by Smith, Skye
"Not a breach you don't" hissed Britta, "now get her on her hands and knees. There is no time to argue the niceties of birthing."
An old woman, someone's great grandmother, who was leaning against the wall cackled. "See, I told you, you never believe me."
Once the mother was repositioned, Britta snatched a lamp from a table, and held it above the mother's bottom so that Lucy could have a good look. Lucy looked around at the old woman and said, "Come closer. What do you think?"
The old woman hobbled forwards. She put an ancient hand with twisted knuckles under the belly and pushed up gently. "The risk is that he's being choked by the cord. He had no room to turn while she was on her back, so he has twisted."
"What do you think? Try to turn him, or try to free the cord?"
"Risky to turn him. He may die before he gets out," said the old woman. "I can't help you. I can barely see, and my hands are useless."
The mother jerked in spasm, and Britta reached out quickly with her free hand to steady her. "Calm yourself. Breathe normally. Do not push. Not yet."
"Britta," Lucy called, "let the other women support the mother. I need your magic hands back here."
At the word magic, the other women in the room recoiled and made tutting noises. Lucy had no patience with nonsense. "Stop crossing yourselves and hold the mother up. You, take the lamp from Britta. NOW."
Britta changed places with the crone, who hobbled over and sat on a bench. With Lucy giving directions, Britta inched one of her hands inside the birthing canal and pushed the baby back into the mother. That gave her room for the rest of her hand and wrist. She tried to feel what Lucy was describing to her.
She closed her eyes and focused her mind onto the tips of her fingers. Then she slowly started to revolve the baby. The mother had a spasm and she held her breath not to cry out in pain. Then she felt for the cord. It was looser. She was turning the right way. She revolved him more. "I think the cord is loose enough now." Just to be sure she revolved again, then inched her hand out oh so slowly.
Lucy spoke to the mother gently. "We need you to help now. You must push to get the baby moving. Once you start pushing you must keep pushing no matter how much it hurts. Are you ready. Push. Britta, help to open her. Stretch her so the baby doesn't have to. I see the feet. Keep pushing. The baby has to come all at once. Britta, grab the legs and pull slowly. Pull. There it is. Revolve the baby just a bit more. There he is. We have him. Oh, he is a she."
"Keep pushing love, push it all out," said Britta to the mother over the rising noise of chattering women. Though the rest of the women were making happy noises, Britta found herself starting to cry. She felt a jab in her ribs.
"Cry later, girl, we still have work to do," sniffed Lucy.
When they were finished enough to trust the family women to continue, they went and sat with the great grandmother. The crone smacked her lips a few times until she gathered her breath and formed her words and then she called out. "Ethel, this girl's skirt is ruined from giving you a grand daughter. Go and fetch her a colorful skirt to replace it."
She looked at Britta and began to cackle. "Heh, not likely, the dour cow. You know, I used to wear clothes of bright colors. Before I was married off, I lived in Boston. I loved wearing bright clothes. I loved the colors. Well I hope the blood washes out of your skirt before the colors do. You've brought a breath of spring into this drab room."
Ethel, the new mother's mother-in-law, came close. She ignored Lucy and spoke to Britta. "I have been told that my son insulted you on our doorstep. He was wrong to do so. Can you forgive us?"
Lucy was not in a forgiving mood. "He was more than wrong, and more than insulting. This lass is an orphan from far away and has had to protect her maidenhead from lechers and sailors and slave owners. What does she have to do? Hike up her skirts and show it to you? She is an angel and you treat her like horse droppings."
"You tell her Lucy," cackled the crone. "If Britta hikes up her skirt, so will I. The whole lot of them are no wiser than their bitchy little girls."
Ethel was stunned into silence by her mother's crude words. She ignored Lucy and her mother, and smiled hopefully at Britta.
Britta stared at her. "I can forgive your men for offering me money to meet them in the barn. They are just men after all. But when you women shun me and gossip about me and no one defends me, that I cannot forgive, because you know better."
