A Mother's Grace

by Rosie Goodwin

  When Bronwen mounted the stairs some short time later with a pile of freshly washed towels across her arm, Grace was lying on top of the pile of old sheets the woman had laid across the mattress to protect it. The backache had turned into a dull nagging bellyache, although as yet it was bearable. Bronwen laid the towels down without a word and Grace wondered if she should ask Dylan to fetch her Aunt Gertie for the birth. At least then she’d have someone she felt comfortable with. She suggested it when he burst back into the room, but Bronwen shook her head. ‘There’s no time for you to go haring off to Sarn Bach! You need to get to sea and do your job.’

  Dylan opened his mouth to protest but she glared at him. ‘Go on now. The birthing room is no place for a man and she’ll be hours and hours yet most likely. The last thing I need is you flapping about the place an’ all!’

  He looked uncertainly from his mother to Grace, who raised a reassuring smile. ‘Your mother is right, Dylan,’ she said softly. ‘You just get yourself away and don’t worry about me. Hopefully it will all be over by the time you get back this evening.’

  He bent to kiss her cheek then walked out of the room and soon after she heard the door of the cottage open and shut as the men left for their fishing trip. They’d been gone no more than a few minutes when she heard the door open yet again and the sound of someone labouring up the stairs. Seconds later a very old woman appeared in the doorway and grunted, ‘I don’t know what all the panic is about. First babies are known for taking their time. I could have had me sleep out.’

  Grace could only stare at her in horror. Her grey hair, which was pinned into a straggly bun at the back of her head, was thin and wispy, and her clothes looked as if they hadn’t been washed for some long time. The fingernails on her gnarled hands were filthy too and Grace silently prayed that she would at least wash them before she touched her. She had a clay pipe dangling out of the corner of her mouth but Grace was relieved to see that at least it wasn’t lit … for now, anyway!

  The old woman removed her grimy shawl and threw it across the foot of the bed, saying, ‘Right, now I’m here I may as well have a look at how far on you are. An’ you, Bronwen, away an’ put the kettle on. Oh, and when the tea’s made put a drop o’ gin in mine.’

  She rolled the sleeves of her blouse up and without another word hoisted Grace’s nightgown above her waist and began to feel none too gently about her swollen stomach. Grace lay there, her cheeks burning with embarrassment, when suddenly she felt a gush of warm liquid between her legs.

  ‘I … I think I just wet myself,’ she whispered, mortified.

  ‘No, you ain’t. Your waters have just broken,’ the old woman cackled. ‘That’s good. Things should start to speed up a bit now.’

  She drew the nightgown back down and sank into a chair at the side of the bed as Grace stared up at the ceiling wishing she were a million miles away.

  It was almost half an hour later when the first contraction came and it took Grace’s breath away. Old lady Gower had slurped her way through three cups of tea by then and she nodded with satisfaction.

  ‘That’s it,’ she told Grace. ‘Now we have to time ’em to see how far apart they are.’

  As the contractions slowly began to mount, the morning wore on and they were into the afternoon.

  ‘Wi-will it be much longer?’ Grace gasped weakly. This was turning out to be so much more painful than she’d expected.

  ‘Probably another couple of hours or so at least.’

  Bronwen had brought the baby clothes Grace had stitched into the room and laid them in the crib along with a lovely shawl that Cerys Llewelyn had knitted for her, and Grace just wanted it to be over so she could see her baby wearing them.

  ‘You’re doing well,’ Bronwen encouraged. Her attitude to Grace had softened somewhat as the day wore on. To give the girl her due, she hadn’t made a fuss and despite the fact that she was in terrible pain she had barely made a whimper. And, of course, added to that was the fact that Grace was about to present her with her first grandchild. For all she hadn’t wanted Dylan to marry her, she couldn’t deny that the girl wasn’t afraid of hard work. Whenever she saw a job that needed doing she got on with it without being asked and even when she was asked she did it uncomplainingly. Perhaps I’ve been a little harsh with her, Bronwen thought as she dipped a cloth in cold water, wrung it out and mopped Grace’s sweating brow. It was only minutes later that Grace moaned deep in her throat and brought her chin to her chest so Mrs Gower once more pulled up her nightdress to see what was going on.

