Midwife in the Family Way

by Fiona McArthur

  His breath eased out. He’d been unaware he’d been holding it as he’d waited. It was amazing how good that admission made him feel. Perhaps dangerously so. ‘Then what is the matter between us?’

  He could read the struggle in her eyes and the indecision that crossed her face but not the cause. Then she said it. Baldly, and it was the last thing he expected. ‘I’m pregnant. We’re pregnant. Despite the precautions we both took.’

  He could feel the shock reverberate through him like a seismic wave inside his chest. Something he’d never expected to be faced with because he’d prided himself on his care. Pregnant. A baby. It couldn’t be.

  He shook his head at the idea. ‘We took good precautions.’

  She sighed. ‘That’s what I thought.’

  ‘There has been no one else?’ He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth but they needed to be said. He’d been duped in the past. Couldn’t help the knee jerk of disbelief that Maria’s final truth had left him with, but he regretted the spasm of pain that crossed Emma’s face. It seemed the answer was no.

  Her voice was barely audible but the words were clear. ‘I’m not going to have a slanging match with you, Gianni. But don’t…’ She paused as if to control herself. ‘Ever doubt me again.’

  ‘My apologies.’ He could hear the stiffness in his own voice but his mind was reeling. He did not dispute that he’d enjoyed their brief affair, and since then what little time he’d spent with Emma, but for life? To share a child? With a woman he barely knew if perhaps not barely in the biblical sense. Speaking of which, he didn’t even know her religion—and now his child was involved. If they moved to Italy, perhaps she would convert.

  Now was not the time for choices or decisions or paths to choose. The path was there and he would take it. And so would she. It was the correct thing to do.

  ‘We must be married.’ His voice was resolute.

  ‘Spare me,’ she muttered, and in shock he realised that the answer was no foregone conclusion. The unthinkable slapped him in the face. She was going to refuse. And did.

  ‘A proposal? No, thanks.’

  He straightened. ‘It is the only thing to do.’

  ‘It’s not that simple.’ Now she did sink down onto the couch, as if her legs no longer supported her, and he sank down next to her.

  ‘I have a daughter who doesn’t know you.’ She gestured to the simple room. ‘A family, a place I love.’ She looked at him with narrow eyes. ‘And work I love and spent my teenage years making possible. I can manage here with another child. I’ve already proved that.’

  She threw her hand out toward him. ‘You? You are passing through, have come from another continent.’ She drew a deep breath as if to steel herself. ‘And I have a disease that made me promise myself I would never marry. You need a woman who can provide your family with a bloodline.’ She shook her head. ‘That woman isn’t me.’

  So she had tested positive. The blow landed and he barely absorbed it. He waved his hand. All that could not matter. He was the father of this child. And then the ramifications of her statement sank in. ‘Do you know that for sure? Have you really tested positive for the gene?’

  He saw the moment when she realised he knew her secret. The shock, the idea of his acceptance, the disbelief that he understood. All reasons she’d put the barrier between them.

  Now he understood. Poor Emma. Dear, sweet, Emma. ‘Still, I would be there for you and our child.’ He paused as he remembered that not only Emma was involved. ‘Children.’

  It was worse than she’d imagined. He’d be there. He’d sacrifice his life because he had a stake in the child she was carrying. He wasn’t in love with her and, please, God, she wasn’t in love with him. They were pregnant but it didn’t mean he had to be doomed. It didn’t have to be.

  ‘Don’t you see? Either I have the gene, and Grace and this child are at risk as well, or I haven’t got the gene and my life is still to be here for the people I love who have not escaped. My life is here and yours is elsewhere.’

  So it was not set in stone. ‘Then take the test.’ He shook his head, bewildered. ‘Of course, take the test. I do not understand how you have not already. But now there is more reason.’

  She shook her head vehemently. ‘There is more reason not to.’ She put her head in her hands. ‘You have no conception.’ She looked up. ‘Ironic word choice.’ Then she shook her head. ‘The fear that if I test positive, Grace also has that chance. It would destroy me. I couldn’t live with that. And now a new child. Perhaps Grace is free but then this, our child, could prove positive. How would I cope with that?’

