A Laird for All Time

by Angeline Fortin

  On the other hand, she was clearly stuck here in 1895 Scotland. How could that compete? No electricity, no movies, no baseball. Dozens of things bounced randomly through her mind from the minor faults to the major. Faucets that were either hot or cold but never just warm. No Internet! Uncomfortable clothes, uncomfortable shoes. She could go on and on about all the negatives of being stuck here. Why would she want to stay at all? What was life without her old friends Ben and Jerry? And it was boring! She was the child of a multitasking generation. She was used to doing three things at once, always moving, always on the go. She had checked her cell phone that morning, just out of habit that morning. No service. Well, of course there wasn’t!

  The music downshifted into a calming melody and her thoughts calmed as well.

  But there was peace here, too. A beauty of nature that held its own appeal. There were brand-new (hundred year old) books in the library she had never read that could keep her busy for years.

  And there was Connor. She closed her eyes as she played on and pictured him in her mind as he had been the previous night. So incredibly sexy. Appealing. Alluring. Laid back on his bed, hair mussed, eyes heavy, a nice six-pack of abs rippling and flexing in the candlelight…candlelight! Ugh, she thought, thrown back into the negative side of life. Candlelight wasn’t for a romantic setting here! It was so you could see where you were going! Did she really want to cope with that for the rest of her life?

  And the medical side of this time was appalling! People could die just from appendicitis at any time. From the flu! No antibiotics for infection. Chicken pox could kill. They still had smallpox, too. No hope for cancer at all. And what would childbirth be like here?

  A morbid parade of disease with no treatment or cure danced through her mind as she lost herself in her personal horror show. Death, misery and more until a startled cry drew her attention.

  Glancing around the room, she saw the other ladies flocking to Dory’s side as she bent over in pain. Fresh from her recent apprehensive thoughts on childbearing, Emmy rushed to her side pushing the other women out of the way. “Dory, what it is? Do you feel pain?” Emmy ran her hand knowledgeably down the woman’s stomach and drew back in surprise. “Are you still wearing that thing? I thought I told you not to,” she scolded.

  “Please,” Dory whispered as perspiration dotted her brow.

  “Someone find a footman to carry Dory to her room,” Emmy commanded leaving the woman to scatter as she turned her attention to the woman who looked so much like her. “Don’t worry, Dory, it’ll be fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course, I’m sure,” Emmy patted her hand as the footman arrived. “Take her carefully up to her room,” she directed.

  “Maybe we should call for a doctor or a midwife,” someone, Cousin Gladys, she thought commented.

  “I am a doctor,” Emmy said firmly, “and I will take care of Dory.” The women murmured among themselves at her pronouncement but she waved them away. “Someone should find Ian though.” Just in case, she added mentally but kept the thought to herself.

  On the way up the stairs, Emmy called for a maid to fetch her boiling water, the strongest soap they had and some towels. What she wouldn’t give for her small medical bag from the hotel! Or at least a pair of latex gloves! She was just getting Dory settled on the bed and shooing the ladies out of the room when a trio of maids arrived bringing what she needed. So quickly, but of course! Dory kept water handy at all times for her tea. “Margo!” she called and snapped her fingers several times at Dory’s personal maid, “I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

  “Susan, m’lady,” she bobbed a curtsey.

  “Susan, you and Margo get Dory into a nightgown, just the gown and nothing else,” Dory blushed and started to protest, “Nothing else,” she repeated firmly. “On top of the covers, not under.” Emmy went to the windows and flung the curtains wide open allowing as much natural light as possible to enter the room. Thankfully Dory’s room faced the courtyard and thus had the larger windows. “You,” she pointed to the third maid she didn’t recognize. “Bring more lamps closer to the bed.” As the maids scrambled to do her bidding, Emmy rolled her sleeves and washed her hands thoroughly hissing at the hot water. “Freakin’ middle ages,” she muttered under her breath. “Dark, no tools, no stethoscope. Could use one of those.” Hmmm, they might have come up with that already…maybe. “Margo, does the local doctor, is there a local doctor? Does the doctor have a stethoscope?” When the girl looked puzzled Emmy explained, “Something that lets him listen to a heartbeat?”

