“Sh, don’t worry. This move hasn’t been easy for you, I know.” He released her. “Here, let me remove the box and help you.” He hoisted the case, briefly wishing he’d let the men stay long enough to take the box back, and set it on the floor. Grabbing the bedcover by the edge, he shook it free of sawdust and then folded it back before lifting Sarah and reclining her on the bed, propped by pillows.
She wiped her eyes with the corner of a blanket. “Wee Joseph is down in the kitchen with Bridget. Perhaps he’ll want to cuddle with me.”
“I will see about that. And I’ll have Bridget fix you a cuppa.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I won’t be but a minute.”
“Joseph?”
He stopped, hand on the door. “What, my love?”
“I love your gift, but I love you more.”
Joseph blew her a kiss and went to find Bridget.
* * *
Tea was not what Sarah wanted, but then nothing tasted good. And she had too much to do to be lying about in bed or crying like a baby because her husband loves her and buys her expensive gifts.
She and Joseph had only been married little more than a month, well, closer to two months.
Two months. Could time have passed that fast?
They spent a lovely week in Derry. The heat rose in her cheeks as she thought of the nights as a new wife. Joseph treated her with tenderness and patience and she, in turned, loved him with a passion she hadn’t known she possessed.
When they came back to Edenmore, Wee Joseph had grown so tall. Tanté Louise had packed his things, sending most of them on to Balleylawn where her mother had packed Sarah’s belongings as well. The families shipped all the crates to Bantry Bay to be waiting for them on their arrival.
Joseph suggested they take their time, not rush the trip to their new home. And he’d been right. Resting next to him each night, loving and being loved by such a…
Her eyes flew open. That was it. Every night he’d held her in his arms. Every night he proved his love.
And not once had her monthly visitor made its presence known.
She grabbed the pillow and wrapped her arms about it, burying her face into its softness to muffle her laugh. She had a gift to give back to her loving husband.
She would make him a father once again.
Chapter Thirty-One
Wee Joseph, do you want a brother or a sister?” The woman blooming in Sarah’s mirror turned to the side, roving her hands over her enormous belly in the same manner her hands caressed her own unborn child.
The toddler playing on the floor stood and ran to her, wrapping his arms about her knees. “Mama.”
She leaned over. “Mama’s got ye, son. My, yer getting heavy.” Pulling him onto her hip, or what was left of it, she kissed his head and tightly hugged him.
Though Joseph encouraged her, she had held off referring to herself as “Mama” to Wee Joseph. He belonged to her heart, but she needed that last bit of permission from Kathleen before she could make the total claim.
Then one day he woke from his nap and called her “mama” on his own. The last obstacle melted away and from then on, it had been no problem to say, “I am yer mama, and ye are me son.”
“Look, Wee Joseph. Who is that handsome lad in the mirror?” She pointed, and he mimicked, pointing to his mama instead of the laddie she held.
Wee Joseph began to swing his legs. “Down.”
“Then down ye shall go.” She lowered him to the floor and immediately grabbed her back. “Ow.” The heaviness grew and pressed. She reached for the bedpost and hung on, breathing out in a soft whistle. The sensation passed and she was able to stand up straight again.
Wiping the back of her hand across her forehead, she waddled through the doorway to the hall. “Bridget, could ye come up here, please?” Sarah waited at the doorpost, ready to grab hold if the pressure returned. But nothing else happened. Maybe her imagination was playing tricks on her. By her calculations, she still had not quite a week before the baby’s due date.
“Mistress Sarah, do ye need something?” Bridget’s head and body rose up the stairs.
Sarah shook her head. “Nay, my imagination seems to be getting the best of me.”
Bridget wrapped her arm over Sarah’s back and guided her into the room. “Would ye like for me to go get the master?” The young maid’s eyes registered concern.
“I’m such a bother. Don’t worry about me. I—” The heaviness returned, making her abdomen grow tight. She forced through another breath and the pressure slowly eased.
“I’m going to put ye to bed, and then I’ll go get the master.”
She allowed the lass to help her into bed and then grabbed her hand. “Go to Mistress Fontaine first. When she is on her way here, ye can go get Joseph. I think I’m needing Mistress Fontaine more right now.” She smiled though she felt her lips trembled.
“Aye, mistress, I won’t be but a stitch.”
Bridget started to leave but turned back. “What about Wee Joseph?”
“He’ll be fine until you return. But please hurry. We probably have a week’s worth of time, but I would feel better knowing Mistress Fontaine were here.”
Bridget nodded and left, her rapid descent sounding on the stairs before the door slammed.
Sarah closed her eyes and leaned back into the pillows. “Well, Wee Joseph. It seems yer about to learn if ye will have a brother or sister.”
And I’m about to give birth. Father, hold us all. I am suddenly very afraid.
* * *
Joseph gazed over the shoulder of Captain McFain. The man didn’t want to keep his end of the bargain. Though things had been explained quite plainly, the man still insisted he was due more before setting sail.
Wasn’t that Bridget running toward the Fontaine home? What could she need going so fast? What could she need indeed? His wife was heavy with child, and due to give birth at any time.
