Specters of Nemesis:
Page 27
“Maybe you should get the midwife.”
He dashed back into the bathroom. “What happened?”
“My water broke.”
“Now?”
“Yes. Now.”
Wendel bolted from the townhouse. Through the window, she saw him run across the cobblestones. Krampus soared after him.
Her heartbeat raced with equal parts anxiety and excitement. She lowered herself into the tub, since she saw no point in getting out, and decided to rest while she could. Water lapped at her ears, her heartbeat whooshing.
Not long after, Wendel ran back into the townhouse, breathless. “Here’s the midwife.”
The midwife, a willowy woman with pewter hair, washed her hands in the sink. “How long ago did your water break?”
“Twenty minutes,” Ardis said. “Will it be long?”
“Hard to tell.” The midwife dried her hands. “Could be hours, could be days.”
“Days?” She groaned.
“Though twins can be quick.”
Quick turned out to be relative. Ardis spent the next hour in the tub, until the water cooled, and the midwife told her to walk. Though she was skeptical, Ardis dragged on a dressing gown and paced around the townhouse.
Wendel followed her into the bedroom. “What can I do to help?”
“Be patient,” Ardis said.
Another contraction hit. She gripped the bedpost and bent her head. The midwife rubbed her lower back, which helped with the ache.
“Isn’t this tedious?” Ardis said.
He twisted his mouth. “If only I could shoulder more of the burden.”
“Don’t worry, you can do all the diapers.”
Ardis didn’t have much of a break to catch her breath. The next contraction hit her hard.
“God.” She groaned through the pain. Her legs started shaking. “Can I lie down?”
“Yes,” said the midwife.
Wendel helped her into the bed, where she leaned against a pillow. Her legs still wouldn’t stop shaking. She counted the leaves on the linden tree. Around the twelfth leaf, the pain faded. Panting, she met Wendel’s gaze.
“I’m still hungry,” she said.
His eyebrows shot skyward. “Now?”
“We never had dinner.” Her laugh became a moan. “Green beans, remember?”
“You mean haricots verts en conserve.”
“Fancy.”
A little smile touched his lips. “Alas, dinner is cold.”
She tried to think of a clever reply, but the wave of pain drove the wittiness from her mind. Hunching in the bed, she grabbed fistfuls of sheets. She focused outside the window. Sunset colored the mountains pink.
It might have been an eternity or a moment later when the midwife checked Ardis.
“Nearly there,” said the midwife.
Ardis shook her head. The urge gripped her body, an overriding desire, and she gritted her teeth. “I need to push. Now.”
The midwife glanced into her eyes. “Breathe.”
Focusing on riding out the pain didn’t leave Ardis room to reply. She exhaled through her nose as she surrendered to the urge to push.
Wendel paced at the foot of the bed, his face pale, and kept glancing at her face.
“Push,” the midwife said. “Even harder.”
This time, her baby was born. A little girl, tiny and wrinkled, let out an indignant wail. She scrunched up her face and punched the air.
Ardis laughed, her eyes brimming with tears. “Look at her.”
“A girl,” Wendel said.
“She didn’t want to come out.”
The midwife let Ardis hold the baby against her breast, though only for a moment. “The second baby will be here any minute.”
Wendel took the baby girl, smiling at her red little face, and just in time.
Another contraction, hard and fierce, hit Ardis. The urge to push overwhelmed her mind. She bore down with every muscle in her body.
Her second baby was born–a boy, crying a little quieter than his sister.
“Twins,” Wendel said, as if he hadn’t quite believed it.
The midwife handed him a pair of scissors, which he used to cut the umbilical cords, before helping with the afterbirth.
Finally, Ardis had time to rest. She lay back against the pillow, her hair damp with sweat. A baby suckled industriously at each breast. She gazed down at their tiny little heads. Both of the twins had Wendel’s black hair.
“What color are their eyes?” she said.
“His are darker,” Wendel said. “Like yours. Hers are grayish.”
She glanced into his eyes. “Like yours?”
“Perhaps.” He knelt by the bed and stroked his daughter’s hair under his knuckle. “What will we name them?”
“I’ve always loved the name Viola.”
“Viola.” He touched his son’s minuscule toes. “And Wolfgang?”
Ardis smiled. “We can call him Wolfie.”
“Wolfgang and Viola.” It sounded right.
Bliss settled in her bones. She wiped the tears from her cheeks with her wrist.
“Ardis,” Wendel murmured. “The twins…”
She met his gaze. “Yes?”
“One of them has necromancy.”
Her heart skipped a beat. She looked into his eyes, surprise fighting fear, and she knew he worried for the baby. He remembered his rejection from his family. His life as an outsider. Necromancers were abominations.
She bent down to kiss Wolfgang’s head, followed by Viola’s.
“Well,” she said, “you have your work cut out for you.”
He laughed. “Evidently, I do.”
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Author Bio
Karen Kincy (Sunnyvale, California) can be found lurking in her writing cave, though sunshine will lure her outside. When not writing, she stays busy gardening, tinkering with aquariums, or running just one more mile. Karen has a BA in Linguistics and Literature from The Evergreen State College and an MS in Computational Linguistics from the University of Washington.
Find Karen online at:
www.karenkincy.com
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