  ‘I reckon you’re almost there,’ she told Grace. ‘Now when the next pain comes I want you to pant. Do you understand? Don’t push till I tell you – just pant!’

  Grace nodded, and as the next sharp pain ripped through her she couldn’t hold back a strangled cry as she tried desperately to do as the old woman had told her. The trouble was, the urge to push was overwhelming and it was easier said than done. She felt as if she were being rent in two and, in that second, she wished she could die. But then she pulled herself together to face the final hurdle. If she died, her baby might too and she couldn’t bear to think of that happening.

  ‘Right … on the next pain, push, girl, as hard as you know how,’ the old lady urged as she leaned across her.

  Grace felt the pain mounting and pushed with all her might, biting her bottom lip so hard that she tasted blood.

  ‘Good, good, and again on the next one!’

  Once more, Grace did as she was told and this time she was rewarded when the old lady cried, ‘The head is crowning! I can see the head. Come on now push harder.’

  At some stage, she had grasped Bronwen’s hand and now her mother-in-law urged her on too. ‘Come on, Grace, not much longer now. You’re almost there. One more time now!’

  And so, with a last superhuman effort, Grace pushed with all the strength she had left and seconds later she felt something warm slither out of her and her mother-in-law crowed with delight.

  ‘It’s a little lad. A fine little lad! You have a son, Grace! And my, he’s a bonny little chap. Big too, just like his dad! Although he looks nothing like him!’

  A mixture of emotions tore through Grace. She was relieved and delighted that the birth was over but now the fear she had harboured – that her mother-in-law might suspect the child wasn’t Dylan’s – reared its head again.

  The old woman snorted as she deftly cut the umbilical cord. ‘It’s too soon to say who he looks like,’ she said, and after wrapping the baby in a towel that Bronwen held ready, she laid him on his mother’s chest.

  As Grace stared down at him in awe, all her fears fled. She knew in that moment that she would love this child unreservedly for the rest of her days no matter what transpired in the future. He was howling lustily, his little arms flailing at the indignity of being propelled from the warm, safe place he had grown in, but after a few seconds he opened his eyes and Grace’s heart did a little flip. They were a deep blue, exactly like his father’s. It was impossible to tell what colour his hair was as yet. It was plastered to his head, but as the midwife delivered the afterbirth Bronwen whisked him away for a bath. When she returned him, all clean and scrubbed in the tiny nightgown that Grace had laboriously stitched, her heart sank. His downy hair was a silver blonde.

  ‘I don’t know where he got his blonde hair from,’ Bronwen commented as she passed him back to his mother. ‘Both Myfanwy and Dylan were dark at birth and he certainly doesn’t get it from you!’

  ‘That will probably change an’ all,’ Mrs Gower said as she straightened and wiped her bloody hands down the front of her grimy apron. ‘But that’s me done now so how about you get me and the new mother a nice cup of tea? I reckon she’s earned it. Then you can pay me and I’ll be on me way.’

  As Bronwen bustled away, Grace smiled at the old lady. ‘Thank you so much,’ she said gratefully.

  ‘Think nowt of it. I’ve done this countless times, though I have to say not all first-time mothers are as bra
ve as you’ve been. I’ll leave your mother-in-law to clean you up. Goodbye, cariad.’ And with that she shuffled away.

  Left alone with her beautiful new son, Grace wondered what Luke would have thought of him. He clearly hadn’t cared about her and regretted what had happened between them, otherwise why would he have run away with not a word? It still hurt to think of him so she pushed him from her mind and concentrated on getting to know her baby.

  Soon after, Bronwen arrived and washed Grace. The girl didn’t object at all, after the indignity of childbirth she doubted she would ever be embarrassed again. Once she was clad in a clean nightgown with her hair brushed, Bronwen showed her how to hold the baby to her breast and he latched on and suckled instantly.