Britta picked up the birthing pack and marched out of the room. She had to push past the new father who was coming in for his first peek at mother and child. She had to push through the men on the porch and she felt more than one hand touch her breasts. Beth lifted her effortlessly into the cart and then turned to watch for Lucy.
The men outside stared at her. Her once pretty skirt was covered in stains of blood and offal. Her braid had come loose and her hair was in her eyes. She was hot and tired and flushed and if she had to speak again she knew she would burst into tears. As if things couldn't be worse, the mare lifted her tail and farted at her.
But all of that was outside of her. Inside she was glowing with the power of the goddess. What was outside in the harsh summer light was nothing, nothing at all compared to the fullness, the completeness, the oneness that she felt inside. She felt like she was floating weightless up towards the moon and inside she could sense a warm white glow and the fragrant scent of the goddess's flowers.
* * * * *
Back at Lucy's cabin, Britta emptied the birthing pack and pulled out anything that needed washing. Lucy swung her around and sat her on the bed. "It's about time you learned the signs, girl."
"What signs?" asked Britta. She was tired and dirty and stained on the outside, and filled with the oneness of the goddess on the inside. She was not in the mood for word games.
"The signs of the sisterhood," explained Lucy. "The signs that keep midwives and healers safe in these Puritan lands. Hoodoo signs. Like this one." She made a circle with her thumb and finger. "That is the only obvious one, the only one that you make to be seen. It means, 'I am starting my signs, so watch for them.' Well don't just sit there, copy what I do."
She made another sign with a thumb and the little finger. It was almost hidden. If you hadn't been told to watch for it with the first sign you would never have noticed it. "That is the sign that you are a midwife or healer." Lucy waited while Britta copied the sign.
For the rest of the day Britta memorized and practiced signing. The hardest part was making the signs in such a way that they did not look like signs. That was what needed practice.
By dinner time, Britta somehow had reconciled her outside misery with her inside wholesomeness and she no longer felt like closing her eyes to the outside world. From learning the signs she had been made aware that there were many useful women who were shunned for the very reason that they were useful. The signs made her a sisterhood of useful women that spanned continents. She gave Lucy a long hug in thanks.
Lucy signed her that she was hungry.
* * * * *
* * * * *
MAYA’S AURA - the Redemptioner by Skye Smith
Chapter 14 - Sex and Murder
Britta bounced Robby on her knee as she looked out of the library window at the dark heavy clouds on the horizon. The first of the autumn rains were threatening and everywhere in the Eagle Valley, everyone was working dawn to dusk bringing in the last of the crops, and the last of the orchard fruit. The Caldwell farm was almost empty of people because Robert rented out he slaves as harvest crews to the valley's farmers, the same as he did during planting season.
This week, her brother Jon was the white guy in charge of the Caldwell farm because both Robert and Red were away on business. Red was in New York city, doing something that he called rolling his loans. He had explained, three times, to Britta that he could borrow a lot of money in New York for only five percent interest, but for only a year at a time. Every year he had to go there and sign for a new loan to replace last year's loan.
To h
er query of what he did with all the money, he explained that he spread it out into many many small loans to all the farmers of the valley at ten percent interest. It was so much blah, blah, blah to Britta for she didn't know what percent or interest were. When he explained those, and showed her his own ledger, she realized how much profit Red made from loaning out New York money to local farmers.
Robert, meanwhile, was in Boston visiting his daughter and attending some dockside sales of redemptioner bonds. He and Red were doing their research by putting actual numbers into their business plan, so they were compiling prices and terms and quality of redemptioner labor from Boston and Providence and New York.
Lydia spent her mornings being sick, her afternoons being exhausted, and her evenings bitching at everyone. Britta was not surprised that Robert had disappeared during a harvest month to visit Boston, because Lydia had a wicked tongue. She was pregnant but not yet showing, and she had sworn Britta to secrecy for she wanted to tell both Robert and Red at the same time.
