Turner's Rainbow 2 - The Rainbow Promise

by Lisa Gregory

  "Yes, a lot. I've never seen so much blood at a birth."

  "Have you been at many?"

  Julia led him into the house and up the stairs. "A few. Usually I just helped the midwife, but I delivered the last one myself. The midwife didn't make it in time."

  "Good. Then you'll be able to help me."

  "If you'd like."

  "Here. Sterilize these instruments in boiling water and get me some towels, while I go up and see the patient."

  He handed her several metal tools and went up the stairs to Sarah's room. Luke stood up and turned at his entrance. James checked his steps at Luke's white, stricken face. For a moment he thought Sarah must have died, from Luke's expression, but then he saw her head move upon her pillow.

  "You gotta help her," Luke said.

  Suddenly James had a picture of Luke's contorted face as he had rushed at him that time on the Fourth of July, the doubled-up fist slamming into him, and he knew Luke was thinking of the same thing. He was scared to death that James would hold that against him and not save Sarah. James's mouth tightened. "I'll do everything I can for her. You must know that."

  He stepped around Luke and looked down at Sarah. He picked up her hand and took her pulse, running his eyes over her clinically while he talked in a soothing voice. "Hello, Mrs. Turner. Looks like you've had an accident here."

  "I didn't do anything," Sarah panted. "Julia lifted everything. I didn't. It just happened."

  "Of course you didn't do anything. It's not your fault. Now, I'm going to examine you. I'm afraid it will hurt a little." Sarah tried to smile. "It already hurts more than that." James smiled. She had pluck. "I'll try to be as gentle as possible." He pulled off his jacket, rolled up his shirtsleeves, and washed his hands at the washstand. Then he poured carbolic acid over them to sterilize them. He came back to the bed and began to examine her.

  "Luke?" Sarah's voice rose in pain and fear.

  "I'm right here, honey." Luke went to the other side of the bed and reached over to take her hand. Sarah closed her eyes and clung to him, bracing herself against the pain.

  "I'm afraid this baby is coming whether we like it or not," James said, stepping back and wiping the blood from his hands.

  Julia walked in the door and silently handed James a hot, wet rag and towel. She carried the instruments on another towel. He glanced at her, surprised. "That was quick."

  "I already had the water boiling. I figured you'd need it."

  "Good. How long has she been bleeding?"

  Julia described concisely and clearly what had occurred from the moment Sarah started bleeding.

  "Have you touched her abdomen?"

  "Yes. It's been hard like that the whole time."

  "Constantly? Even when her contractions let up?"

  "They don't seem to ease up all the way. She's been feeling the pain right along."

  James nodded. He looked across at Luke.

  "I think what has happened is what we call a placenta abruption. The placenta has torn loose from the wall of the uterus and is now between the baby and the cervix. That's why there's so much blood. Unfortunately, it usually sets premature labor in motion, and that is what is happening now. She's dilated quite a bit already."

  "Am I—going to lose the baby?" Sarah asked.

  James hesitated. He looked at her, his face sad. "I'll do everything I can to save both the baby and you, ma'am." He glanced at Luke.

  Luke went cold inside. He knew what that involuntary glance meant. The doctor didn't think he could save the baby. Maybe not the mother, either. Luke squeezed Sarah's hand. "It'll be all right, sweetheart. It'll be all right."

  ❧

  The afternoon wore on. Sarah continued in pain. Luke held her hand, and Julia wiped her brow with a damp rag, murmuring soothing words. From time to time James checked her pulse and laid his hand against her cheek and arm. They waited.

  "Mama?" Sarah's eyes fluttered open and she gazed up at Julia. Luke looked at James, panicked. Sarah's mother had been dead for over three years. She was out of her head.

  James glanced at Sarah's face. She frowned, then whispered, "No, of course not. You're . . ."

  "Julia. I'm Julia, honey.'

  "I'm sorry."

  "You're just a little confused."

  "Yes," Sarah's eyes closed again. She looked asleep.

  James felt her pulse. "Skin's clammy. Pulse is high. She's going into shock."

  Luke scrambled off the bed. "No."