“Captain McFain, I’m afraid you will have to either trust us on this or take it up with the reverend. I’m needed elsewhere.”
Joseph called Jacques’s son, Peter, and instructed him to guide the good captain to his father. Shoving the paperwork at the lad, he called over his shoulder, “And tell your father Sarah’s about to have the baby,” and took off at a run for the house.
He pulled open the front door. “Sarah, I’m here, love.”
“Joseph?” She was upstairs.
Racing up the staircase, he found her in their bed. Wee Joseph sat next to her, holding her hand, looking quite serious. “Baby come.”
“Yes, son, the baby is coming.”
Joseph started to scoop the lad off the bed, but Sarah shook her head. “He’s a comfort to me.”
Walking around to the other side of the bed, he pulled up a creepie. Joseph sat on the stool and held his wife’s other hand. “When did it start?”
“Just a bit ago. We most likely have a long night or more ahead. I let my imagination carry me away and sent Bridget for Anne and you.”
He kissed her fingertips. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
“Would ye read to me? I’d like to just listen to yer voice awhile.”
Joseph chuckled. Standing, he kissed her. “What would you like me to read?”
“Psalms.”
He nodded, the lump in his chest that always appeared when the subject of God was broached making itself known.
Her Bible lay on the nightstand, looking more used than his own. Returning to the stool, he flipped through the pages. “Any particular one?”
“Eighty-four.” She waited until he found the page, then grabbed his hand.
“How lovely are Thy dwelling places. O Lord of hosts.
My soul longed and even yearned for the courts of the Lord;
My heart and flesh sing for joy to the living God,
The bird also has found a house,
And the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young,
Even Thine altars, O Lord
of hosts,
My King and my God
How blessed are those who dwell in Thy house.
They are ever praising Thee.
Selah.”
Sarah’s grip tightened. He read faster.
“Behold How blessed is the man whose strength is in Thee;
In whose heart are the highways to Zion.
Passing through the valley of Baca, they make it a spring,
The early rain also covers it with blessings.
They go from strength to strength,
Every one of them appears before God in Zion.
O Lord God of hosts, hear my prayer;
Give ear, O God of Jacob. Selah.”
Joseph set the Bible down and brushed the hair from her forehead with his free hand.
“Don’t stop. Please read on.”
He nodded and began again.
“Behold our shield, O God,
And look upon the face of Thine anointed.”
Mistress Fontaine and Bridget hustled into the room. Joseph glanced up for only a moment and continued.
“For a day in Thy courts is better than a thousand outside.”
Anne began to recite with him.
“I would rather stand at the threshold of the house of my God,
Than dwell in the tents of wickedness.
For the Lord God is a sun and shield;
The Lord gives grace and glory;
No good thing does He withhold from those who walk uprightly.
O Lord of hosts,
How blessed is the man who trusts in Thee.”
“Amen. Now, Joseph, I need to see how your wife fares, and you need to go out.”
Sarah squeezed his hand and nodded.
He closed the Bible, putting it back where he got it, and kissed his wife. “I will be right outside if you need me.”
“Don’t be afraid for me. I will be all right.” Had she only pretended not to see his fear this past year?
“I know.” He caressed her cheek and kissed her one last time before scooping up Wee Joseph and moving to the hall. Bridget closed the door while the words echoed in his brain.
O Lord of hosts, how blessed is the man who trusts in Thee.
But that man in the verse was not same man who sat in this hall. This man had no one to trust but himself and, at the moment, there was nothing he could do.
* * *
It seemed like hours since the first pain, but Anne told her she was actually moving very fast.
“It is important not to push before the time, ma petite. You will only prolong things if you do. I know what you are feeling, having done this six times myself. And I have lost count of how many little ones I’ve helped the Almighty bring into this world.”
Bridget wiped Sarah’s forehead and held her hand when the pressure grew.
“How much longer do ye think? Will I hold me babe tonight?”
“God willing, ye will. I will check again when the pain returns. Your waters have not yet broken, but I have known that to happen early or right before the child is delivered.” Anne patted her free hand. “You are doing a good job, Sarah. You are strong. Rest easy now. When the next pain starts, tell me.”
There wasn’t long to wait. Sarah could feel the pressure start to build before Anne had finished speaking. The urge to bear down early won, but she pressed her free hand into the bed and forced herself to breathe in and out. The heaviness pressed down more than before. Sarah felt a small pop and the bedclothes suddenly became wet.
The fear she had fought with Scripture rose with new force. “What happened? Why is the bed wet? Am I bleeding?”
“Shh-shh, ma petite.” Anne stroked her cheek. “I will look, but I doubt you are bleeding. I believe your waters have broken. This is good. Your baby is wanting to come to his mother.” She walked around the bed and handed Bridget a leather-bound stick. “When the pains return, I want you bite down on this. And you must do exactly as I say.”