So it was that this Sunday only Jon and Britta attended the village church. Britta was very nervous. Lucy's scolding at the birthing had made things worse, not better, between her and the village women. They were ashamed of themselves and resented being so. More, they resented being scolded by a slave and a bond girl.
While the pastor droned on about the history of some desert land far, far away, Britta dozed, pretending to pray. It was not fair. Jon could have sex whenever he wanted it. Robert and Red were worshipping at Lydia's alter of sex. The glimpses she saw of Lydia's lust and fulfillment, made it worse. More and more she felt foolish for having refused Red.
Finally the last prayer was over and people began to file out of the church. Once outside, people gathered with their friends and neighbors to gossip or to discuss the harvest and market prices. Jon left her alone to go and talk to other lads of his age, although afterwards he would no doubt complain about how childish they were. What did he expect of lads that had never strayed far from their parent's farm, whereas Jon had walked across England, had made a sea journey, had saved a man's life, had watched a ship burn, had run for his life, and had been a bull amongst women.
She looked around. A space had formed all around her as if she smelled of skunk. She actually smelled of lily of the valley. She sighed and was waiting by herself for Jon to finish, when she heard a voice behind her. She turned and Hannah, her Dutch could-be-a-twin, was standing there.
"Come with me," Hannah said. "I've already told your brother to wait for you. Come on. You can join us girls. We always go somewhere private after church so that we can talk about the boys. Follow me."
Britta walked quickly after her and they made for a shed behind the church. There were four girls already there, laughing and giggling.
Hannah closed the door after them but there was plenty of light through the windows. "You all know Britta. She was the midwife at Sister Ethel's house three weeks ago."
All the girls were greeting her and were thanking her for saving the baby, and wondering how a girl so young could be a midwife. Britta was so happy. Hopefully this was because the girls really wanted to be friendly and not because Lucy had shamed their mothers. Then she realized that it didn't matter why. She wanted to be welcomed by girls her own age, even if they were childish and naive.
Two of the girls had lovely voices and even though it was forbidden, they sang a pretty tune and the girls began to swing each other around and dance to it. One of them was always on watch at the window and each time a grownup came close to the shed, she would call out. They made it into a game where the last one to stop singing and dancing and to sit down and be quiet, had to take the next watch.
Once when Britta was last to sit, Hannah volunteered to stand watch for her because she would not know who "the stick up the ass" grownups were. That was when one of the girls pulled Britta and Hannah together and looked at both their faces. "It is uncanny. You are twins. Take your bonnets off and loosen your hair so we can see."
Hannah giggled and let her hair down. So did Britta. The girl said. "Look even their ears are the same." She looked around at the other girls and asked. "What else would make them twins. Yes, hands and feet."
Both girls compared their hands. They were similar, small and slender and both rough from hard work. Then they both took off their shoes and compared feet. Two of the girls bent down and pushed their skirts up so they could compare ankles and calves.
"Now the breasts," said one of the girls, "undo your tops so we can compare."
"What?" said Britta in surprise. This was the last thing she expected from Puritan girls.
"Just for a minute. And stand next to each other."
Hannah immediately unbuttoned herself and showed her breasts to the girls. She was proud of her young high breasts.
Britta shrugged and unbuttoned as well. Nudity didn't bother her. She had grown up with it in her village. Both girls stood together and were compared. All the girls were smiling and talking and started singing and dancing again. Britta felt wonderfully free and happy as she twirled and danced with her breasts free to move. She even floated her scarf in one hand as she had done at the Mayday dances in the Fens.
Suddenly, all the girls all pounced on her and dragged her down to the straw floor. They pulled her over onto her back and spread her legs and held her down with their collective weight. She looked over and Hannah was fully covered again and buttoned up. Hannah took a coin out of her pocket and placed it on Britta's bare chest. It was a silver shilling. Then she called out softly. "All right Peter, you can come out now."