  Margo’s expression brightened. “Aye, m’lady, I’ve seen him use it before on my mum.”

  “Would it be possible to send someone to see if we can borrow it?” Emmy asked. “We don’t need the whole doctor, just the stethoscope,” she clarified to make sure they didn’t bring some under-educated quack back with them.

  “I’ll send my brother to ask, m’lady.” Margo bobbed a curtsey and left the room.

  Emmy moved to the bed where Dory lie curled up against the pillows still looking tense and scared. “Any blood?” she directed this to Susan who had helped Dory change.

  “No, m’lady.”

  “Good!” Emmy sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at the woman everyone thought to be her sister. “Relax, Dory. Breathe. You look wound up enough to blow your cork.”

  Susan giggled and Dory offered a strained smile. “I’m scared, Emily.” Emmy started at the use of her real name.

  “Just, Emmy,” she returned patting her hand. “And don’t be scared, you’ll be just fine.”

  “My baby,” she moaned stifling a sob.

  “Well, let’s just see, shall we?” Emmy forced Dory on to her back and took her feet one by one and raised them up as they would have been if she had an actual exam table. Putting a hand on either side of her bulging stomach, Emmy pressed in. Intently, she waited for some sign of movement from within or, worse case, a contraction that would indicate a miscarriage or premature labor. Feeling nothing after a moment, she moved her hand to the top of her stomach and pushed down.

  As she waited a moment wishing for a fetal monitor, Emmy changed the subject. “I thought we discussed that corset, Dory.”

  “I know, Emmy, I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just thought I could still wear it.”

  Emmy tsked. “And after Ian was sooo nice to you yesterday, too,” she admonished.

  Dory blushed then giggled just a bit. Her stomach jumped beneath Emmy’s hands and Dory squealed in terror.

  “Shhh, Dory!” Emmy laughed. “It’s just the baby kicking.”

  “Kicking?” Dory responded in confusion and squeaked again as the baby kicked more forcibly. Emmy put her hand over the spot and savored the feel of the baby’s movement. It had always been her favorite thing about expectant mothers, the one thing the envied them for and longed for herself.

  “Active little bugger,” she said fondly. “See? Just kicking and a little gymnastics. Is that what you felt downstairs? Or is there actual pain?”

  “No,” Dory replied in wonder and put her own hands on her stomach as the baby continued to roll. “No pain now. But this is not what I felt before. That hurt. But this has been scaring me as well. I feel it all the time. Is it truly just the baby moving? It didn’t realize what it was and it doesn’t happen as much when I wear the corset. Little nudges here and there but never that!”

  “The corset probably inhibits the baby’s movements. Leave it off and let the baby move, okay?” Emmy lectured.

  “I’ve never carried a baby long enough before to feel this,” Dory elaborated.

  “Well, I’d wager you’ll get to feel a lot more than that this time.” Emmy shifted until she was sitting closer to the foot of the bed and put a hand on each of Dory’s knees. “Susan, do you have a tape measure?” Not knowing how else to describe it, Emmy breathed a sigh of relief when the maid nodded and opened a box near the fireplace withdrawing a length of string knotted at in
tervals. Well, it would have to do, Emmy shrugged.

  Dory stiffened and squealed again. “There it is! That’s what scared me downstairs.”

  “Pain?”

  “Yes,” Dory nodded. “I was not like the movement before. It was…” she shrugged.

  “I am going to examine you now, Dory, whether you like it or not,” Emmy warned.

  Dory clenched her knees together and stared at Emmy. “Cannot we just…”

  “No, we can’t,” Emmy interrupted. “This is no time for your Victorian sensibilities, Dory. I need to have a look. Don’t you want to have a healthy baby?” she coaxed.

  Dory’s knees relaxed slightly and she glanced anxiously at her maid, the one person she had ever been naked in front of besides her husband. Of course she had never bared herself completely for Ian especially in broad daylight. Susan was the person she should be the most comfortable with but, if she was going to do this, no one was going to see it happen. “Susan, please wait outside.”