Sarah nodded. Suddenly the pressure began to build again. She opened her mouth and Bridget put the stick between her teeth. The pressure built to pain. Coming faster, with more intensity. Her breath was snatched away. She had no control to keep from pushing and giving in to the urge was a relief.
Anne checked for the baby’s head. “I can see dark curls. I think this next time will bring him or her to us. But don’t push when I say to stop.”
Sarah nodded again, catching her breath. How did she stop a push once it has started?
The pressure mounted again, and she bit hard on the stick. A scream filled her ears, a wounded animal cry that resonated in her mind.
“Stop. Don’t push.”
But there was no stop. Her body writhed wanting to push and trying not to.
“Sarah, stop.”
The scream came again, and she knew it came from her.
Don’t push. Don’t push. I can’t stop. O God, help me.
* * *
Sarah’s scream tore at Joseph’s soul. God, spare her. Please. Do not take her too. He scooped up Wee Joseph and held him tightly, pacing back and forth in front of the door. He could hear muffled voices but didn’t understand them. Spare her God, and I will never put her in danger again.
The door opened a crack and Bridget peeked out. “Master Joseph, go get the reverend.”
She began to shut the door, but he pushed it open. “Is she alive? Tell me.”
“Aye, she lives. Please go get the reverend.”
Again she tried to close the door, but he pushed his way in.
Sarah’s eyes were closed, her face drenched in sweat. “Sarah? Sarah, love, are you all right?” He knelt by her side, but she turned her head away. “Sarah?”
“I’m sorry Joseph. The Almighty wanted your son to return to Him.” Anne squeezed his shoulder. Her words began to sink into his mind, and he knew what he hadn’t heard.
A baby’s cry.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The clawing fingers pulled at Sarah, dragging her deeper and deeper into the pit. She hated the fingers, the clawing, but the pit surrounded her and kept other things from touching, hurting.
She opened her eyes. Once more she had reached for her baby, for tiny Thomas Stewart Crockett. But he no longer lived inside her. He was never allowed to live in this world.
Shannon’s face floated through her mind. For one brief minute she wanted to cry out how sorry she felt. Sorry that Shannon had to stop nursing Wee Joseph. Now she understood that discomfort as well. Though Anne taught Bridget how to help alleviate the discomfort, it only reminded Sarah that her arms were empty.
She had failed Joseph. The shame overwhelmed her to the point she could hardly look him in the eye. Did he blame her?
Yet he came to her, over and over, trying to hold her. She didn’t deserve his love.
Sarah dragged herself out of bed. Pouring from the pitcher on her nightstand, she made a cursory attempt at a toilet.
Bridget left a dress out for her. Slipping it on, she tied an apron over it. Turning, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Her hands went to her deflated belly and her heart shattered all over. Racing from the image, she slammed the door and ran to Wee Joseph’s room.
He played on the floor near his bed, already fully dressed. How late had she slept? Peering up from his blocks, he grinned. “Mama.” He ran to her and she embraced him. Maybe if she could hold him forever her heart might begin to heal.
He nuzzled his head into her neck, stroking her cheek. She put his small baby hand to her lips and sobbed. “I’m sorry, Wee Joseph. I’m so sorry.”
* * *
“Joseph, I am truly sorry for your loss.”
The gentle words were meant well but did nothing to relieve Joseph’s misery. He worried day and night over Sarah, feeling guilty he didn’t mourn more for his tiny son.
Not that he didn’t mourn for Thomas. He did. He mourned for what could have been, for the love of a son he never got to know. But Thomas hadn’t had the chance to become as real for Joseph
as he had for Sarah.
She felt his moves and kicks every day. Their hearts had been entwined from the first flutter of life. And now she moved about as if in some kind of shell.
Joseph sighed. “I know you are, and I thank you for all you and Anne have done.”
“What have we done but what the Almighty asks? When our Aaron went to his reward last spring, I wanted to rail at God. But Aaron begged us to release him into the Almighty’s hand. We have been blessed beyond measure in this life. How could I not accept this suffering without trusting my Lord to bring me through.”
Joseph pushed back from the table. “If we are finished here, I need to go home to Sarah.”
The reverend’s blue eyes filled with compassion. “Go home to your wife. My boys will help me finish.”
Joseph nodded his thanks, grateful to be gone.
The wind off the bay tempered his frustration. He hadn’t called on the Almighty in years. But for the one time, a month ago. Ironically, his prayer had been answered to the letter. Sarah had been spared. He never thought to pray for his child.
Would it have made a difference? Had God already planned this out before he bothered to pray? And if that were the case, why bother? Did his prayers truly move God’s heart, or did they even reach His ear? Perhaps God sat behind His desk, watching to see how He could manipulate Joseph’s life.
Bridget would have the noon meal ready by now. He came in through the back, taking the rear stairs up to the room he shared with Sarah. Would she be awake?
Slowly opening the door, he noticed the bed, though empty, was unmade. Until Thomas’ birth, or rather death, Sarah would have immediately made the bed. Other things were amiss in the room, so he knew Sarah hadn’t been up long enough for Bridget to tidy.
The Crockett Chronicles- The Complete Collection Page 51
