Now and Forever: Time Travel Romance Superbundle

by Bobby Hutchinson

  For a moment, Paige knew utter, cold panic. Mrs. Donald was right. With anesthetic, turning the baby would be a simple matter. Without it. . . she fought the terror threatening to consume her.

  She had no instruments, no medications of any kind. She had nothing to alleviate Clara's agony. She had no way of knowing whether the baby was dead or alive. Panic began to overwhelm her, and she felt dizzy and sick. The midwife was watching her. She couldn't let this woman see how helpless she felt.

  Get hold of yourself, Doctor, she lectured sternly. This feels like a nightmare, but there must be something you can do. Find out what it is, and do it.

  The answer came in a rush. She had knowledge, Paige realized. She had hundreds of successful deliveries behind her; she had strength, and experience, and the desire to pull Clara and her baby through this. With or without instruments and medication, she was a doctor, and that was what mattered here.

  She drew the midwife out of earshot of Clara's bed and her quiet voice was full of confidence. "I assure you, Mrs. Donald, I've delivered a great many babies. Delivering babies is my specialty, the type of medicine I'm most familiar with. Unfortunately, I haven't any instruments or medication, so we'll just have to use our wits here, won't we?" She had to win the midwife's trust. "I'll need your help. I know you're very experienced at this, and that you want this baby to be delivered safely just as much as I do."

  Mrs. Donald didn't answer. She glanced over at Clara and back at Paige, and then her eyes rested on the cradle in the corner.

  "Will you trust me? Will you help me?" Paige stared into the other woman's brown eyes.

  Mrs. Donald still looked undecided, but then she gave a hesitant nod. "Don't have a lot of choice, do I?"

  "Neither one of us has much choice, when it comes down to it. We have to get this baby born or we'll lose both of them."

  Mrs. Donald nodded again. "Right you are. Let's get to it."

  Paige heaved a sigh of relief. "If you'll keep an eye on her, Mrs. Donald, I'll scrub up now. I don't suppose you have any disinfectant?"

  "Plenty. Carbolic, in that brown bottle on the washstand. Dr. Baldwin keeps me supplied."

  Under other circumstances, Paige would have smiled at that. Myles and his carbolic.

  As she scrubbed, the acrid smell was somehow comforting, as if he were sending her reassurance.

  There was a stack of threadbare but snowy clean towels folded under the washstand, and she dried herself on one and tied another around her as an apron. She noticed that Mrs. Donald had already set some of the boiling water aside to cool, to use for washing Clara and the baby. The midwife was both clean and efficient, for which Paige was grateful.

  Next, Paige folded the sheet up and did a quick vaginal examination. What Mrs. Donald said was basically correct; the baby was lodged at the top of the birth canal. Fortunately, the umbilical cord hadn't prolapsed, and there was no unusual bleeding yet.

  Without even a stethoscope, there was no way for Paige to know if the baby was still alive.

  Well, she'd just assume that it was, Paige vowed. A familiar sense of absolute determination filled her, the sensation she always experienced when confronted with a difficult birth.

  She'd do whatever was necessary. She'd use every ounce of knowledge, expertise and gut intuition. She'd do whatever it took to get this baby born safely.

  Again, she drew the midwife away from the bed and in a low voice she outlined the technique she was going to try, and again she asked for any help she might need.

  Mrs. Donald was obviously an intelligent woman, although she was skeptical. "I never heard of anything like that, but if there's a chance of it working, I'll help you," she assured Paige.

  When Clara was between contractions, Paige made an effort to rouse her from the exhausted stupor she'd fallen into.

  "Clara, listen to me. Wake up and listen. We're going to get this baby safely born, but I need your help." Paige's voice, deliberately reassuring and filled with confidence and energy she didn't feel, brought Clara's eyes fluttering open.

  "I want you to listen closely and try your very best to do what I say," Paige instructed. "This baby of yours needs to be turned around before it can get out, and in order to do that, you have to relax the muscles in the birth canal. You can learn to do that, Clara, with your mind and your will. Can we work together here? Will you try?"

  Clara's tortured eyes filled with tears. "Can't," she whispered. "Hurts too much. Tired ..."

