Heartbeat of the Moon

by Jennifer Taylor

  “I’m going to check you again, sweeting. It will not be long now.”

  There was no answer, and for a moment she thought Polly had fainted, so still she’d become. But Polly had instinctively turned inward, communicating with her babes in the secret language of a delivering mother.

  As quickly as she could, before another pain came crashing down, Maggie inserted her fingers. Dear God, a foot. Breech. This would explain the excessive pain and Polly’s instinctive feeling of something amiss.

  “It’s time to start pushing with the next contraction, Polly. Your passage is open. Do you feel it?”

  “Ugh,” she moaned.

  “Bethan, put a pillow under her back so she can lean forward.”

  Bethan obeyed and held the wine to Polly’s lips.

  “Polly.” She met her gaze. “One of the babies is coming out foot first.” She hated breech births. “I must try to help the babe out. It will have to happen when you are pushing.” A barely perceptible nod.

  She returned to the foot of the bed and steeled herself for what was to come. With the next pain, she stuck her hand in and felt a tiny foot. “Don’t push yet, Polly.”

  The foot moved down, but then with the lessening of the contraction, it receded again. She could not pull on the foot. It was too late to try to turn the baby, and so she must guide the baby out, without pulling.

  She removed her hand and urged Polly to close her eyes and rest. “It will be over soon, Polly. You will soon be holding your babies in your arms.” She hoped so.

  She asked Bethan to fetch the chicken broth mixed with the yolk of the poached egg that she had brought from home. When Bethan returned to her sister’s bedside, another pain began. “It will be over soon.”

  “I am going to die, this time.”

  Maggie wiped the sweat off Polly’s face with a cool rag. “No, you’re not. Polly, you are carrying twins. One of your babies is coming foot first. Do not worry. I know what to do. Now breathe.”

  In hopes the baby would shift as the throes came upon Polly, Maggie laid her flat, then elevated her thighs with a straw-filled pillow. She made sure her head was lower than her body. Perhaps the shift in her position would encourage the babies to move.

  “Polly, do not push. If you get the urge, pant.”

  Fortunately, she did not have the urge as yet. Maggie anointed her hands with almond oil, and with a firm touch, slowly massaged Polly’s misshapen belly. She slid her hands down its huge slope to encourage the passage of the babes.

  Polly writhed in pain with the force of another contraction.

  Maggie felt the babies writhe as well. “Come, little ones.”

  Polly’s belly shifted and rolled. “Sweet Jesus,” she moaned.

  The contraction lessened, the belly softened. Bethan gave Polly a bit of chicken broth with the poached egg beaten into it.

  “Just a sip, Polly.”

  Polly nodded her thanks and got the glassy look of mothers in this stage of their ordeal, as another round of pains battered her. It was almost time.

  “I must push,” Polly groaned.

  As if by instinct, Bethan helped her lean forward. “Hold my hands, Polly. Hurt me if you like.”

  Maggie put more almond oil on her hands and reached into the birth passage as Polly’s pains increased. She knew what she must do, and she spoke aloud, in part to calm herself, and also to calm Polly. “After your next pains, I am going to try to put the babe’s legs together, so he may come out, easier. I want you to pant like a dog. Do not push.”

  She reached her hand into the passage and felt the little foot, while searching for the other foot with her index and middle finger. She found it and also felt the cord. She gently placed the legs together, and reached higher for the arms, which luckily were at the babe’s sides. The uterus clenched around her hand and she wondered vaguely if her hand was broken.

  ‘Okay, Polly.” She removed her hand as another contraction began.

  “Take a deep breath, Polly, and push. Hold it and push.”

  In the midst of the contraction, the bottoms of the babe’s feet, purple and tiny, emerged for a brief moment. Polly screamed.

  “Well done, sweeting. I saw both feet. Very good. Now, rest for a moment, for it won’t be long.”

  At least there was no heavy bleeding, only the natural amount when a woman gave birth. “Here,” Bethan said. “Take another drink. It will fortify you.”

  “Shut your face,” Polly said.

