“Yes,” Muriel snapped. “Get me a blanket. I saw some over there in the corner.”
“Those are ours.” The words popped out before Chelsea could consider how childish they sounded. She clamped her mouth shut and went to retrieve a blanket, which she draped carefully over Muriel’s legs. “There. Is there anything else?” Impatient to get back upstairs to Lori, she almost screamed when Muriel ordered her to locate a battery-operated lamp. “There’s one over there, among the things we brought in from the boat.” She pointed toward the door.
Chelsea had trouble finding the lamp, because the light outside had grown so murky with clouds and rain. But she finally located it at the bottom of a knapsack. It was a small table lamp mounted on a battery. She flicked it on and brought it to Muriel.
“If you’re all set for a few minutes, I’ll go back and check on my sister.”
“Wait.” The clawlike hand grabbed Chelsea’s wrist. “Don’t leave me.”
Chelsea started to draw her arm back and open her mouth to deliver a sharp retort, when she noticed something startling in Muriel’s face.
It seemed so out of place that for a moment she didn’t recognize it. And when she did, she had to look again to be sure of what she was seeing. But it was definitely there, etched plainly on the aristocratic face: the stark, potent emotion of fear.
Chapter Seventeen
When Jeff came downstairs, Chelsea was sitting in the light of the little lamp, holding Muriel’s hand and reassuring her about the sturdiness of the Peary house. “It’s withstood hundreds of northeasters, even hurricanes,” she said. “This is just a little storm. We won’t even feel it.”
Jeff had taken off his sweater and rolled his shirtsleeves to the elbows. “Your sister’s in labor, all right,” he told Chelsea. “She’s already four centimeters dilated. That baby’s on its way.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I’m going to need your help. Yours too, Mother.”
“Mine?” Muriel frowned. “What can I do?”
“You can help Chelsea make up a bed, for starters. I’m going to bring a mattress down here so Lori can deliver the baby in this room.”
“Here?” Muriel’s eyes widened.
“It’s the best place. We can build a fire in the fireplace to take the chill off. If we all stay in this room, just our combined body heat should help keep the baby warm.” He turned to Chelsea. “Look around and see what you can find in the way of blankets, towels, sheets, anything we can use for warmth.”
Chelsea nodded. “Is she going to be all right?”
“It’s a normal labor, as far as I can tell at this point.”
“Shouldn’t we be boiling some water?” Muriel asked.
“Why? I don’t have any instruments to sterilize.”
“What about cleaning up afterward?”
“Good point. Maybe we can heat some water over the fire. I’ll go get that mattress and we can bring Lori down here where she belongs.” Jeff hurried back up the stairs.
“My son is a very good doctor, you know,” Muriel said. “He’s delivered hundreds of babies. Your sister will be all right.”
“Thanks.” Chelsea gave her a weak smile. “I’ll go see what I can find.”
“If you’ll bring my things over here, I might be able to locate something that will be of use.”
Chelsea carried the two knapsacks to Muriel and went to explore the house. She stripped the upstairs beds of blankets and found two afghans in an ancient trunk. A kitchen drawer contained three dish towels, and she found a quilt in a cupboard above a narrow counter. When she returned to the central room, Muriel had located three flashlights, two large beach towels, and a box of kitchen matches. Jeff had brought a mattress downstairs and laid it in front of the fireplace. Muriel was on her knees beside it, spreading a big towel over the musty blanket.
She looked up as Chelsea came in. “These towels are the cleanest things we have. We’ll use one under your sister and the other to wrap the baby.” She started to push herself to her feet, but her right leg buckled and she sagged back onto her knees.
Chelsea reached to help her. Muriel hesitated a moment, then accepted her hand.
“Thank you.” She swayed heavily against Chelsea as she rose, and Chelsea had to catch her with her free arm to keep the older woman from falling. She guided her back to the wicker chair and was settling her into it when Jeff appeared on the landing.
“If everything’s all set, I’m going to bring her down. Chelsea, could you give me a hand?”