  "Clara, I promise that if you try what I'm going to show you, it'll start to hurt less. And your baby will get born. You want this baby healthy, don't you? Clara, you know how Theodore's counting on this baby. Give it a shot for him, won't you?"

  It was a form of blackmail, the only thing Paige could think of that might be powerful enough to motivate her patient.

  Clara's lips trembled. "All right, I'll try," she whispered.

  Paige had used hypnosis during childbirth many times before, but always there'd been hours of preparation for the mother, with at least five practice sessions that made the hypnotic state easier to induce when the actual birthing began. She had no idea whether Clara would be able to summon the discipline necessary to relax enough so that Paige could turn the baby, but, Paige concluded grimly, there weren't a hell of a lot of other options at the moment.

  Another contraction began, and Paige and the midwife massaged Clara's belly and thighs in an effort to ease the pain. Mrs. Donald followed Paige's lead, and was quick to adapt the advanced massage techniques Paige had learned from talented nurse-midwives she'd worked with in the twentieth century.

  The instant the pain faded, Paige began talking in a quiet, soothing tone, gesturing to Mrs. Donald to go on with the massaging.

  "I want you to close your eyes, Clara. Breathe deeply, and direct your awareness to your eyelids. Cause your eyelids to relax. Relax each muscle so that your eyelids become completely relaxed." Knowing how short a time she had before the next contraction began, Paige's natural instinct was to hurry the process, but she forced herself to speak in a slow, reassuring manner, directing Clara's attention to each group of muscles in turn, in a prolonged, slow journey that began at her head and continued down her entire body.

  Paige went right on talking during the contractions, instructing Clara to relax as much as she could, to stop fighting against the pain and simply go with it to a place deep inside where the pain couldn't reach.

  At first, Paige's suggestions seemed to have no effect. Clara writhed and moaned, but gradually, her thrashing eased, at first imperceptibly, and then more noticeably until, bit by bit, she began to breathe more rhythmically.

  Paige lost all track of time, concentrating every scrap of her attention on Clara, endlessly repeating her singsong suggestions.

  Theodore came in and put wood on the fire and went out again, closing the door softly behind him. Somewhere out on the prairie, coyotes yipped in an eerie chorus. Birds began to twitter and dawn light filtered through the small windows of the cabin, but inside the tiny curtained area, it was as if time stood still.

  By some miracle, Clara proved to be an excellent subject for hypnotic suggestion. When Paige judged her to be as relaxed as it was possible to hope, she told Clara she was going to turn the baby, reminding her over and over that she would experience only pressure without pain.

  It was horrific for Paige to have to slip her hand into Clara without the protection of surgical gloves, but she closed her mind to the dangers of infection. The main thing right now, the only thing, was to turn the baby so it could be delivered.

  Clara managed to remain relaxed just long enough for Paige to do what was necessary. With Mrs. Donald's help, she managed to flip the slippery baby around so the head was in the birth canal. At the last instant, Clara lost control and screamed and bucked in agony, but by then it was done.

  With the very next contraction, Clara had the urge to push, and within a half hour, a tiny, blood streaked baby girl appeared. She was alarmingly small, and
her skin was deep blue. She wasn't breathing. Using a clean piece of cloth, Paige swiftly wiped out the baby's mouth, held her aloft, tapped the minuscule buttocks.

  C'mon, baby.. . please, baby. . . breathe, damn it.

  Nothing.

  Familiar dread gripped Paige. Praying hard, she put her mouth over the little face and puffed gentle bursts of air into the tiny girl, one, two—and after the third puff, the baby made a choking sound and her limbs jerked spasmodically. She drew in one and then another short, gasping breath and then she began squalling, weak at first but gaining in volume with every breath.

  "Thank the Lord," Mrs. Donald whispered. Paige glanced at the midwife and saw remnants of her own white-lipped fear mirrored on the older woman's face.

  To their delight, the baby went on crying, gaining in volume, the short, angry wails of the healthy newborn, and soon even her microscopic fingers and toes were turning a healthy pink. Paige mentally checked off color, breathing pattern, muscle tone.

  "You know, I think this kid's going to be just fine," she murmured. She severed the cord and tied it off, using Mrs. Donald's equipment.