  Uncertainly, the maid nodded and bobbed a curtsey before leaving the room and closing the door behind her. “Alright, Emmy,” the woman nodded lying back on the bed with all the martyrdom of a virgin sacrifice on her face. “Do what you must.”

  “Think of it this way,” Emmy spoke quietly as she raised Dory’s nightgown up above her knees and spread the woman’s legs apart. “Better me than the doctor, right? He must be some old, gross guy if you haven’t let him examine you before. Am I right?”

  Dory was already red with mortification and had turned her head to the side to avoid Emmy’s gaze but she nodded into the pillow. “I can’t stand the thought of him touching me.”

  “Then he won’t” Emmy assured her. “But I will have to touch you, you know.”

  Dory nodded miserably and Emmy got up on her knees so she was off to the side. Using her left hand to push down on the stomach, she used two fingers to examine the woman who had become her one ally in this place. She felt for a moment while Dory moaned in embarrassment. As quickly as possible, Emmy finished her exam and moved back allowing Dory to cover herself once more. She washed her hands again and came back with the tape measure. “Just one more time, sweetie,” she murmured as she raised the gown again so Dory’s whole belly was exposed. She was just taking the measurements she needed when the door burst open and Ian fell in panting with exertion.

  Dory squealed once again and rolled over pulling the full nightgown down over her feet. Ian fell to his knees at the edge of the bed and took her hands. “Dory, are you alright?”

  Dory looked to Emmy who answered. “She’s fine, Ian,” she assured them both. “The baby’s movements startled Dory and gave her a scare, but the baby seems fine. There’s no bleeding and the mucus plug is still intact. I think it’s just Braxton Hicks.”

  “What?” they both asked.

  “False labor,” she told them. “It can be brought on from lack of exercise or dehydration. A warm bath will probably help right now, but you’ll need to start going for some walks, Dory, and lay off the tea and just drink some water,” she added in her best physician voice. “But,” Emmy grinned, “just rest assured that she is fine for now. But, seriously, Dory, no more corset.”

  “I won’t,” she said meekly.

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “Good.” Emmy stared down at the tape measure where she held the mark for the baby’s fundal height, the measurement from her pubic bone to the top of the uterus. She did the mental math to equate the measurement to centimeters. Well, that couldn’t be right, could it? Emmy looked back down at Dory who was curled in a ball while Ian whispered softly to her as he stroked her hair back from her forehead.

  “Dory?” she asked to gain the woman’s attention. “When did you say you thought you were due?”

  “Six weeks, perhaps? Maybe more,” she offered. “Why?”

  “Will you let me measure one more time?” Emmy asked rhetorically. She had every intention of double-checking her measurement.

  “Must you?” she sighed.

  “I think we must,” Emmy replied with a little sarcasm. “Ahh, good!” Margo entered the room carrying what looked like an ancient stethoscope with a large funnel on the end. “Thank you Margo, you can go. Well, Dory? Does Ian say or go?”

  “I’m staying,” he stated firmly before Dory had a chance to respond. “I’m staying,” he repeated looking down at his wife who finally nodded in consent. He took a seat next to her as she turned back on her back and held her hand. Both looked at Emmy expectantly.

  At this show of acceptance, Emmy raised the gown again and took her time measuring. “How accurate is this tape measure?” she asked. “Each knot is an inch right?”

  “It should be fairly accurate,” Ian told her. “It measures the same as my tailor in Inverary.”

  Emmy nodded but didn’t need the tape to confirm what her eyes knew. Without the corset, Dory was substantially larger than a woman of 36 weeks should be. She converted the measurement again and tried to refrain from shaking her head lest she worry them. Taking the stethoscope, she put the outdated piece to use muttering over how badly it worked. She listened for the baby’s heartbeat. It was a fast and regular whoosh-whoosh as expected but as she listened closer she heard what she suspected. Moving the steth around the other side and lower she listened again. Pulling the instrument off, she set it aside and pressed here and there on Dory’s abdomen. “What I wouldn’t give for an ultrasound,” she murmured to herself.