  ‘I would deal with that as it comes. As your husband. I would be there for you. All of you.’

  ‘No, you won’t.’ The cry came from her heart. Just like her father. Anguished. Devastated. ‘You can’t.’

  He shrugged in the old way. ‘Too late.’

  She shook her head, almost wildly. ‘I will not do to you what my mother unwittingly has done to my father.’

  He said slowly, ‘You are so sure you have the Huntington’s gene—and this is why you haven’t confirmed it?’

  She looked away. ‘Yes. Every day. Every time I forget something. Every shake of my hand. And I wonder if this is the start. I don’t want to share my life with someone who has to watch that. I’ve chosen to do this alone, and I don’t want to change that.’

  Was that the first lie she’d told him? He didn’t know why he doubted her. Perhaps it was his own wishful thinking but something told him she wasn’t sure. But she was in no state to argue with.

  ‘It does not change things.’ He shook his head. ‘How do you know your father would not refuse to exchange the bad years because of the good years he enjoyed with your mother? The ones that came before?’

  ‘Nobody could.’

  He tried to hold her hands but she wouldn’t let him. Twisted away from him. He lowered his voice but his intensity did not lessen. ‘Perhaps you should ask him.’

  She looked at him, bitterly. ‘I don’t have to. I know I wouldn’t.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ He caught her fingers finally. And held them. ‘Marry me, Emma. Let me be a part of our child’s life. A part of your life and Grace’s.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘But I owed you the truth about my pregnancy.’

  It was his pregnancy, too. He tried to make her look at him but she kept turning away. ‘You are having my child.’

  She spoke to the floor. ‘Don’t make me wish I’d never told you.’

  Why was she like this? ‘It is too late for that. And I would have discovered.’ He caught her eyes and raised stern brows. ‘You would not have liked the consequences of that.’

  She tossed her hair. ‘You are not the lord of your little village here, Gianni. You don’t frighten me.’

  He raised his brows. ‘Then why have you waited to tell me this? You must have known for days. A week?’

  She put her head in her hands. ‘Why do you think? What if we have created another sufferer to live the life and lies that I have lived? Like my poor baby, Grace, could be.’

  He understood. Gianni felt the weight fly from his shoulders. The lifting of a stone the size of a statue, and suddenly breathing was much easier. He would see that she took the test. It would change everything. Not that it would change his proposal. He would make her understand.

  To a plan, then. ‘It is time I became acquainted with your daughter.’

  He saw her arrested attention and the way her eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘I beg to differ.’ He stood up. ‘But I will give you time to get used to the idea.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  EMMA didn’t see Gianni over the weekend as she spent most of her time between her brothers at the hospital and two picnics with Grace in difficult-to-access places. All designed to give her space to think of Gianni’s unexpected suggestion.

  When she was out of his influence she could think more logically, and the m
ore she thought of Gianni’s proposal the less sensible the idea seemed.

  Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday conspired without Emma’s help to keep them both busy in separate wards, and suddenly it was Thursday and almost the end of her first shift in Emergency since she’d brought her brothers in.

  Emma mused out loud as she glanced at the clock. ‘Only an hour to go?’ Gianni didn’t answer and Emma smiled to herself wryly. He was giving her the silent treatment because she wouldn’t invite him to tea with her and Grace.

  She guessed that was the reason but she wasn’t asking. Apart from his request early in the shift and her refusal, it had been quite peaceful that morning. The opposite from what she’d thought it would be like when Montana had asked her to do the shift with Gianni.

  He was too quiet. She wasn’t sure what he was up to but he’d been nowhere near her, not easy in a small ward, and Emma had found her own glances drifting towards him at the other end of the room.

  Maybe he was having second thoughts about pursuing her and had realised it wasn’t going to do him any good. That would make her life easier. Or maybe he’d just changed tactics.

  Emma wasn’t sure she liked the uncertainty but she guessed that was the idea—to annoy her.

  The tension had risen a little as their shift was drawing to a close, and she hoped the afternoon staff arrived on time and she could slip away.