Her older brother Peter came out from behind the barrels at the back of the shed, and walked forward while staring at Britta's wondrous body. He had watched her dance with his sister, and they were not twins for Britta had larger breasts and honey colored skin. Watching them dance had made him horny and now he pulled it out for all the girls to all see.
Hannah went and stood behind her brother, "I have already paid her a shilling. Now fuck the harlot." There were giggles at her use of forbidden words.
Being watched by all of his sister's friends made him lustful and he couldn't wait to cover Britta. He bent down between her legs. She struggled and kicked, but the girls held her down with their combined weight. She was helpless. Peter had been practicing for this with a black woman down by the river, at a shilling a time. That was how he knew the going price.
Britta bit at the hand over her mouth. If she could get it to move she could scream.
Hannah said with glee, "If you scream they will find you naked in this shed and we will tell them you wanted to earn money from all of our brothers." She looked at her brother and at his swollen cock and urged him on. "Hurry up. Do her." All of the girls giggled. They took evil glee in doing things that would shock their parents.
Peter moistened his fingers and tried pushing them inside her. Her screech was muffled by the hand pressing down on her mouth. She wriggled trying to escape the fingers. He looked at her. She was shaking her head. Her eyes were pleading with him. He bent low and took a good look between her legs.
"You little bitches," he hissed. "She is a virgin, a real virgin, not a pretend virgin like some of you." He grabbed his sister by her hair and dragged her away from Britta, "I will not be party to this. This is rape of the worst kind. Are you all insane? You stupid bitches! Do you know what you have done? What you almost did? What you tricked me into doing?" He started kicking at the other girls and they dove away to dodge his feet.
They all ran away from him and out the door. Some of them squealed and screamed. He chased them outside, and he wanted dearly to keep running, but something stopped him. He looked around to see if anyone was investigating the screams. Luckily all parents know the girly squeals of mock terror for what they really are.
He went back inside the shack and closed the door behind him. Britta had curled into the fetal position, half naked on the filthy straw floor, and was sobbing. He tried to stand her up and tried to explain t
hat she must make herself decent before someone came. He heard the words "go away" between the sobs and his heart was twisted with guilt, while his stomach was twisted with fear of discovery, while his cock was still swollen to the point of pain.
"If we are caught like this we will both be whipped and perhaps forced to marry," he said. She was silent save for the sobs. "I would agree to marry you. You aren't a stupid girl like my sister. You are prettier than she is. You know how to do useful things, like at Sister Ethel's house." Again nothing but sobs, and the occasional "go away."
"Well if you won't forgive me and get dressed and dry your tears, then I must go and find witnesses that I have wronged you so they will force us to marry." To this she answered, "Turn around and don't peek." He turned around but of course he peeked. She was too lovely not to.
Britta knew he was peeking while she dressed, but didn't care. There was nothing of her that he hadn't already seen. She finished brushing off the dust and straightening the smock, and then braided her hair and put her bonnet on. "All right, you may turn around now. How do I look?"
"I want to marry you."
"Here, take your shilling back."
"You can keep it," he replied.
"What for? As payment for leering at me and touching me." She threw it at him. He bent and picked it up. She told him "When I was in Providence an old man offered five pounds for my virginity. I turned him down. Why a shilling. Is that how much you pay the slave women at the Caldwell farm? Did you think that was a secret?"
He sighed. "They charge me a shilling."
"Go away, Peter."
"I really do want to marry you."
"First, you must buy my bond. It was originally twenty pounds on the dock in Providence, but then Mrs. Caldwell paid thirty pounds."
He was in shock at the size of the sum. "Thirty pounds is the size of the loan my father has with Mr. Jennison. We have been trying to pay it down for five years. Something always comes up. Will you wait for me to find the money?" He shrugged. Who was he fooling. He looked towards the door. "I can't leave here before you, Britta. You must go first. I will hide behind the barrels and leave later when everyone has gone."
