The cramps grew stronger, longer, and she began to feel the tiredness steal over her like a robber pilfering her strength. She didn’t notice the shuffle of her feet, or the gasp of her breath, or the dimness of the room. The world contracted to the end of one long cramp and the beginning of the next, and weariness stole her thoughts until she moved like a zombie, plodding mindlessly around like an ox at the wheel.
After another hour the cramps changed tempo, upped the ante, dragging low moans from her, making her grunt and her eyes widen and dart around the room as if searching for somewhere to hide.
Again the cramps intensified, grew crazy enough to make her want to pant, crashed one upon the other until she crawled to her little stool and knelt before it as if pleading at an altar to make the cramps stop.
Her breath panted in short, irregular gasps no matter how hard she tried to keep it even, and she squeezed her eyes tight as the tears began to trickle again. She would die.
Then, inexplicably, the eye of the storm paused upon her, and there was stillness and quiet except for the harsh breathing she could hear from her own throat. Her breath eased as tentatively she rolled her shoulders, sipped from the bottle she had been gulping from during the brief moments before the next onslaught, and felt the strange insidious gathering of energy.
Maddy blinked, wiped her face with one grubby hand, and felt the weariness fall away like a dusty cloak until suddenly nausea swelled in her throat. She heaved, grabbed a fistful of tissues and gagged into them. She pushed the wad away with distaste, and wiped her hands with more tissues until she saw the gel. She reached for the pocket-sized bottle and pumped some of the cleansing gel onto her fingers, and the cool of it felt like the most glorious sensation in the sweat-filled world she inhabited.
Her throat ached with dryness and she reached again for her bottle of water, glanced with disorientation at the dim room she’d traipsed unendingly around over and over again – now able to pick out on the dusty floor where she’d walked.
She looked down at the stool under her fingers as she knelt before it, staring at her pale hands gripping it. She had sudden clarity of what she’d passed through. So she almost expected the first wave of the new surge, one that built powerfully and overwhelmingly, and the sudden downward pressure of an urge to push from within burst through her consciousness like a switch had been thrown.
Now she understood the rigidity of a kitten’s stomach as it heaved or a litter of pups began in expulsions. She’d watched the shudder of the animal, and the quiet, relentless maternal effort. She tried not to think about the pouting of labia as a cow birthed. Everything would be fine if she followed her instincts. Nobody discussed it with the cow.
These cramps grew more powerful, slowly building, and she breathed them downwards with a sudden swelling of determination to have it all finished. She lifted her chin and pushed her belly out with the breath like the midwife had told the mother in Sweden. They’d practised that for weeks before she’d had the baby and it all came back with the memory of what happened at the end.
And then the burning began. The sting and the heat and the pressure, and she gasped until the pain eased back but the pressure remained. It was overwhelming, intense, like an obstacle she couldn’t push past. Except when the surge returned she did push past it. With the next explosion of power the intensity driving her glowed like a hot knife and suddenly, exhaustedly, in a rush of hot fluid and exquisite pain, she felt the release and it was done.
She dropped her head onto her hands on the stool and she sobbed with relief until, with a catch of her breath, she heard the tiny sound behind her.
She swung towards the noise, craning behind, because there on the rug, between her legs, lay a vision, a miracle, a dream, and a flexing wet bundle of tangled limbs, purple twists of cord, and blinking dark eyes beneath a downy head. Her baby.
Maddy gasped, shifted awkwardly, carefully, and reached with trembling fingers to pull and slide the hot tiny bundle between her legs to in front of her knees and stared at the thick cord that joined the two of them.
Then the baby blinked, gazed owlishly at her as if trying to focus, and screwed her face up to make a mewling cry as if to say, Well?
Maddy jumped, inhaled, and her heart thumped with fright and delight and dawning realisation that the baby she had planned around with all her organisation and pre-thought – was actually a living, breathing person! She hadn’t thought of that. And one who could make noises so she’d better get on with tying the cord.