She ran up the stairs, to find Lori sitting on the bed, looking pale and frightened. Her maternity slacks had been removed and she was wearing only the long, loose sweater she’d put on that morning.
“It’s okay, sis,” Chelsea said reassuringly. “Everything’s going to be fine. Jeff’s a great doctor.”
Lori nodded. “I’m just worried about the baby. He’s not due for another month.”
“I think your obstetrician may have miscalculated the date,” Jeff told her. “That feels like a full-term baby to me.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Well, if I’m not, maybe it will reassure you to know that I’ve delivered a lot of premature babies under primitive conditions. I’ve learned how to improvise.” He patted Lori’s shoulder. “We’re going to link arms and make a chair for you now. I don’t want to risk a fall.” He nodded to Chelsea. “Okay, let’s go.”
They worked their way carefully down the stairs and settled Lori on the mattress, propping her back on a thick roll of blankets. She had another contraction immediately, and Chelsea watched with alarm as Lori’s hands locked into white fists and she moaned through clenched teeth.
“Take it easy,” Jeff said, squatting beside her. “Breathe through the contraction, like I told you. Breathe. Breathe. That’s it. That’s very good.” He signaled to Chelsea. “Here. Make sure she takes slow, deep breaths when she feels a contraction coming. I’m going to build a fire.”
Chelsea followed his instructions, sitting on the floor beside her sister, holding her hand, trying to help focus Lori’s attention away from the intense pain building in her uterus. When the contraction finally eased, Lori blew out a long breath and sagged back onto the mattress.
“Whew!” she whispered. “That was a hard one.”
“You’re doing great, sis. Everything’s going just fine.”
“How would you know?” Lori gave her a wry grin.
“Sisterly intuition.”
She heard Jeff’s chuckle behind her and turned. He was squatting in front of the fireplace, stacking pieces of wood in a small fortlike pattern. “That’s as good an answer as any I’ve heard,” he said. He lit a match, held it to the tiny scraps of kindling at the base of his creation. “Here’s hoping.”
A few minutes later a crackling fire was brightening the dark room, throwing a warm orange glow over the occupants.
Jeff put his hand on Chelsea’s shoulder. “I need to talk with you a minute,” he said. “Alone.”
She followed him quickly out of the room and through another room to a long, glassed-in corridor overlooking the ocean. She looked up at him anxiously. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”
He shook his head. “I just wanted to let you know what we’re in for. Have you ever witnessed a birth?”
“No.”
“It’s going to get a little rough in the next couple of hours. She’ll go through a period of irritability; it’ll be hard for her to concentrate on her breathing, even with our help, and she won’t feel like she can do what’s required of her. She may scream or cry, but I don’t want you to worry. It’s all perfectly normal.”
Chelsea nodded slowly.
“Thanks for sitting with my mother. I know . . .” He paused and glanced out at the water. “I know how you must feel about her after what happened yesterday. But she’s not entirely herself these days. She’s been having a very hard time.”
“She’s an alcoholic, isn’t she?” Chelsea wasn’t sure what made t
he words pop out of her mouth—perhaps an attempt to show him she understood what was going on, to show that she cared. She felt the need to have everything out in the open. There was too much happening right now to try to walk the precarious rope of secrecy.
His head snapped back to face her. “No!” His scowl was piercing. “You’re completely mistaken!”
“I’m not condemning her, Jeff. I know alcoholism’s a disease, something that needs to be treated. But it’s pretty obvious that she drinks a lot. I don’t think she can continue to hide it. She can’t even walk straight.”
His face had gone hard. “Her staggering has nothing to do with alcohol. It’s ataxia.”
“Ataxia?”
“A neuromuscular debility that’s creating a problem with her gait. She has a severe weakness in her right leg, tingling in her hands and feet.”