  “Pay her no mind.” Maggie glanced at Bethan. “Women often say things they don’t mean at this time.”

  “She can tell me whatever she wants, poor dear. I never want to bear a child.”

  Maggie laughed. “I felt as you do, once.”

  Adam must have taken the children for a walk. Wise. They did not need to hear their mother’s screams as she pushed through another contraction.

  “Well done.” The legs had receded again. The next contraction needed to be strong, so she could grasp the legs and slowly guide them out.

  “Polly, with the next contraction, you must push with all your might.”

  Polly moaned, guttural and primitive.

  “Okay, push with all the strength you have.”

  The legs were out, and Maggie struggled to grasp them. They were slippery.

  “I must push again. Oh God, I cannot do it. It’s ripping me in two!” Polly moaned.

  At this time, a woman summons strength like a soldier summons courage on the battlefield. She does what must be done.

  “Not long, Polly. And I see his sex. It’s a boy.”

  If he lived, for he was not breathing now.

  A low, animal-like sound came from Polly, prickling Maggie’s skin. With one last push, the buttocks emerged.

  “Almost done, Polly.”

  Bethan whispered, “Sweet Sister,” as another pain came upon Polly.

  She pushed, grunting.

  Maggie prayed with all her might as she gently guided the babe out. Thank God the arms were crossed upon his little belly. Soon she delivered the shoulders, rotating them to help ease Polly’s pain, and mayhap prevent tearing. Polly moaned. With a few more contractions, the babe emerged. She rubbed his chest vigorously, then the babe’s chest rose and fell, and his color changed from blue, to purple, to a mottled red. She tied the navel string, cut it, and swaddled him, rejoicing to hear his lusty cry.

  Thank you, Holy Sister.

  “Bethan.”

  Without hesitation, Bethan took the baby and placed him on Polly’s breast. Polly revived, and made those indistinct noises all mothers make upon seeing their child for the first time.

  “Take some refresher, Polly. You will need it.”

  “Well done, dear sister. You are brave indeed.” Bethan held the drink up to Polly’s mouth.

  Polly’s quiet communion with her babe was cut short as a new contraction hardened her belly, and Bethan snatched the baby up and put him in the cradle nearby.

  “Sweet Jesus. I don’t have the strength,” Polly moaned.

  “This will be easier, Polly. Your passage is already prepared, has already stretched. And the baby is coming headfirst. Thank God.”

  Bethan wiped the sweat from her sister’s face with the lavender-soaked cloth. “I promise I will never torment you again.”

  Polly grunted. “So you say.” She grimaced as another pain came on.

  “I see the head,” Maggie exclaimed. “Full of dark hair! Do you feel you must push?”

  “Yes.”

  Bethan braced her back, and with a few more pushes, the babe’s head eased out. Maggie gently rotated the shoulders as they emerged. Polly cried one last time as a little girl slipped out like an otter, emitting a tiny cry.

  This time, after she clamped the cord, Maggie handed the girl to her mother, and delivered both afterburdens. She examined them and found them intact.

  Polly encircled the child, arms shaking with fatigue. Although she was very pale and weak, her eyes shone with exultatio
n.

  She smiled down at her daughter. “Sweet girl.” She put the babe to her breast. “She has not taken hold yet.” She glanced up at Maggie.

  With great haste, Maggie examined Polly’s privities for tears and cleaned her up, with Bethan looking on. The girl was certainly not squeamish.

  She smiled at Polly. “She is probably just tired, having to wait for her brother to make his way out.”

  Polly smiled and bent her head to her task again. “Ah, there she goes.”

  “Katherine will be overjoyed to find she has a sister,” Bethan said over the lusty baby boy’s cries. She picked him up and sang to him in her Welsh tongue.

  “Let him cry a little,” Maggie said. “It is good for him.” She let herself breathe a sigh of relief. The babes were small and needed some fat on their bones, but they were whole and healthy.

  Polly was tired but had suffered no apparent ill effects from the birth. Maggie lay a warm cloth soaked in seaweed and lavender on Polly’s privities, and soon had her tucked in with both babies at breast.

  “I will go fetch your husband.”