She followed the cord to her baby’s belly, took in the fact that she had a daughter and winced at the ramifications of the knowledge. From nowhere a wall of heat suffused her. She swore that no man would hurt her baby as she had been hurt! But she needed this done and for some reason she had begun to shake and the spotty pool of blood underneath her grew bigger, and suddenly another pain gripped her and she closed her eyes on the urge to push again, for a horrible moment afraid another baby might pop out, but it wasn’t that. Of course it wasn’t that. The pain heightened and fell away as she listened to her body.
She grimaced at the meaty afterbirth and dropped her hand to her stomach. So empty. So hollow, after the birth. She tentatively pushed into her flaccid belly and felt the strange hard lump that was her uterus and noticed that the bleeding had stopped as well. Her baby whimpered and snapped her vague thoughts back to the present.
So much to do and so little time. The thick, purple, braided snake of cord looked otherworldly, bizarre, and she remembered the midwife in Sweden saying how clever the cord and placenta were. Maddy decided they both looked gross.
Instinctively, she stretched to gather up her baby, remembered the mantra that wet babies grew cold, that the mother’s skin would heat it up, and looked about for the towel. She wiped the bluish skin tentatively with the bits of towel she’d saved for this purpose, then wiped the baby’s wrinkled face and her chest and her wriggling limbs, which did seem to make her even more cross but made the pink replace the blue of her skin, until Maddy stopped wiping.
Maddy heaved her own work shirt off her torso, pulled at her cheap stretchy bra to expose all of her upper body skin, and lifted the baby against her.
It was a miracle as the whimpering stopped, and they knelt clasped together, baby and mother, skin against skin, for a long time.
Chapter Twenty-four
Alma
Alma wasn’t a morning person – more of a midnight-to-two-am reader of gruesome female detective novels, as long as the female detective kicked the male baddy’s arse. Sometimes, when the female detective was having a hard time pinning down the baddy, Alma couldn’t sleep. Evil had to be punished and preferably by a woman. Alma didn’t delve too deeply into why she needed the satisfaction those books gave her.
The phone shrilled again in the dark as she surfaced from a deep sleep. Groped for it. Alma swore softly, succinctly using most of the not-inconsiderable collection of words she’d overheard these last fifty years from men. At last she found the instrument and put it to her ear.
‘Alma. It’s Sergeant McCabe. Someone’s left a newborn at the police station. I need the doctor.’
‘What?’ Her head snapped up.
‘A baby. And it’s crying. Screaming its lungs out. Get Sienna.’
She couldn’t believe it. It seemed twice as disorientating to hearthe sergeant’s voice filled with an urgency she’d never heard before. Alma dropped the receiver instead of returning it to the charger, stumbled, groped for the light, and stubbed her toe against the bedside table. Swore again. But she managed to turn on the light, so she pushed her feet into her slippers and grabbed her robe.
Imagine. Oh my Lord. And to think they actually had a baby doctor in town. Alma crossed the long hall from her private rooms until she reached the accommodation end, then pounded on Sienna’s door so hard her knuckles hurt.
The door swung inwards before she could knock again. ‘It better be urgent,’ said the calm woman who opened the door.
&
nbsp; Alma blinked. She’d expected the doctor to look a little like she’d seen of herself in the old hall mirror as she ran past. Tousled, spiking hair, creased pyjamas under flapping dressing gown. Instead, Dr Wilson was fully dressed, bright-eyed, and was standing calmly waiting as if she had people waking her early in the morning every day, and Alma stared for a minute before she could marshal her thoughts.
Then the drama of the moment returned. ‘Sergeant McCabe needs you at the police station.’ The words spilled out. This had to be the most exciting thing that had happened since the last time she’d seen the Min Min. ‘Someone’s left a baby on his doorstep.’
The perfect brows rose, then she nodded and turned back to the room to get her bag.
Alma blinked again. Most people would ask for all the juicy details, not that Alma had any, but geez, the doctor could have been more flabbergasted or horrified. She tried not to be disappointed at the lukewarm reaction, but damn.
‘He said it was brand new,’ Alma called after her as she waited. ‘And crying.’