She stared up at him. “She’s sick?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. We don’t know yet exactly what’s causing it. The doctors are still doing tests.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”
“She hid the symptoms for months. She didn’t tell anyone, not even her personal physician. When it became obvious that something was wrong, she sent for me.” He frowned. “Neuromuscular diseases aren’t my specialty. There was nothing I could do but be with her, give her support and reassurance.”
“Maybe that’s what she needed most.”
His expression softened. “She’s a very brave woman, Chelsea. She’s determined to face whatever it is with courage. She’d be furious if she knew I’d told you. She won’t even let me call Brandon.”
Chelsea was silent. She couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say. She found his hand in the semidarkness and squeezed it gently.
He squeezed back, and then suddenly he was holding her in his arms, pressing his face into her hair, drawing her tightly against him. It was a spontaneous, instinctive movement, and so was her kiss. “I won’t tell anyone,” she whispered. “I promise.”
He closed his eyes and a long sigh came out of him. Then a loud moan from Lori brought them both to instant attention. They ran together to the main room.
The storm intensified along with Lori’s labor. Lightning flashed and huge peals of thunder rolled overhead as Chelsea knelt beside the mattress and coached her sister through the painful contractions. Time slipped away, became irrelevant, as Lori panted and groaned through the dark morning. Chelsea was vaguely aware of Muriel’s swaying movements through the room, knew that she had found a large pot and filled it with water and arranged somehow to hang it over the fire. Jeff was there too, checking Lori every few minutes, listening for the baby’s heartbeat with his ear pressed to her distended abdomen, encouraging her gently. Periodically he raised the blanket that covered her legs and checked her cervix. Around noon, after a prolonged check, he gave Chelsea a meaningful glance.
“She’s eight centimeters dilated now. Hang onto your hat.”
A few minutes later Lori gave Jeff a wild-eyed look. “What’s happening?” she gasped. Her legs started shaking and she gripped Chelsea’s arm with fingers that felt like iron hooks. “I can’t do it!” she cried. “I can’t go on with this! Help me!” Fat drops of sweat stood out on her forehead.
Jeff took her hand. “It won’t be much longer now, Lori. Everything’s going fine. Just keep breathing.”
“Where’s Paul?” she cried, her face pinched in terror. “I want my husband!”
“He’s not here right now.” Jeff’s voice was calm. “We’re here to help you, Lori. You’re going to be all right.”
“I need some medication!” Lori moaned. “I can’t take this pain!”
“Yes, you can.” It was Muriel, who had managed to drag her chair close to the mattress. “You have to, for the baby. This is the hardest thing you’ll ever do in your life, but you can do it. That’s the secret of women’s strength, Lori: looking pain in the face and going through it. It happens every time a woman gives birth.”
Lori’s eyes rolled toward her, and Chelsea turned to look at the older woman. Her face was set with a look of firm determination, but there was a softness around her eyes that betrayed a deep empathy with Lori’s suffering. Chelsea reached over and touched Muriel’s hand. Muriel’s glance shifted toward her, and Chelsea smiled a silent thanks.
Jeff signaled for her to get Lori’s attention as another strong contraction began to build. Chelsea felt her own forehead bead with sweat as she coached her sister in a clear, resolute voice. Lori groaned again, but this time didn’t surrender to the pain. Muriel’s words had strengthened something inside her, fortifying her for the effort ahead.
Chelsea held Lori’s hand, guided her breathing, wiped the sweat off her forehead with a small dish towel. Through it all, she watched Jeff with growing admiration. He was in control of the whole situation; he seemed to know exactly what to say, what to do. If she’d been alone with Lori, she knew she’d have been crying and moaning too, probably running around the room in panic.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Jeff told Lori that she could start pushing. For the next hour Chelsea propped her sister’s back with her arms while Lori strained to push the baby down the birth canal. Sweat ran off her face and soaked her tunic. No wonder they call it labor, Chelsea thought grimly. She’d never seen anyone work harder in her life.
Jeff knelt at the end of the mattress, encouraging Lori in a low, soothing voice. Between contractions, Lori collapsed back onto the mattress. She seemed to be almost asleep, and it was during one of these respites that Jeff signaled to Chelsea. He was frowning as he led her to the far end of the room.
