head a little, angling the glass to her lips. Her face recoiled at the taste, but she kept drinking until the last drop was gone. Then she poured out the tea and repeated the same motion. Sarah lowered Bea’s head back and placed the teacup on the side table. She then took a deep breath and produced a wooden peg from her apron pocket. Gesturing to Joshua to come around to his wife’s other side, opposite her, she took hold of her arm.
“You must bite down on this.” Bea’s eyes widened as she repeated the line to herself again in her head: You are my child; you are not his – you are innocent – you are loved – you are mine. She opened her eyes. His face was sullen with the realisation of the moment. “Joshua?”
“Yes, my love?” He forced a fake smile and a brighter tone.
“If I don’t...” Her tone mirrored the same tone she had used all those months back in that dark cell.
“You are going to be just fine; I promise you.”
“If I don’t make it-” she stopped him before he could interrupt again, pleading with her eyes, “I need you to promise me, you will love our baby, that you will protect her and care for her?”
“I swear it - but you have to promise me, you will fight.”
“I am tired of fighting.” Exhaustion clear in her voice. The tears were pooling around her eyes.
“I need you to try, one last time – I cannot move forward in this unknown world without you.”
She tried her hardest to nod, “I promise – I love you.”
“I love you, my brave Bea.” He leaned in and kissed her, like he used to do, removing the last nine months.
“I will need you to hold her down,” Miss Fisher ordered. Joshua broke away at the order and placed his hands on her shoulders.
“Please – no - don’t hold me down!” The fear was manifest in Bea’s voice.
“I cannot have you movin’.” Miss Fisher shook her head in refusal.
“No, please get off me -NO!” Flashes of Hanley holding her down came flooding back. “No - No, get off me – not like this...” Her voice boomed from a hidden depth within her. She could smell his sweat once more, the sound of his voice as he laughed and grunted, the sensation of being exposed forever, unclean and violated. She had lived through the nightmares, but now it was real. She was there once again, in that moment, as she brought his child into the room. She had wanted something, just one part of her mind he couldn’t touch, and yet even now he had a hold on her. She was falling into the darkness once more. “Get off me – please... No, no, no!” she screamed.
“We cannot stop now; we have no choice,” Miss Fisher told the room.
Joshua stared at Bea; something had changed in her face as he held her arms down. She was no longer present. The realisation dawned on him that, as he held her down, she wasn’t talking to him anymore. He looked away from the horror she was reliving.
Sarah heard the sorrow in her voice and remembered it well, from the nights where the white men would visit, and the cries she would hear, the plea in the women’s voices, the plea in her own. She watched the man opposite her look away from his wife as his fingers whitened around her forearm. It was not his child they were bringing into the world.
MISS FISHER FETCHED the thinnest of her knives from the bowl of boiling water and held it out in front of her. She glanced down at the draping edge of the towels, was already soaking up the bright red blood from between Bea’s legs. She knew she had to act. She had done this thrice before, two alive, one dead; she could find her way towards life again. She sent out a prayer to bless the room, for the mother, for the child and for herself.
“Ready?” She looked at Sarah, calm and ready. The woman’s sister was holding down her other side, the bit between shining teeth, fear sketched across her taught, grey face.
The first cut was fast and clean, directly under the bump from one side of Bea’s hips to the other. A heart-chilling, drawn-out scream through clenched jaws accompanied the movement.
The blood poured out, blocking Miss Fisher’s view of the wound. She reached out for a towel but found another hand ready at her side. Sarah swiped away the thick, red liquid quickly and calmly. The midwife carefully sliced along the centre of the cut once more, this time going a little deeper. She felt the muscle give way
, exposing the womb underneath. She took a deep breath and slit the stretched mauve material. A small gush of water flooded over the bloody towels. She could see a tiny arm and the curve of a back. Using both hands, she reached in and, with a deep groan from Bea, who was on the verge of passing out, clamped her hand around the baby and started encouraging the body out, one limb at a time. The legs came out first, followed by the back, and then with a last tug, the head, the umbilical cord wrapped around its neck. Beth stared at the rope and then looked at her sister. Miss Fisher placed the unmoving baby between Bea’s legs and picked up the knife, and with tiny movements, cut into the cord. She had seen midwives before, cutting too deep, slicing the baby’s neck. The cord gave way as the room let out a deep breath. Sarah grabbed hold of a clean towel and began to vigorously rub the baby. Come on, little one, breathe for me. She sucked the child’s nose clear of fluid and continued rubbing the upper back. The seconds felt like hours until a tiny cry erupted out of her little lungs.
“You have a girl.” Sarah exclaimed. She saw a faint smile on Bea’s white face, and a small nod of thanks from Joshua as he comforted his wife.
Sarah pulled the baby close and moved to one side so that Miss Fisher had room to sew the wounds closed before Bea bled out. Sarah knelt on the floor and placed the baby and her towel on the seat of the soft velvet chair. She gave God a small prayer of thanks as she tied off the cord with a piece of string before rising to her feet to grab the bowl of water and a clean cloth. Clearing her throat, the baby sent out a little burst of cries.
“Oh, hush now, little one. You are safe in this world.” Sarah wiped the blood from her head, moving down her body, checking for bruises or disfigurements. The little girl was perfect. She had forgotten what it was like to hold a newborn, and a silent, lonely tear trickled down her cheek for her dead son. Once the best part of the blood was cleaned off, she wrapped the baby in a fresh cloth and blanket and carried her back to her mother.
Miss Fisher had sewed the womb back together, and Beth was holding the skin and muscle of the lower abdomen together for her to clean and close. Bea was a ghost, already still in the bed.
