Thurston House (1983)

by Steel, Danielle

  And if they don't? She lay in their enormous bed one morning in June, looking over the paper at him, and he smiled at her. She looked like a large round ball, and he loved to put a hand on her and feel the baby kick. It was an active one this time. Barnaby had been like that thirty-two years before, and he still remembered it now. But he was even more elated about this child. It was difficult to be serious, and listen to the political questions his wife was posing to him. What if there's a war?

  There won't be. Not for us anyway. And, he smiled at her, now you can discover the benefits of being married to an old man, my love. I don't have to worry about that anymore. They wouldn't take me.

  That's good. She smiled. I want you right here with me, and our son.

  What makes you think it's a boy? John grinned at her, he had that feeling, too, and they both wanted a boy, at least the first time. After that, they wanted a girl, if there was another one. But after all their fears, it had been a surprisingly easy pregnancy. She was still young. She had just turned twenty-six, and even though she insisted that she was practically a crone, she was young enough to have an easy time, and John hoped she would. He had wanted her to go to the hospital, but she was insisting on having the baby at home, and he wasn't sure yet if he'd give in to her. He looked at her now, and repeated his question with a smile. Why a boy?

  His big feet. She pointed at the protruberance pushing out on the right side of the enormous balloon that was her midsection now. You know, sometimes I wonder if he'll stay in there right until the end. He's been feeling awfully impatient to me. But when her due date came and went on the twenty-first of July, she was proven wrong, and she began to grow impatient to see their child. Why doesn't he come out? She was strolling through the gardens of Thurston House with John one night. He's already six days late.

  Maybe he's a girl. Ladies are never on time. Her husband smiled and patted her hand tucked into his arm, but he noticed that her step was slower than usual tonight and as she climbed the stairs to their room, she seemed more out of breath than she had before. She was growing more enormous every day, and he was getting worried about her. What if the baby's too big? he had secretly asked the doctor the week before. Then we take it out. It's very simple these days. John wondered if she would have to have a cesarean in the end, he hoped not, but the baby looked huge to him, and in comparison she seemed so small. She had narrow hips, and a small back, and it terrified him to think of the baby tearing through her on the way out. It had been difficult with Matilda thirty-two years before, and she had been a big, healthy, country girl. Sabrina looked more frail to him, and he was older and wiser now. He was fifty-four years old and madly in love with his wife, and he was worried about everything. Can I get you something to drink? He noticed that she was squirming in bed as she sat reading a book later that night, and she had been restless all day. It was unusually warm, and the stars were out in full force. It was unusual for the fog not to have come in. And she looked at him with a smile and then she sighed.

  I'm getting tired of this, my love. She pointed at the enormous balloon where her waist had once been, and he touched it gently with one hand, which met with an immediate and very hearty kick.

  At least he's in good form tonight.

  That's more than I can say for me. My back hurts, my legs ache, I can't sit up, I can't lie down, I can't breathe. He remembered hearing all that a lifetime before, but she really looked miserable as he rubbed her back just before they turned off the lights. He knew that most men no longer shared their wives' beds at this point, but he hated being away from her, and she insisted that she didn't mind sleeping with him. Do you suppose people would be shocked if they could see us now? They were lying with his arm around her, and her head on his chest, but it was comforting to her.

  So what if they would be. I'm happy, aren't you?

  Yes. She smiled as he turned off the light, and she looked out at the stars beyond, it was a beautiful night, and it was the twenty-seventh of July, 1914, and just as she began to fall asleep, awkwardly on her side, turned toward John, she felt a sharp kick, and then a slow, unpleasant twinge. She opened her eyes, looked at John, sound asleep, at her side, already snoring softly, and snuggled closer to him. Her back hurt more than it had before, and as she tried to shift her weight, she felt another twinge again. And within an hour, she felt as though she had the kind of cramps she hadn't had in months, and when she sat up to catch her breath, there was a sudden gush between her legs and the bed was suddenly drenched. She was mortified when John woke up, and turned on the light, looking sleepily at her.

  Did you spill something? And then suddenly as he looked at her he knew, as she shook her head, blushing to the roots of her hair, but he covered her awkwardness and pulled her gently toward him. Don't you worry about that. Everything's going to be just fine. He beamed at her, got up, brought her an armful of towels, and rang for the maid, as he tied his blue silk robe around himself. 'Til get Mary to change the bed. Why don't you sit over here? He helped her to a chair nearby and watched her face as the cramps pulled at her again. What do you feel, love?

  She blushed again. He was so open with her, and it seemed odd to be telling him, but she was more comfortable with him than she was with anyone, even her doctor. Rather like cramps.

  Is that normal? Matilda had never been as descriptive with him, and he remembered the baby Sabrina had lost, but it was too late for that to happen now.

  I don't know. I'm not sure. The doctor just said to call when the pains began. Do you suppose this is it? He looked at the flooded bed and smiled at his wife.