  "That cry's music to the ears! Just look at the little beauty," Mrs. Donald crowed. She and Paige grinned at one another as they laid the baby on Clara's abdomen.

  "My glasses," Clara begged, cradling her daughter. "So I can see her."

  "She's a beauty. Gonna take after her mommy," Paige assured her, locating the round spectacles and perching them on Clara's upturned nose. Clara gazed in absolute wonder at her child.

  "You've got the lady doctor to thank for this little bundle," Mrs. Donald said in her forthright fashion to Clara. "What she did was nigh on a miracle, in my book. Never seen anything like it."

  The afterbirth had arrived in normal fashion, and the moment she was certain that Clara was out of danger, Paige hurried over to the door.

  Mrs. Donald, efficient and quick, had already cleared away the bloody sheets and sponged and diapered the baby, wrapping her in a soft blanket and laying her in Clara's arms.

  "Theo," Paige called, her voice filled with joy. "Come in here and meet your new daughter." He was leaning against the wall of the makeshift barn, head down, hands clenched at his sides.

  At the sound of Paige's voice his head snapped up and he came running over, hope and fear mingling on his weather beaten features. "Clara?" he gulped. "Is she—?"

  "She's fine, and you've got a gorgeous daughter. Come in and say hello to her." Paige couldn't stop grinning. She drew in a deep lungful of the crisp morning air, wondering how long it had been since she'd last taken a deep breath. She was amazed to find that the sun was already well over the horizon, the day fresh and already warm, promising to be hot by afternoon.

  Theo hastily pulled off his boots and went in his stocking feet toward the curtain, hesitant about moving it aside as if he still wasn't certain what awaited him there. Then he caught sight of Clara, a beatific smile on her weary face, cradling his baby.

  "Look, Theo. Just look at how beautiful our girl is," she whispered, and the big man's face crumpled. Sobs shook him and tears coursed down his face. Wordlessly, he knelt beside the bed and wrapped his arms around his family.

  Clara stroked his hair, but her weary eyes were on Paige.

  "I bless the day we met you, Paige Randolph, out on that bald prairie," she said, a tremor in her weak voice. "We're going to name her Ellie, after Theo's mother, but her second name will be Randolph, after you, Dr. Paige, if you don't mind. Ellie Randolph Fletcher."

  "I'm flattered, but she's liable to hate it," Paige said with a grin, unable to hide her pleasure.

  The two women left the little family alone then, pulling the curtain across the opening to give Ellie and Theo some privacy.

  Mrs. Donald splashed fresh water in the basin. "You wash up first," she suggested. The hot water felt good on Paige's face, and she did her best to smooth her hair down. She emptied the basin in a slop bucket and refilled it for Mrs. Donald.

  The midwife removed her glasses and scrubbed and then suggested, "Let's make some tea for the new mother, shall we, dearie?"

  Paige noted the affectionate term and felt pleased. It was gratifying to be accepted by the midwife.

  "I could surely stand a cuppa myself right about now, as I'm sure you could as well," Mrs. Donald remarked. "And maybe some breakfast all around, how does that sound?" She bustled around Clara's immaculate kitchen, unearthing bacon and a loaf of fresh bread and oats for porridge as easily as if she'd put them away herself.

  Exhaustion was claiming Paige. She tried to help, slicing bread for toast, pouring boiling water into the huge brown teapot, but her hands were trembling. She marveled at the older woman's energy.

  They took a tray to the new parents, but Theo insisted he wasn't hungry. "Have to do the chores," he mumbled as he pulled on his boots and bolted out the door. Paige could see tears still trickling down his cheeks. It was obvious he needed some time to collect himself, away from women.

  Clara, sponged and in a fresh nightgown, ate a little and then fell into an exhausted slumber.

  The baby, dressed in the exquisite handmade garments Clara had fashioned for her, was tucked into the hand carved cradle and placed close beside the bed. Bright sunlight filtered through the lace curtain at the window, and a deep and satisfying peace filled the cabin as Paige and Mrs. Donald finally sat down to breakfast.

  For a few moments, they ate in silence. With the first mouthful of porridge and fresh rich cream, Paige realized how hungry she was. By the time she'd worked her way through eggs and bacon and toast, she was feeling revived, and the two women chatted about babies and pregnancy and difficult births, finding common ground in their shared interest.