“I’m afraid the baby’s presenting posteriorly,” he told her.
“What does that mean?”
“The head is turned the wrong way. The crown is pushing against her pubic bone. I’m going to have to turn it manually, if I can.”
“Is she going to be all right?”
He nodded. “But it’s going to hurt her. A lot. Maybe you want to go in another room while I try.”
“No! I can’t leave her at a time like this!”
He put his hand on her shoulder. “There’s nothing you can do for her right now. Why don’t you spare yourself?”
“I’m going to stay with her,” she said resolutely. “She’s my sister.”
He nodded, squeezed her shoulder and quickly returned to Lori, who was starting to thrash on the mattress again.
“Give her this.” Muriel’s voice came from the shadows. Chelsea turned to find her standing by the door, holding something out to her.
“What is it?”
“A towel. For her to bite down on.”
Chelsea went over to her and saw that what she was holding was indeed a towel that had been twisted tightly into a hard cord. “Isn’t this kind of old-fashioned?”
“It’s an old-fashioned delivery. We have to improvise.” Muriel gave her a slight smile. “I remember my grandmother telling me how she used a knotted towel when my mother was born.”
“Thanks.” Chelsea took the towel and hurried back to Lori, where Jeff was explaining to her in a clear voice what he was about to do.
Lori gave Chelsea a frightened look. “I’m not sure I’m going to be able to take this,” she murmured.
“Sure you can.” Chelsea forced a note of brightness into her voice. “You’re my big sister. You’ve got to show me how it’s done so I’ll know what to do when it’s my turn.”
Lori groaned, but a half-smile curled the corners of her lips. Chelsea saw Jeff give her an approving nod as he knelt at the foot of the mattress.
“Here, put this between your teeth.” Chelsea gave Lori the towel. “Bite down hard whenever it hurts.”
“This is supposed to help the pain?”
“Trust me.” Chelsea hoped Lori couldn’t detect her own doubt, and was relieved when she took the towel in her mouth.
“Okay,” said Jeff, “here we go.”
Chelsea held out her hands for
Lori to grasp and felt the fingers bite into her skin. Her sister’s jaw worked fiercely against the towel, her face white with pain. She noticed that Jeff was sweating as he worked, his eyes dark and unfocused as he concentrated on maneuvering the baby inside the tight sheath of Lori’s body. It seemed to take hours, though she knew it was probably only a matter of a few minutes, before he straightened. He was smiling so broadly that his dimple showed. Chelsea felt herself go suddenly weak all over.
“We did it” he announced. “We should have that baby out in the next five minutes. Give it your best, Lori.”
Chelsea’s heart pounded as Lori pushed through the next two contractions. She had never imagined that having a baby could be this exciting.
“Come on,” Jeff coached. “Push . . . push . . . just a little more.”
As Lori strained mightily, Chelsea closed her eyes and sent up a small prayer.
“Yes!” Jeff cried. “Great! That’s wonderful.”
Suddenly there was a thin cry. Chelsea looked up to see a wet, red-streaked baby squirming in Jeff’s large hands.
“It’s a boy!”
“Is he all right?” Lori asked anxiously.
“He’s absolutely perfect.” Jeff placed the baby on Lori’s belly. The umbilical cord was still attached, a thick, blue rope, shining like silk. “And he looks full-term too. He’s got plenty of body fat and he’s certainly having no trouble breathing.”
Tears jumped into Chelsea’s eyes. She hugged Lori hard. “Congratulations, sis.”
Lori looked up at her in wonder. “You mean it’s over? It’s really over?”
“Almost,” said Jeff. “We have to wait for the placenta. Then I’ll cut the cord and he’s all yours.”
Suddenly Lori was crying. “I wish Paul were here,” she sobbed. “He wanted to be with me when the baby was born.”
“You’ll just have to give him another chance in a couple of years,” Chelsea said.
Strawberry Lace Page 17