  I'd say it is. Just think he tried to take her mind off the pain he saw furrowing her brow in a few hours, you'll have our baby in your arms. It was a wonderful thought, as Mary arrived to change the bed, and he went to call the doctor they'd engaged, and he returned a few minutes later with a cup of tea. The doctor was sending both nurses that he had hired for her. and he had told John to keep her calm, to keep her in bed, to keep her lying flat, and to feed her nothing at all. But she didn't look interested in food when he returned to the room and found her leaning against a chair, holding her huge belly with both hands and her teeth clenched. The doctor's on the way, sweetheart. Let's get you into bed. She was grateful to lie down, and more grateful still to be having the baby at home. She hadn't wanted to go to the hospital, and it meant a great deal to her to give birth to their child at Thurston House, so John had indulged her whim, but he was prepared to rush her to the hospital if need be. But when the two nurses arrived in less than an hour, they announced that all was going well, shooed John from the room, and Sabrina cried when he left.

  Can't you stay? She trusted him more than anyone else, and she wanted him there, it was her house after all, but the two nurses wouldn't hear of it.

  I don't think I should. He looked gently down at her, her face was damp, her eyes already slightly glazed, and the pains seemed to be coming very quickly from what he could see. He heard her cry out as he left the room, and he began to pace outside, listening for her sounds, and he stood riveted to the spot when an hour later he heard her scream. He pounded nervously on the door and the elder of the two nurses scolded him.

  She mustn't have any noise! she whispered loudly at him with a stern face beneath her starched coif.

  Why not? There's nothing wrong with her ears. But suddenly he heard her groan again, and he couldn't bear it anymore, he pushed his way into the room, and found her lying there, her nightgown pulled up to reveal the enormous belly, but it didn't seem shocking to him and he reached across the bed for her hand and spoke to her soothingly as the next pain came. The nurses were appalled, and the doctor arrived just then and looked more than a little startled to see John in the room with his patient.

  Well, what have we here? He attempted to pretend that he wasn't surprised by what was going on, but it was obvious that he wanted John out of the room, and he wasn't anxious to leave, and Sabrina seemed to be clinging to him. She didn't even seem to care that s
he was only covered now by a thin sheet, and the sheet seemed to part company with her frequently when she was in pain, but she seemed to notice nothing at all. She had a hunted look now, and she was panting desperately as each pain came, and then suddenly she jerked forward and attempted to sit up, screwing her face up horribly, as the nurses pushed her back, and the doctor totally forgot John and went to her, pulled back the sheet, looked at her most private parts, as she shouted John's name, and as the doctor examined her, she screamed hideously. There was suddenly a film of sweat on John Harte's face as he watched his wife, and he wanted to clutch her to him but there was nothing he could do at all as she writhed on the bed, and finally the doctor indicated that he wanted to talk to him, and they left the room. But Sabrina panicked as they left, and it was only after another pain that John joined the doctor in the hall, and he wanted to know what was going on.

  The doctor spoke in a quiet voice. It's going very well, Mr. Harte. But you're going to have to leave her alone with us. It's too much for you to see. I can't let you do that, for her sake as well as yours. You've got to leave the room now, and let us get to work.

  Doing what? John Harte looked at him angrily. She's doing all the work, and she doesn't mind having me there. You don't understand, I'm the only family she has, I'm her closest Mend ' and she's everything to me. I've been on farms before, I know how calves and foals get born.

  The doctor looked shocked. This is your wife, Mr. Harte.

  I'm well aware of that, Dr. Snowe. And I don't want to let her down.

  Then leave her to us. That's why you hired us, I believe.

  John hesitated, not sure what to do. He wanted to be with Sabrina, if she wanted him, but not if it embarrassed her. He didn't care what anyone thought, he was too old for that. To hell with Dr. Snowe, but he looked into the man's eyes now. If she asks for me, I'm coming in. This is my house, and my wife, and my child being born. The doctor looked outraged, but he only pursed his lips.

  Very well.

  Is it going well?

  I'd say it is, but I also don't think it will be soon, and she has to marshal her strength. It could be a very long night he glanced outside at the sun coming up and almost smiled a long day, I should say. I don't think your baby will be born before dinnertime. He glanced at his pocket watch and there was a stirring from the room.

  How can you say that?

  Because I know how things are. And I know how babies are born. And you do not, were the unspoken words.

  But she seems so ' so far along' . John was suddenly worried about her again.

  I'm afraid not.