  "You know, Doctor," Mrs. Donald said after they'd talked for some time, "Lulu Leiberman's been spreading nasty tales around town about you. Believe you me, I'm going to set her straight on a few things next time I see her. She's a jealous lot, that one, and she's no better than she should be, either. She's got eyes for the men, I always noted that."

  "Thanks for your support." It was splendid to have an ally.

  Mrs. Donald poured them each another cup of the strong tea, and they sat back in their chairs, sipping the hot liquid.

  Then Mrs. Donald tilted her head to the side and gave Paige a long, considering look. "Would you mind telling me, dearie, how it is you came to be a doctor in the first place?" She reached across and touched Paige's hand. "I sound like a nosy parker, but there's a reason for me asking. See, I've only ever heard of one other woman who was a real doctor. My sister Lizzie lives in Toronto, and she was having female problems. Well, she heard of this woman doctor, this Dr. Emily Stowe. She went to her and Dr. Stowe fixed her right up. But she's the only woman doctor I ever heard of, till you came along."

  Paige thought about how best to answer. Mrs. Donald seemed to have accepted her, and that acceptance meant a great deal to Paige.

  The midwife was warm and friendly, and God knew, Paige needed a friend. She wouldn't get into the incredible story of how she came to be here, she decided. She'd stick to the emotional reasons for becoming a doctor. "I was married when I was very young. My husband was a medical student, and I became interested in medicine. When my baby died at birth, I decided to study medicine myself and specialize in childbirth."

  "And where's your husband now, dearie?"

  "We divorced."

  Mrs. Donald shook her head and clucked her tongue. "He couldn't accept having a bluestocking for a wife, I suppose."

  Paige smiled and sipped her tea. The truth was, Nick Morrison couldn't accept having a wife, bluestocking or not.

  "That's how it goes with some men," Mrs. Donald remarked. "My man went off looking for gold twelve summers ago, never heard from him since."

  "That must have been hard for you. Did you have children?"

  Mrs. Donald shook her head. "Never could, though I wanted them bad. Guess that's how I come to be delivering other folk's babies. And speaking of
babies..." She got up and checked on Clara and the baby, and then sat down again. "Are you planning on doctoring in Battleford, Miss Randolph?"

  The question was meant to sound casual, but Paige was aware of its ramifications. Mrs. Donald earned her living as the local midwife; she was understandably concerned about having a lady doctor in Battleford who specialized in delivering babies.

  Paige thought fast, but when the words came out of her mouth, her own audacity astonished her.

  "Yes, I am. I'm going to specialize in women's problems. I'd like to set up an office, and if I do, I wonder if you'd consider coming to work for me, Mrs. Donald?"

  Good God, what was she thinking of? She didn't have money, instruments, patients, or, as of this Friday, even a place to live—and here she was, hiring an assistant for a practice she didn't have either. The damn crop circle must have weakened her brain as well as shooting her across time.

  Mrs. Donald looked flabbergasted at first. Then she tilted her head to the side and gave Paige a long, considering look. "I couldn't promise right off the bat," she said slowly. "I'd have to think about it. But it's kind of you to offer, Miss Randolph."

  "Please, call me Paige. And kindness has nothing to do with it." She gestured toward the curtain where Clara and her baby slept. "I couldn't have managed that without you. I'm most impressed with your knowledge and ability."

  The midwife's wrinkled cheeks flushed with pleasure. "Dr. Baldwin from up at the fort has taught me a great deal," she said modestly. "You know him, of course?"

  "We've worked together. He's a good doctor, and an excellent surgeon."

  Mrs. Donald surprised Paige by giving a mischievous wink. "He's a well made man, that one. If I were younger, I'd say he could put his shoes under my bed anytime."

  Paige grinned and felt herself blushing. She had to admit she'd had her own lascivious thoughts about Myles Baldwin.

  Mrs. Donald's laugh was young and delightful, a high, chortling giggle that was contagious. "I see you've had similar thoughts. Well, dearie, if I had your looks, I'd do more than think about setting my cap for Dr. Baldwin." She poured them more tea. "My name's Abigail. You don't mind if I call you Dr. Paige, do you?"