She just discerned muffled words from the room that Alma couldn’t quite catch, but it could have been ‘that’s a good thing’. Then she was back with her big handbag and indicating for Alma to lead the way.
‘Why didn’t the good sergeant just bring the baby here?’
‘He said he didn’t have a baby seat.’
‘Spare me. Imagine Douglas carrying a child without a restraint. Someone might tell the police,’ she said. ‘Let’s not break the law.’
Alma looked at her. ‘How would he drive and hold a baby?’
The doctor shut her door. ‘You’re right of course. And it would be too cold to walk with a brand-new baby.’
Alma followed her downstairs to open the door for her and lock up after. She really wanted to go with her and see what was happening, but she wasn’t invited.
The doctor said, ‘Any sign of the mother?’
‘Not that he mentioned.’
Alma opened the door and the doctor stopped. ‘What time is Maddy due for work today? I’ll need a hand with the baby until community services can be notified.’
Alma looked at her, then frowned. ‘She doesn’t work today. But I could give her a ring?’
‘Thanks. As soon as you can would be very good.’ She slowed her voice as if Alma was stupid. ‘Just ask her to come to the police as soon as possible. Maddy’s help would be excellent.’ Then she said, ‘I’ll take my car. My other doctor’s bag is in there.’
‘I’ll bring your breakfast down to the police station,’ Alma said, ‘and one for the sergeant.’ She paused for a breath. ‘And for Maddy as well. That girl likes her food.’
The doctor nodded. ‘Do you have anyone in town who had a baby recently? We’ll need supplies.’
‘The store will have supplies, but it’s shut for the week.’ Alma shrugged. ‘Tourists run out of basics and Liz keeps it pretty stocked with a couple of everything. But she’s away. Damn shame that.’
‘Who has the key while she’s away?’
Alma frowned and then her brow cleared. ‘I do.’
Sienna opened her bag and then her wallet and removed a fifty-dollar bill. ‘Newborn nappies, a bottle with a teat and some newborn baby formula. Maybe a packet of maternity pads if the mother turns up. And any clothes and baby blankets would be good. Perhaps someone has a bag of baby clothes put away?’
Alma’s mood brightened and she took the money. ‘I’ll slip up to the shop now. She has a second-hand section there. I’ll grab a few things then drop them down to you. Then I’ll ring Maddy, but Jacob usually takes the phone off the hook at night.’
Chapter Twenty-five
Sienna
The angry wail of a very annoyed baby drifted out of the police residence and the knot of tension in Sienna’s neck loosened as she walked up the path. She closed her eyes for a second in gratitude.
In view of her suspicions, she felt heavily responsible for not tackling Maddy. She should have followed up with her yesterday, but in her defence, she had no idea Maddy could have been full term. This baby certainly didn’t seem premature by the sound of it.
She could fix this. It would all be sorted out. A sick baby would have complicated matters enormously. And luckily, she didn’t have to worry about a neonatal resuscitation. That kid’s lungs sounded positively lusty.
Douglas opened the door and for the first time since she’d met him he looked flustered. His black brows stood as downward slashes in his face and the helpless, harassed creases of the usually steadfast Douglas drew a smile she didn’t think she had in her.
Because inside she fretted about the baby’s mother.
When she looked down at the red-faced baby in his arms, it looked a lot smaller than the sound coming out of its open mouth. Sienna stared. ‘Good grief. It’s tiny. I thought it would be at least four kilos it’s so loud!’
Douglas thrust the baby at her. ‘Take her. It’s a she.’ He paused, looked between Sienna and the baby. ‘She’s very demanding – of course,’ he said over the infuriated wails. ‘I was thinking of calling her Sienna.’
‘Funny.’ Sienna lifted the baby confidently from Douglas’s awkward embrace and carried her through to the bathroom. She could still see the look of pure relief on Douglas’s face and it brightened her day immeasurably. She might not be maternal, but she knew what to do with babies.