  He felt like banging his head against the wall as the doctor disappeared into the room again, and for the next five hours, John thought he would go mad as he paced up and down the hall, up and down the stairs, up and down the house. He finally drank two brandies and a Scotch, and wished he could give one to her but that really would have caused an uproar, and Anally at two o'clock, he sat forlornly on the stairs, beneath the stained-glass dome, with his head down, thinking about her. The nurses had come in and out several times, and the doctor had only come out once to give him a report that things were going well but it would still be a while, and finally at four o'clock in the afternoon John thought he heard her voice, she said something in a loud sharp tone, and then she groaned and he ran to the bedroom door and stood just outside, as he heard a terrible moaning sound and a stifled scream. He wanted to pound on the door and call her name, but he was afraid he would frighten her, but more than that he wanted to hold her in his arms, and then as he stood there, he heard her voice again and this time there was no stifling the scream, and he couldn't bear it anymore, he let himself quietly into the room and no one saw him at first. The blinds were drawn, and the curtains blocked all light from the room. There was a bright light on the table beside her bed, another on a table near her feet, and there seemed to be a stifling heat everywhere, and she lay in their bed, her legs spread apart, a sheet over her, her face drenched in sweat, her hair matted to her head, her eyes rolled back, clutching the sheets, and suddenly another pain seized her as her voice rose agonizingly again, and the doctor lifted the sheet and suddenly John could see hair and a little round head, and his jaw dropped as he watched silently. He wanted to cheer her on as she pushed instinctively, and there was blood spurting from a wound between her legs, but John couldn't even think of that now, all he could think of was that tiny head, and the miraculous woman who was pushing it out, and she screamed again and the nurses encouraged her to go on, as the doctor turned the shoulders of the child and the tears rolled from the father's eyes, and suddenly there he was ' a perfect little boy, lying bloody and wet in his mother's arms, as John went to her and cried and held them both. The doctor was shocked, but as he looked at them, he really couldn't be. It was the most unusual delivery he had ever done, but perhaps they weren't so wrong these two. The child had been conceived of their love once upon a time, and now he was born into their hearts, into their hands, as they held him close, both of them, not just one, and the child cried lustily, at five fourteen P.M. on the twenty-eighth of July, nineteen hundred and fourteen, as Europe went to war.

  JONATHAN Thurston Harte was christened in Old Saint Mary's Church on California Street when he was six months old, in January of 1915, when all of Europe was at war, and his parents had a small reception for their friends at Thurston House. The Crockers and Floods were there, the Tobins, the Devines. It was a small but select group that raised their glasses and toasted him with champagne, and that night his mother and father quietly toasted him in the room where he had been born, and John smiled down at his wife happily.

  How lucky we are, little one.

  'indeed we are. There was nothing else she wanted with her life. She had a husband she loved, a child she adored, their respective mines were doing well, although she had refused to merge them again. She insisted that they had separate identities and it might hurt them to change that now.

  Everyone knows that we're married and I run both mines. What difference does it make?

  It makes a difference to me. She belonged to John, but the mines did not, and for some deep-seated reason she couldn't explain, she wanted to keep it that way, although he ran the mine for her, and he did a stupendous job of it. She had no complaints, and in fact she wasn't even interested in the mine now that she had tiny Jon. Even the continuing blight on her vines didn't seem such a tragedy to her now. Nothing did. All she thought of were happy things, and she insisted that he looked like John. He had dark hair and great big violet eyes, but in truth, he didn't look exactly like either of them. Hannah knew who he looked like. He was the spitting image of Camille, but she never said that to either of them.

  They stayed in Napa for most of that spring, and celebrated her twenty-seventh birthday by going to the Grange Dance, and that summer was the prettiest she remembered since her youth. John turned fifty-five years old, and the only sadness was a letter that Spring Moon had died in an accident, falling off a bridge. She had hit her head on the rocks and died instantly. Her brother had written to John, through someone he knew who could write. He felt that John ought to know, and he was touched. She had been good to him, and when Sabrina heard, she was saddened too. Spring Moon had saved her life six years before, or certainly her virginity. It was difficult to believe that it had already been six years. It seemed to have flown by, and yet at the same time she couldn't imagine a life without John Harte now. It seemed as though she had spent her whole life with him.

  And her predictions had come true. On the day Jonathan was born, Europe went to war, but there was no sign of America entering into it, and even when Jonathan was two years old, there seemed no real threat that the United States would get involved, or so the politicians said, but once again Sabrina didn't believe what they said.

  How can we not, John? They're dying by the thousands over there. Do you really think we won't lend them a hand? And the trouble is that if we do, we're fools, but if we don't, we're the mos
t heartless creatures that ever walked. I don't know what to think

  You worry too much about politics. That's the trouble with women who used to work, they don't know what to do with themselves after that. He loved to tease her about her inquiring mind. She had plenty to do with little Jon, so much so that although she wanted to go very much, she decided not to go to New York with John. He had business to do for both of them in Detroit, and some investments to see about in New York. We could come back slowly through the South if you like. He was tempting her, he hated to travel alone. He enjoyed her company so much, and they were inseparable most of the time.

  How long would we be gone? He thought about it for a minute.

  Probably three weeks. Maybe four. They lost two weeks just getting across the country and back, or almost, but Sabrina shook her head now.

  I just can't. Could we take Jon?

  John thought about it and then shook his head sensibly. Can you imagine ten days with him on the train?

  She groaned and they both laughed. I can, but I can't imagine ever regaining my sanity. He was two years old and into everything in sight. He was a lively, healthy, happy child, and Sabrina was sorry she hadn't gotten pregnant again. She had hoped to ever since he was born, but it hadn't happened again. But it seemed less important now that they had Jon. For some reason, and the doctor had no idea why, she didn't get pregnant easily. But they were both happy with their only son. I hate to let you go alone, sweetheart, and for so long.