  Today it was noticeable that the flow of dengue fever sufferers had finally lessened because the shift had progressed at a more leisurely rate, though with each new patient suspicious symptoms were still checked.

  When a plump woman, Juliette, arrived with abdominal cramps and a swollen belly, she was examined with the fever in mind. But she didn’t have a temperature or a headache.

  ‘The pain’s in my belly, bad pain, and it gets excruciating in my back.’

  ‘Is it constant?’ Gianni palpated the lumpy abdomen.

  ‘It comes and goes,’ Juliette whispered as another pain began to grab her.

  Emma frowned at the familiar words. She looked at Gianni as he spoke to Juliette, and moved closer, but before she could say anything Juliette turned suddenly wild eyes to Gianni and grabbed his shirt collar. ‘I have to go to the bathroom, quick.’

  She’d heard that before. That was when suspicion crystallised for Emma and Gianni wasn’t far behind her.

  He looked down at Juliette’s belly and his hand followed. ‘Her abdomen’s as tight as a drum now,’ he said, and glanced at Emma with raised eyebrows before he edged the stethoscope down from Juliette’s umbilicus to her pelvic bone. Suddenly he stopped.

  ‘There it is! Distinct and unmistakable.’ His eyes met Emma’s and for the first time that morning he smiled.

  He offered her the stethoscope and Emma bent down to listen. The unmistakable sound of a foetal heart beat could be heard galloping along merrily inside his mother.

  ‘It seems this lady’s for you.’ He turned to Juliette.

  ‘It appears your baby has decided to arrive.’

  Juliette turned hysterical eyes to Emma as she tried to edge her way out of the bed. ‘What’s he talking about?’

  Emma moved in closer so she could speak quietly. ‘You’re having labour pains. Did you realise you were pregnant? I think you might want to push.’

  Juliette shook her head and bit her lip. A spasm of pain not related to her physical symptoms crossed her face. ‘How could I be pregnant?’ She looked from Emma to Gianni. ‘That’s cruel. We can’t fall. Both of us are sterile.’

  ‘It seems you’re not. We both heard the baby’s heartbeat,’ Emma said gently but with feeling. ‘You poor thing. It’s a shock you’ll have to get used to because I’d say it’s all going to happen quickly.’ She glanced around. ‘Did anyone come in with you?’

  Juliette’s eyes widened. ‘My husband. Ron.’

  ‘I’ll get him,’ Gianni said, and she and Emma glanced at each other.

  ‘How’s that going to go?’ Emma asked.

  ‘Disbelief. It’s a miracle. But he’ll be in shock. Like I am.’ The woman screwed up her face and held her breath. ‘You sure I can push?’

  Emma lifted the sheet and the sudden pop of the bag of waters flooded the bed with clear liquid. ‘I’d say yes.’ She reached for a pair of gloves and helped the woman out of her underclothes. None too soon.

  As Gianni and the new father arrived, Juliette let out a scream that would no doubt raise the hair on the back of her husband’s neck and a little dark head appeared between the woman’s legs.

  Swiftly the baby’s shoulders slid out, then the belly and finally feet all tumbled into Emma’s hands in a gush of warm amniotic fluid and three coils of cord.

  ‘Good grief.’ Emma smiled at the woman. ‘For someone who can’t have babies, you’re darned good at it.’

  ‘Oh, my.’ Juliette blinked down at her baby and blushed bright red as she remembered how noisy she’d been. ‘I’m sorry I yelled.’

  Emma wiped his face with the sheet. The little boy screwed his nose up, coughed, scowled in the general direction of his mother and father then threw back his matted head and roared. Emma exchanged glances with Juliette and smiled. ‘A scream like that is a “let’s move this baby” noise, and did the job beautifully,’

  Emma reassured her. ‘And now it’s his turn. You’re both amazing.’

  Emma met Gianni’s eyes and the amusement there made her own lips compress as she tried not to laugh. Gianni passed Emma a towel to dry the baby’s head and chest before she handed him to his mother, and within moments her son was snuggled against her skin with a blanket over both of them.