  ‘He’s going to be a greedy little beggar,’ the woman teased and Grace stared down at him feeling more content than she had for a very long time. Even so, as the day wore on, she couldn’t help glancing nervously at his hair. Would Dylan comment on him being so fair? All she could do was wait and see. Up to now he had shown her nothing but kindness and had stuck to his promise about not forcing her into the physical side of their marriage. But Grace was wise enough to know that now the birth was over he might expect more from her and she dreaded it. Still, this was a special day and she decided that she would face that when it arose.

  ‘Have you thought of any names yet?’ Bronwen asked, dragging Grace’s thoughts back to the present.

  Grace flushed. She would have liked to call him Luke but daren’t suggest it. ‘Not really. I thought I’d ask Dylan if there were any he preferred.’

  Bronwen nodded then pottered away leaving Grace to rest.

  It was growing dark when Dylan arrived home and he instantly pounded up the stairs. His mother was just leaving the bedroom with an empty tray in her hands and she smiled at him.

  ‘Is it over … has she had the baby?’

  ‘She has that. You have a son, Dylan.’

  He nodded, then without another word he entered the bedroom and stared towards the bed.

  Grace was propped against the pillows with a serene expression on her face and a look in her eyes that he had never seen before. The baby was suckling greedily at her breast and dragging his cap off he slowly approached the bed, wondering what to say. Things would have been so different had the baby been his, he thought. As it was, he felt a little flicker of jealousy. Grace had never once looked at him the way she was looking at the baby.

  ‘It’s all over then,’ he said rather unnecessarily.

  She smiled. ‘Yes. It’s a boy.’

  He stepped closer then frowned when he saw the halo of silver-blonde hair.

  ‘I was wondering if you had a preference for his name?’ she said and he nodded.

  ‘I was thinking Aiden. It was me grandad’s name.’

  Grace nodded. ‘I like that. And could we have Luke as his middle name? I, er … always liked that name.’ She held her breath as she watched his face, afraid that he might associate it with Father Luke but he merely nodded.

  ‘I don’t see why not if that’s what you want. The Welsh version is spelled Luc.’

  She gave a little sigh of relief. ‘Then Aiden Luc it is,’ she agreed and they both fell silent as they stared at the newly named member of the family.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  ‘What’s this?’ Aiden was one month old when Dylan came across an envelope in the chest of drawers as he was searching for some clean socks. They had moved back into their own bedroom shortly after Grace had given birth and now with the crib placed at the end of the bed they barely had room to move.

  ‘Oh, my aunt gave it to me before we got married.’ Grace was in the middle of changing Aiden’s binder on the bed. ‘It’s the allowance that my father’s solicitor used to send each month. There’s some there too from the sale of the furniture that went to the auction house when my father died. Mrs Batley forwarded it on to me.’

  ‘How much?’ His eyes were like cold hard pebbles.

  ‘A-almost fifty pounds, I think,’ she answered nervously. Dylan always seemed to be in a bad mood nowadays and would snap her head off at every opportunity.

  ‘Fifty pounds! And you didn’t think to mention it? Meanwhile we stay here under me mam’s feet where there’s barely room to swing a cat around.’ He shook his head angrily and rammed the envelope into his pocket. ‘I’m your husband and what’s yours is mine,’ he told her in a voice that brooked no argument. ‘We’ve more than enough money here to pay for a place of us own. I can’t believe that you’d try to hide it from me.’

  ‘I didn’t try to hide it,’ Grace protested weakly, although deep down she knew that she had. Somehow that money had been her safety net. A means of her and Aiden to escape should things go wrong. ‘I … just didn’t think about it.’

  ‘Well, it’s a good thing I found it then, isn’t it?’ Dylan’s voice was cold. ‘I shall be out looking for somewhere this very day, happen then you won’t be able to come up with the excuse that me mam and tad might hear us through the wall each night.’ He stamped out of the room then without giving either her or the baby so much as another glance.