  Finally she stepped back and allowed Dory a moment to straighten her gown before answering the question in both their eyes. “Okay, so here’s the thing,” she prefaced. “It’s twins.”

  “Twins?” they both echoed.

  Emmy held up two fingers and said. “Twins. Two.”

  Ian suddenly grinned and whooped turning to crush Dory in his embrace before apologizing and holding her more tenderly. He lay one hand down on her stomach and she covered it with her own as they stared at each other in amazement. He bent to kiss her tenderly whispering in her ear and feeling like an interloper, Emmy cleared her throat to remind them of her presence.

  Ian hopped up and hugged her as well and she returned the embrace with a smile. “Congratulations.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Dory said in awe staring down at her stomach.

  “Well, it’s not surprising if you think about it,” Emmy reasoned as she gathered up the tape and steth. “Twins are often genetic. They run in families,” she clarified and they nodded. “We’ll talk more about all that later. For now, I’ll just give you a chance to celebrate.” She excused herself from the room with a smile but as soon as she got into the hall she leaned against the wall and covered her face with her hands. Worries cropped up in Emmy’s mind as she pictured natural childbirth with multiples in this setting, with the medical advancements available. Twins were almost always done by C-Section in her time just to avoid any complications that might crop up during a vaginal birth. Video from medical school replayed itself in her mind and she shuddered with dread.

  She rubbed her hands over her face and pushed away from the wall only to see Connor standing just a few feet away. They stared at each other for a long moment each replaying the events of the night before in their minds. She was sure his version was probably different than hers. Male recollection usually put a woman at fault when they were left with sexual frustrations. Well, she hadn’t slept at all last night either!

  Chapter 18

  “Connor,” she nodded curtly intended to bypass him and return to her room where she could brood over medieval childbirth in private.

  “Is Dory going to be all right then?” he asked catching her arm. “Did she lose the babe?”

  “Mother and babies are doing fine so far,” she told him wearily.

  “Babies?”

  “She’s going to have twins, Connor,” she told him and enjoyed the surprised look on his face. “Shocking, isn’t it?”

  “Ian must be over-the-top,” h
e said with a smile shaking his head.

  “He is. They both are.”

  “But ye’re not. Why?” he asked but as she remained silent wondered her expression. She did not look happy at all. Indeed, she appeared troubled and ashen, but hadn’t she just said the babies were doing well? There was something else she was holding back and his curiosity outweighed his need to avoid her company. He turned and offered his arm to her. “Ye look like you could use a drink. Shall we?”

  “Why not?” Clearly he was willing to forget the previous night and move on. Why shouldn’t she? Emmy took his arm as he escorted her down the stairs passing the parlor and instead leading her toward his study where he ushered her in and shut the door behind him. It was a dark paneled room, scholarly and manly like a condensed version of the Library of Congress. The walls were covered with book shelves, filing cabinets and maps. A large desk in the center was mounded over with piles of papers and ledgers. Obviously, he was not a neat freak, but it suited him. Thankfully the gas lighting shed enough light the room wasn’t cave-like. He sat her in a wingback chair near the fire as the October day was cold and went to pour her a drink. “Whiskey or Claret?”

  Emmy wrinkled her nose at the thought of whiskey straight up. “Claret, I guess. Thanks.”

  He handed her a glass of the wine and sat with his own in the chair across from her. “I am curious, why aren’t ye happy for them? Jealous?”

  Emmy scowled at him as she took a sip from the glass. “Just love to think the worst of people, don’t you?”

  “People are often predictably self-absorbed,” Connor replied simply.

  “Sure they are, but a little optimism in the human condition wouldn’t be amiss from time to time,” she admonished. “Occasionally they might even surprise you.”

  “And ye’re an optimist?”

  Surprised at the question, Emmy laughed in a self-deprecating way and shook her head. “No, I am and have always been a ‘glass is half empty’ kind of girl. If something can go wrong, it will. Murphy’s law and all that. It’s terrible really to always have worse case scenarios running around in your mind. Seeing the worst in everyone, imaging the worst of every situation.”