  "Julie, get some more blankets. We have to keep her warm. Luke, get me blocks of wood. Two of them." He gestured to indicate the size. "We have to stick them under the legs at the foot of the bed to raise it. Do you have any?"

  "Yeah. Sure."

  Luke raced down to the barn while Julia brought in more blankets to cover Sarah. It was a warm April day and Julia was sweating, but Sarah's skin was as cold as ice.

  "Is she going to be all right?"

  "Maybe, if we can bring her out of shock. I don't think the labor will last much longer."

  Luke returned with the blocks of wood, and he and James lifted the foot of the bed while Julia slid in the chunks of wood under the legs. They waited, watching her.

  James took Sarah's pulse again and laid his hand against her forehead. "I think she's a little better."

  Luke released the breath he'd been holding. He went around the bed to Sarah and picked up her hand again. Sarah's eyes opened, and she offered him a weak smile that tore at his heart. "You're going to be all right." Luke squeezed her hand and tried to imbue his voice with confidence. "I promise."

  Sarah made a faint nod. Lines of pain were engraved in her face. She grimaced as a fresh pain struck her. Luke glanced pleadingly at James.

  James shook his head. "We just have to wait. The baby will come in due course."

  Luke held Sarah's hand, grateful for the pain of her fingers digging into his flesh. At least that was something he could give her, something he could do to make up for her agony—the agony he had caused.

  He watched her helplessly, lacerated by fear, feeling her pain all through him, and knowing that she suffered because of him. It was his fault she was here, his fault she hovered on the edge of death, racked by pain. He had done it to her, solely to satisfy his lust. Old Dr. Banks had told him not to make love to Sarah while she was pregnant, but he had ignored the doctor's warning. Luke thought about how he had taken her without thought for anything except his own driving hunger. And now, here she was, lying in a bed of blood, losing her baby, dying. Because of him.

  Luke hated himself for Sarah's suffering.

  Sarah floated in and out of a hazy world, sometimes blissfully unconscious of the pain, at other times torn apart by it. She would be aware of nothing, in a black void, and then she would feel the warmth and strength around her hand, holding on to her, and she would cling to it, knowing it was her lifeline. "Luke.. "

  "I'm right here."

  Tears seeped from beneath Sarah's lids. The voice gave her strength, as the hand did. She couldn't slip away, not with Luke there. "I love you."

  His hand clenched convulsively around hers, "I !ove you, too, sweetheart. I love you, too." His voice rasped with tears. "Hold on, honey. Just hold on."

  The pain was changing now. Sarah could feel it. There was a huge, unstoppable force within her, carrying her along, forcing her out of the blackness and into the awful, piercing reality. She dug her heels into the bed and pushed.

  "She's pushing." That was a man's voice, one she didn't know. Sarah opened her eyes and saw a man beside her bed. He was familiar. Who was he? Oh yes, the doctor. And the woman. The woman was Julia. Luke's sister.

  The pain left her blessedly. Sarah waited, panting, thankful for the sudden surcease.

  Gently Julia moved Luke aside and put the braided tics in Sarah's hand. James moved Sarah's skirts out of the way and checked her again. "It's in the birth canal." His voice was tinged with excitement and an irrepressible hope. "It won't be long now."

 
; Luke stood to one side, feeling desperate and helpless, and watched as Sarah struggled to bear their child.

  Sarah felt again the huge, overpowering force within her, the compelling need to push, the rush of pain so different from what had come before. She bore down, pushing with all her strength.

  "That's it. Good girl. It's coming now." The doctor's voice kept up a smooth, steady litany of encouragement, and the calm, deep tones reassured and strengthened her.

  Then once again the force, the pain were gone, and she relaxed, gasping for breath. Luke crossed his arms across his chest, watching her. She was so fragile, so pale, so small. How could she possibly have the strength to do this?

  He hadn't been in the room when she had given birth to Emily. The doctor had made him wait downstairs. Had it been this bad? Was childbirth always like this? No. It couldn't have been like this before. Sarah hadn't lost all this blood then. She didn't have the strength now that she had had then. She was so weak. The pains must be tearing her apart.