  Grace bit her lip and bowed her head in shame. Dylan had become impatient to consummate their marriage but she had always managed to put him off, saying she was too afraid they would be overheard. Soon now, by the sound of it, she wouldn’t be able to make that excuse. She scooped her son into her arms and sank onto the side of the bed with tears in her eyes. Dylan had changed dramatically since Aiden had been born. He had never so much as once held the child and now it was becoming increasingly obvious that he resented him despite the promises he had made before they got married. Even Bronwen had noticed how distant he suddenly was, but if she thought it was anything to do with the baby she hadn’t commented.

  He would walk out of a room when she fed the child and if Aiden woke during the night he would burrow beneath the bedclothes and pretend he hadn’t heard him. Now she wondered what the future held in store for her. Should Dylan find them a home of their own to rent she would have to allow him to have his marital rights. Still, she tried to console herself, Dylan had made an honest woman of her and given the baby his name so she supposed that would be a small price to pay for respectability.

  ‘You two had a row, have you?’ Bronwen asked when Grace had settled the baby into his crib and gone back downstairs.

  ‘No, no. I think he’s just keen for us to get our own place now,’ Grace answered sheepishly. ‘After all, it’s not fair for you to have us under your feet all the time.’

  Bronwen nodded but Grace suspected she hadn’t believed a word she’d said.

  The following Sunday afternoon, Dylan came home after being out for a few hours and informed her, ‘I’ve found us a cottage.’ Grace frowned. Dylan smelled of drink. He’d taken to going to the local inn lately, something she’d never known him do before. ‘It’s a bit out of the way,’ he went on, ‘and it needs some work doing on it but it was dirt cheap so it’ll do for now.’

  ‘Oh, can I come and see it?’ Grace asked.

  ‘There’ll not be time. I’m having a day off work tomorrow and we’ll be moving in.’

  ‘So soon?’ Grace was shocked. ‘But what about the things we’ll need? A bed, pots and pans, curtains and things?’ She was dismayed at the speed with which things were happening, although she vowed she would do her best to make it into a home for them. Dylan deserved that at least.

  ‘You can go round the market and the second-hand stalls in the morning and get the basics and I’ll get a cart to take the things to the cottage in the afternoon.’

  ‘I’ll watch Aiden while you go,’ Bronwen volunteered and Grace nodded. It seemed she didn’t have much choice in the matter.

  ‘So whereabouts are you going?’ Dylan’s mother asked.

  ‘It’s that row of three terraced cottages just beyond the edge of the harbour,’ he told her shortly and Bronwen looked horrified.

  ‘Not that row of old tin miner’s
cottages?’ she gasped. ‘But they’re almost derelict! I thought they’d have been pulled down by now. I know old lady Gower lives in one of them.’

  ‘Well they haven’t been pulled down and they’re not that bad! A bit of spit and polish and it’ll be as comfy as old boots.’

  Bronwen clamped her mouth shut. She very much doubted that and she dreaded to think what Grace would say when she saw them. Still, she didn’t want to instigate yet another row, there seemed to have been too many of them of late, so she bent her head back to the net she was repairing.

  The next morning bright and early, Grace was at the market. Griffen had sorted out an old wooden trolley from the shed for her and soon it was full of pots and pans and any essentials that she could think of. In the second-hand shop, she found an old brass bed that was badly tarnished but strong, along with a clean second-hand mattress and a table with three mismatched chairs. They weren’t very elegant but they were sturdy so she decided they would do for now. She also found some drawers, an old washstand and two fireside chairs that she would attempt to re-cover. After paying for them she arranged for Dylan to pick them up later in the day with the horse and cart and continued with her shopping. She found a good length of pretty flowered cotton on another stall, along with a length of thicker material that would hopefully be enough to re-cover the chairs with, and added them to the trolley. It would make nice curtains when she found time to sew some. Eventually, she was running out of money and time. Aiden would be screaming for a feed soon so she dragged the trolley back to the cottage.

  ‘Good gracious!’ Bronwen was amazed when she saw how much Grace had bought, although a lot of it was cleaning materials.

  ‘From what I heard you say I think I’m going to need it,’ Grace told her with a rueful grin, then she lifted Aiden from his crib and started to feed him.