  Bethan smoothed the hair out of Polly’s face. “I am so proud of you, sister. Look at these two beautiful children.” She fluffed the pillow under her head and gave her another sip of the fortifying liquid.

  Adam rushed to his wife’s side and kissed her. “My Polly. Are you all right? Oh God.”

  She nodded. “Katherine will be so pleased. She finally has a sister.”

  He gazed at the two babies. “A boy and a girl? Oh, my queen.” His tears fell upon her face as he kissed her.

  Bethan and Maggie stepped outside to give them a moment together.

  Bethan’s face glowed, as if the sun shone on her alone. “How…extraordinary. I never knew what women went through, but after seeing my sister, I am awed. I would aspire to be a midwife as skilled as you, Mistress Maggie. It’s quite a feeling to bring a new life into the world, is it not?”

  “It is indeed.” Mayhap it was Bethan’s calling.

  “You did well today, Bethan. You were cool-headed and seemed to know what to do instinctively.”

  Perhaps she could use an apprentice. She wondered how long the twins were staying in town.

  Katherine was the first to run into the house. They followed her in.

  “Mother!” She stood in awe, not approaching at first.

  “Come here, my girl.”

  “You’re so pale, Mama.”

  “I’m fine. Come here to me.” With Adam behind her bracing the babies, Polly took her firstborn into her arms for a wordless moment.

  “Katherine,” her mother said, “you have a sister.”

  Joy flushed the girl’s cheeks. “Which one? They look alike.”

  Her father chuckled. “Don’t they? The one on the right, the smaller one.”

  Katherine kissed her upon her cheek. Instinctively, the child turned her head toward her. Katherine giggled. “She kissed me back! Oh, we will be the best of friends!”

  She bussed the other babe’s cheek. “I love you too, little brother.”

  The two little boys ran into the cottage, eyeing the babes with a mix of trepidation and excitement. They kissed their mother’s cheek and stared open-mouthed at their new brother and sister latched onto their mother’s breasts. The youngest one, hoisted up by his big sister, tried to clamber on the bed. He cried for his mother, objecting to the usurpers of his place of honor. Adam grabbed him and patted him on the back, murmuring soft words of endearment.

  Maggie’s heart soared at the joy and wonder in their faces as they celebrated the miracle of their new family members. She took Bethan aside and told her she or Sarah would return tomorrow to check on them. She shut the door on the happy family.

  Holy Sister, thank you for your presence, which strengthened and sustained me.

  She stretched her arms above her head, wincing at the pain in her shoulder, and flexed the fingers of her right hand. A sense of pride and exultation washed the fatigue from her body. She was a skilled midwife, gaining in experience and ability with every birth. But she tamped down her pride, remembering she was not alone today. The power of the holy nun had coursed through her, steadying her mind and her hands.

  She had half expected Ian to arrive at the McCall’s as he had before. Surely he would guess where she was? It was late afternoon, and the sun was out, although it was cold. No matter. The walk would do her good. Maybe he decided to go to London with his old troupe. He had perhaps gotten tired of his plain, hard-working Maggie.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Bethan watched Maggie go. Never had she felt so elated. She had helped deliver a baby—two! Some of it was most shocking, and there was a sense of unreality about it still. She thought about her privities, which she’d only looked at once and received a tongue-lashing from her mother for her efforts. How did the giant head of a child go through the small passage, and not split a woman in two? But she saw it with her own eyes, the abject suffering, pain upon pain, but how fierce her sister was. Ah, the joy of it!

  She had always liked Maggie, but now her admiration knew no bounds. How did she know what to do? The midwife had remained calm, even with the unexpected complication, and possessed a strength and kindness for her mothers. She would aspire to be like her. The weak sun seemed brighter, the scent of the air sweeter this afternoon. She would be a midwife, just watch her. Lord knows she had plenty of practice at taking care of someone.

  Mother would certainly disapprove. No matter. A giggle escaped her. It wasn’t as if she saw her more than two times a year, for Mother could not tolerate Elunid’s presence and would do anything to rid herself of her.