  Luke could see her tensing up again, and it was all he could do not to cry out that it was too soon. She hadn't had a chance to rest. This would kill her. His fingers dug into his arms and he bit his lower lip, riding out the pain with her.

  "That's good, Mrs. Turner," James said. "That's right. Keep on pushing." A mass of gore came out, and the sheets were flooded with blood. "I see his head!" James's hands went out to take the slippery baby as it emerged. "One more time. He's almost here. One more good push. That's it! The head and shoulders are out." His voice was laced with triumph as he pulled the tiny, bloody form from her.

  Sarah slumped back against the pillows, exhausted, the braided ropes sliding from her hands, as darkness wrapped around her.

  Chapter 7

  Julia handed James his clamps and scissors just as he opened his mouth to ask for them. He worked swiftly, clamping off the cord and cutting it. There was no movement nor sound from the baby, small and slimy with Mood and mucus. James wiped the baby's face and hooked a finger into his mouth to clear it. Still, the limp form didn't move. He turned him over, holding the baby in one hand, and slapped sharply on his back. He slapped him a second and third time. James turned him back over and tried to breathe life into him. The little creature lay still in his hands. Minutes passed as he worked on the baby feverishly. Finally he straightened and looked at Julia.

  There was blood all over James's face, hands, and shirt.

  His mouth was grim, his eyes darkly despairing. He shook his head, and silently Julia took the child. She walked to the washstand and gently bathed the small, lifeless form. Tears gathered in her eyes and clogged her throat. It was a perfect little baby boy, too tiny to live. She wanted to cry for Luke and for Sarah, even for James and the sad frustration in his face.

  James turned to Luke. "I'm sorry. The baby was born dead."

  "Sarah?" Luke's face was as white as paper.

  James set his jaw. "We'll save her." He had lost the baby, but he'd be damned if he lost the mother, as well. He set to work to stop the blood.

  The room was utterly silent except for the sound of their breathing. Luke watched James, feeling as if his life hung suspended in the other man's hands. He wondered how often James faced this sort of life and death struggle, and he experienced a grudging respect for him for doing so. James was a good doctor, and he cared. It showed on his face and in the gentle competence of his hands. Luke would never have thought him capable of it.

  "There." James straightened. "I hope we've stopped the flow of blood. It's all I can do for the moment."

  Julia came over to the bed, cradling a small bundle in her arms. "I'll fetch you some clean towels and water." She hesitated, glancing at Luke, then handed Luke the bundle. He took it, gently folding back the towels from the baby's body. His fingers trembled. It was tiny, every feature formed in perfect, minute detail. It had been a boy, his and Sarah's son. And he knew he had killed it. He folded the towel back over the little head. Tears coursed, unnoticed, down his face.

  Julia returned in a few minutes with a stack of clean towels and fresh water. She set them down on the wash-stand, and James went over to it to scrub away the blood on his face and arms. Julia went to her brother and gently pried the baby from his arms.

  "I'll take him and dress him in the christening dress Sarah made."

  Luke nodded. Julia reached up and wiped the tears from her brother's face. "I'm sorry. So sorry." She turned toward James. "I put on a pot of coffee. Dr. Banks, if you'd like some."

  "Thank you. Yes, I would."

  Julia left the room. James dried his hands and arms and made another check of Sarah's condition. He pulled the blankets close around her. "I think the bleeding's stopped," he told Luke. "She appears to be coming out of shock."

  "Then she—she's all right?"

  "I believe that she is doing better. Unless she begins hemorrhaging or slips back into shock... yes, I think she will be all right."

  "Thank God." Luke let out a breath and relaxed, unaware of how tightly he had been holding himself.

  "I'm going downstairs now for that cup of coffee, if you'll stay with her."

  "Yes, of course."

  "Call me if there's any change in her condition."

  Luke nodded, and James left the room. Luke sat down gingerly on the bed beside Sarah and picked up her hand. It seemed horribly cold to him, and her face was drained of color. He wondered how Banks could have detected any improvement. He held her hand between his, wishing he could somehow warm her.