  ‘Afterbirth now,’ Emma murmured as she bent down, completed the job and then straightened.

  It was over. A very low-key birth, except for that one scream of fear, incredibly short and wonderful, and if not for Juliette’s cry even the people in other cubicles would have been unaware of the drama.

  ‘A baby was born,’ Emma said, and smiled. That was when the new father fainted into Gianni’s arms.

  Gianni was watching Emma, admiring her calm acceptance of the natural order of birth and enjoying her delight. He hadn’t noticed the pre-sway of the fainting man. But instinctively his arms closed around Ron and lowered him gently to the floor. Ron stirred and groaned.

  Emma slid a pillow off one of the other beds and under Ron’s head and handed him a damp washer to wipe his face. ‘Stay there for a minute, Ron.’

  Fifteen minutes later both parents had been wheeled over to Maternity with their son and Gianni and Emma were writing up notes.

  Gianni grinned down at his notes and shook his head. He looked at Emma as she concentrated on her transfer sheet. To witness such a birth was auspicious. ‘There must be something in your water around here. Such a fertile place.’

  Emma swung her head around but no one was close enough to hear. ‘Don’t start.’

  ‘But that couple were delightful. We have to celebrate their son’s birth. One must celebrate miracles.’ Gianni attempted a helpless shrug. ‘Louisa is out for dinner tonight at Montana’s. That is also a sign you should come out with me.’

  She did not look convinced. ‘No, it isn’t.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Though perhaps it is a divine sign you need to invite me to dinner at your house.’

  Emma shook her head but he knew she was trying not to smile. This was better.

  The morning had been fraught with silences. Silences he’d made as he’d racked his brain on ways to get her to allow him into her life. Silences when he had begun to despair of penetrating the barriers she’d erected since he’d last seen her. And barriers he feared would become even more insurmountable as time went on.

  ‘That wasn’t the sign I read,’ she said, and slid the chart across to him.

  He signed the medication order she’d written up for after the birth. ‘Perhaps you did not see the sign that said I would bring dinner?’

  She narrowed her eyes at him. She was tempted. He knew it. She pursed her
lips. ‘I may have seen that one.’ Grudgingly.

  His heart lightened. ‘Do I need to bring enough for your daughter?’

  ‘Absolutely. And she’s fussy. I won’t have to cook at all.’

  Good. But he wasn’t crowing in case she changed her mind. ‘No problem.’

  Gianni arrived at six as instructed. It seem very early to him but he did not eat with an eight-year-old usually so that must be why. He knocked again on the door.

  ‘Hello, Dr Bon-mar-ito,’ Grace said. She opened the door and stood back. ‘Mummy is in the kitchen.’

  ‘Please call me Gianni. If I may call you Grace?’ He handed her the foil-wrapped garlic bread and kept the wine swinging on his arm in a bag.

  He’d brought a casserole dish with the main course in it and a bottle of non-alcoholic Lambrusco that he’d found for Emma. The aroma of the pasta had been teasing him since he’d put it in the car. Good choice, his stomach said.

  ‘What’s in the dish?’

  ‘My special spaghetti Bolognese recipe that I am famous for.’ And he’d never met a child that didn’t like Bolognese. He mentally crossed his fingers.

  ‘Yum. Though usually Mummy makes it.’

  ‘This time we will give your mother a rest.’

  Grace looked at him gravely. ‘Good. She’s been tired this week.’

  Gianni looked at this serious little girl in front of him and nodded. His fault. ‘She is lucky to have a daughter who can see this.’

  Grace considered his words and then shrugged. ‘This way.’

  Gianni followed her and when he found Emma setting the table in the big open kitchen he searched for the tiredness her daughter had noticed. Emma’s cheeks were flushed and she didn’t quite meet his eyes. Not too tired at this moment.

  ‘Hello,’ Emma said to the wall behind his head before she bent down to help Grace. ‘That smells good.’

  ‘Bisgetti Bolonose,’ Grace said and handed her mother the bread. Emma smiled as she took the loaf.

  ‘And garlic bread and wine.’ Emma didn’t correct her as she looked at Gianni. ‘Wow. A party.’