Sienna put the swaddled baby down on the bathroom bench and unwrapped her from the woollen blanket she’d obviously arrived in. Gave the pink, vigorously squirming infant a quick appraisal. Later, they could arrange a paediatrician, but she did confirm that the white string tying the cord had stayed tight. She shuddered at the thought of a baby slowly bleeding to death from an untied cord stump. She ran her hands rapidly over the top half of the slight body – no way was she touching the rest until it was clean – and confirmed that all looked normal. Her new little friend lay naked and pink from her exertions and covered from nipples to toes and up her back in sticky black meconium poo.
‘Douglas?’ she called over her shoulder.
‘Yes,’ he said. She hadn’t realised he’d leaned his massive shoulder against the bathroom door and was watching her with something close to amazement.
Their eyes met. His were alight and warm with appreciation, and what passed between them felt way too complicated for this time of the morning. She looked away and back down at the fiercely annoyed baby.
‘I need a towel and a sheet to wrap her in. And a couple of face washers for the mess, please.’
‘Face washers? I’m a man. I don’t keep face washers.’
‘Well, as you’re a man, you can cut some up from something,’ she glanced at him, ‘or tear it with your bare hands if you like! One half I’ll use as a nappy until the supplies arrive and the other will give me two washers.’
He smiled. Looked at her with admiration, before shaking his head. ‘So practical. Hidden talents.’
Did he think she was stupid? ‘Now would be good.’
‘You can use that hand towel to start the decontamination.’ He screwed up his face at the tarry mess covering the baby. ‘Then throw it out.’
Ten noisy minutes later they sat with a clean-bottomed, snuggly wrapped baby, one that sucked voraciously on Sienna’s freshly washed pinkie finger while they waited for the formula to arrive – or Maddy. Sienna admitted to herself that her concern mounted the longer it took the girl to get here.
She’d imagined, if healthy enough, Maddy would be here like a shot as soon as Alma rang her. If she didn’t arrive soon she’d have to tell Douglas her suspicions. Get him to bring her here so she could check her out – but she wasn’t sure that wouldn’t open a can of worms she’d be unable to shut.
As if he’d read her mind he said, ‘I’m worried about the mother,’ but then they heard a knock at the door and he rose to answer it. He returned with a bag of supplies. ‘Alma said she’s going to pick up Maddy because she can’t get an answer on the house phone.’
Sienna wanted to chew her own finger just like the baby seemed to be enjoying. She tossed up telling Douglas now but restrained the thought because Alma would be just as quick.
Instead, she said, ‘Later she’s bringing breakfast.’ Sienna looked down at the baby, big blue-black eyes frowning as she tried to find the secret to getting sustenance out of Sienna’s fingertip. Sienna decided she had the look of the suspected mother. ‘And I asked her to ring Maddy to lend a hand.’
‘She said that. It’s a good idea.’
‘I’m full of good ideas. Is your finger clean? I need to make up a bottle.’
Douglas laughed once and stood up to wash his hands at the sink. ‘Anyone would think you didn’t want her to start crying again.’
‘I’d say she’s less than three kilos and I don’t want her to drop her sugar level. Small babies do that. Then I can let you go to find her mother.’
When his hands were thoroughly scrubbed she gestured for him to sit, placed the well-wrapped baby firmly in the crook of his arm, and slipped her finger out of the baby’s mouth. Douglas replaced the tip off his own pinkie finger, but the baby frowned, twisted her head and refused. Then she started to wail.
Douglas tried to thrust the baby back at Sienna. ‘She doesn’t like me.’
‘She must be too young to notice your nice chest.’ Sienna held up her hands. ‘No. I need to do this and it’s easier than explaining to you. Stroke her cheek with the tip of your finger until she turns her head that way.’ Douglas did as she suggested. ‘Now, when she opens her mouth keep your finger still.’
‘It won’t work. My finger’s too big.’
‘Well, it’s that or you could take off your shirt and offer her your nipple,’ Sienna said with a straight face.
Douglas froze and then, seeing with relief that she was joking, he murmured half to himself, ‘How about you offer yours?’ But he lifted his hand and gently stroked the baby’s cheek as instructed and Sienna watched his surprise as the baby turned her head and suddenly was sucking away on his finger.
The Baby Doctor Page 15