  Just as quickly, her elation cooled. Where was Elunid?

  She heard them before she saw them. A deep bass joined a tenor in harmony, a lilting, cheery tune. There were no words, only the tune. It sounded familiar; what was it? Ah! Composer Henry Purcell, one of her favorites. “Trumpet Tune.” How curious.

  Henry came into view, with young George, and…Elunid? She held young George’s arm, and he gazed up at her. He sang to her, and she regarded him with a small smile on her face. How singularly amazing!

  She watched the three of them for a moment. Henry’s black hair curled tightly against his head, one errant lock on his forehead. He wore a white linen shirt, open at the neck. His shirt was so worn she could make out the dark circles of his nipples-oh! Never had she seen so intimate a part of a man’s body, except her father, once. The weak sun alone could not have made her so warm.

  She shook her head in hopes of clearing her confusion. How did a lowly night soil man come to know about a seventeenth century composer?

  Henry spotted her and smiled, teeth white in his tanned face. “Greetings, Miss Bethan. We found yon sister.” He cocked his head toward Elunid. “She was on the road headed into town, so we brought her back.”

  How had they managed it? Few people could get Elunid to do anything. “Thank you. Polly delivered her twins, a boy and a girl.”

  “How wonderful. Please give them my regards. I will not impose upon them at this special time.”

  She must tell someone. “I helped deliver them. I am going to be a midwife.” It felt good to say it aloud.

  He gawked at her, then regained his composure. “How extraordinary it must have been.”

  “Yes,” she said. How boastful of her. She took her sister by the arm. “Elunid! What am I to do with you?”

  She might as well have not addressed her, for Elunid continued to listen to George’s singing, the sweet clear notes flowing from him like a wellspring.

  Henry touched Bethan’s sleeve, motioning her aside. She sniffed. Not a hint of shite smell on him. She checked for it in his fingernails. She could not abide the sight of dirty nails, an all too common occurrence. His nails were clean and trimmed. He smelled of hay, mint, and something unfamiliar, perhaps just him. She stood so close to him she could feel the warmth radiating from his body, the sun lighting his eyes the color o
f butterscotch.

  Her throat had gone dry, and she had trouble catching her breath. Why did he stand so close to her, half-dressed like a savage? Although she was taller, it did not seem so. With his muscular chest, and the bands of muscles in his arms, he made her feel, well, feminine. A rare occurrence indeed. As Mother said, “You’re tall as a man, Bethan. Taller. How is my great big oaf of a girl ever going to find a husband?”

  She wagered he could carry her if he had a mind to. He’d carried Elunid. Mayhap she would like to be carried sometime, to be cared for. Her face burned. How selfish she was. Time to return to her duties.

  She backed away from Henry. “How ever did you get her to come with you?”

  Henry shrugged, the muscles in his shoulders flexing under his thin shirt.

  She swallowed.

  “I’m not sure. Mayhap she remembered us from last time, somehow.” He glanced back at the two figures. “My George often has a knack for saving lost animals and souls.” He smiled.

  “I thank you.” She touched his arm without thinking. It was so warm, and the rough hairs tickled her palm. Her heart plummeted to her stomach, the same feeling she got while standing at the tallest point of the lighthouse and looking down. He met her gaze, his smile fading. She jerked her hand away and strode over to George and Elunid.

  It was good timing, for Elunid’s hands began to move feverishly in the motions of sewing. She looked down at her hands. “Not done.”

  “Thank you for bringing her home, George.” Bethan had to speak loudly to carry over the boy’s singing.

  He stopped. “She is my friend. She likes to hear me sing.”

  “Yes.” She smiled. “And no wonder, for you have a beautiful voice.”

  He eyed his shoes. “Thank you, Mistress Bethan.”

  She took Elunid’s arm. “Come, sister,” she crooned. “You have a new nephew and niece. We must brush the dirt off you. And then you must wash.” As if in a trance, Elunid followed Bethan into the house.

  “Again,” Bethan said. “I thank you for returning her safely.”

  Henry bowed. “It is my pleasure to be of service to you, Mistress Bethan.”