  She had almost died. She still could die.

  His mother had died in childbirth. She had died bearing him. That had been why his father hated him; he had always told Luke he had killed his own mother. Luke had denied it; he had tried not to believe it. But he couldn't deny this. He had killed this baby. He had almost killed Sarah. He'd never be able to change it or forget it. Even Sarah, sweet, gentle Sarah, would blame him.

  He remembered his grandmother's bitter face, her mouth twisted with hatred as she had shrieked at him, "You killed her. You and your father's selfish lust. He couldn't let her be, had to have her all the time. So she died bearing his brat. You're just the same. You'll use that sweet little thing you married for your own lust, use her until she can't bear anymore. She'll end up hating you for it, mark my words."

  Stu Harper had said much the same thing when he'd warned Sarah not to marry Luke. He'd told her that Luke would make her worn and old before her time bearing his children. Men like Harper, Luke guessed, restrained themselves with their wives, held back from making love with them so that they didn't have children too often, didn't bear too many. Certainly a man like Harper wouldn't risk his wife's and child's lives by making love to his wife when she was pregnant. Luke had never understood men of that cool nature. But maybe it wasn't coldness. Maybe it was simply something in their natures that he didn't have, a goodness that made them control themselves in order to protect the women they loved.

  He had thought he loved Sarah so much that he would protect her from anything, that he would die to keep her safe. But he hadn't protected her; just the opposite. It had been he who had hurt her, he from whom she needed to be protected.

  Sarah was the best and kindest of women. But even she would be bound to hate him now. Luke lifted Sarah's hand and pressed his lips against her fingers. He laid her palm against his cheek. He knew she could never hate him as much as he hated himself right now.

  Sarah's eyes opened groggily. "Luke?"

  "Yes."

  "I—" She glanced around. Her voice was barely a whisper. He had to lean down to hear her. "Where's the baby? I want to see him."

  His throat closed, and for a moment he couldn't say anything.

  "Luke? The baby?"

  He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Sarah. I'm sorry. He was born—dead."

  She stared at him for a long, silent moment, then an animal groan of pain and loss broke from her lips. "No! No!"

  "I'm sorry, sweetheart." He reached out with his free
hand to touch her cheek, but she jerked her head away. Pulling her hand from his grasp. Sarah rolled over on her side, away from him, and buried her face in the pillow.

  Luke sat, looking down at the stiff barrier of her back. He was ice all through. He had been right. She hated him.

  He slipped off the bed and left the room.

  ❧

  James sat down at the kitchen table with a sigh. He felt drained and weary. It was always hard for him to lose a patient, but children and babies were particularly bad. He had known as soon as he saw Sarah that she would probably lose the baby. It would have been a miracle if she hadn't. But somehow he always hoped for miracles.

  Julia poured coffee into a blue enamel mug and set it down on the table before him. "Would you like some cream or sugar?"

  "No." He gave her something resembling a smile. "Right now I need it black as it can be."

  "Tired?"

  "Yes. Aren't you?"

  Julia nodded. "Would you like something to eat? I put some food in to warm up."

  He started to say no, that he wasn't hungry, but he knew that part of the hollowness inside him was hunger even though the afternoon had left him with no appetite. It was late, and he supposed he ought to eat. He had to wait here awhile to make sure Sarah was all right, anyway. "Yes. Thank you."

  Julia pulled out a pan of boiled potatoes and roast from the oven and loaded a good portion of each onto a plate. Belatedly she realized that for a visitor like a doctor she should have used Sarah's china, not the everyday enamel cast-iron plates. Sarah would have known to do that. Any woman brought up in James's world would have known.

  She pulled a china plate from the cabinet and switched plates, sticking the metal one in the sink to be cleaned. James watched her, frowning. "What are you doing?"

  "Nothing. I wasn't thinking, and I put it on the wrong plate." She set the food down in front of him and stepped back, her cheeks blushed a little with embarrassment.

  James glanced at her. "What's the difference?" A more genuine smile touched his lips. "You think I can't eat off an old plate?" He shook his head. "Women."