Part 2 (1/2)
Caleb hurriedly collected all four horses. He found hobbles for the piebalds in a box beneath the caravan's seat and tied his own team to the conveyance with leads long enough to permit grazing. He found no grain in the wagon, so he distributed what he'd brought for his animals among the four.
After seeing to the needs of the horses, he used one of the blankets from his bedroll and wrapped Oswald's body for burial later. He didn't know when he'd capitulated to his fate as a midwife, but he was in it now. When Caleb could no longer postpone the inevitable, he returned to Maggie.
Helping a woman who wasn't his wife change into a nightgown was the most embarra.s.sing thing Caleb had ever done. But with her sprained ankle and overall bruising, he couldn't just leave Maggie to struggle alone.
After an awkward attempt to undress her while she remained lying down, he gave up and a.s.sisted Maggie to stand on one foot. As she leaned her back against him, keeping the weight off her bad leg, Caleb tried to keep his gaze over her head. But he had to keep glancing down to see what he was doing, giving him glimpses of her extended stomach and yellowing bruises on her arms, legs, and back, too old to be from the accident.
He wondered what had happened. Did her husband hit her? He knew some men did such abhorrent acts, but surely not to a pregnant wife.
Finally, the switch to a nightgown was accomplished, and he helped Maggie lie down, and then took off her worn shoes and stockings. Her ankle was swollen, and on her direction, he found a bottle of witch hazel in the caravan to pour on a rag and wrap around the injury. Afterward, he tucked the blanket around her.
Maggie smiled wanly and thanked him but then tensed, obviously in the throes of another wave of pain.
I thought I felt terror when that caravan came at me, but this is worse. As the contraction gripped Maggie's body, Caleb's nightmarish thoughts flitted to all the women he'd known who'd died in childbirth. Far too many.
Even as he tried to make her comfortable, he couldn't let go of the vision of Maggie dying.
When it comes down to it, childbirth is as dangerous as war, probably killing as many mothers as battles do warriors. After all, battles come rarely, but babies are born every day. He could only imagine the courage soldiers needed to perform under enemy fire. Yet, women stared down death each time they bore a child. Caleb shook his head at his morbid thoughts.
Maggie wrinkled her forehead. ”What is it?”
”You cannot stay here. We need to get you to shelter, to a woman who can help you deliver.”
She placed a hand on her bulky belly. ”There's no choice, Caleb,” she said softly. ”The child will not wait.”
”Maggie, I'm serious. I don't know anything about delivering babies.” What if you die? What if the baby dies? The unspoken questions hung in the air between them.
”How about foals? Calves?” Her teasing smile didn't quite meet her eyes.
”What?”
”Have you been with your dog when she had puppies?”
”I don't have a dog,” he said stiffly, not in the least amused by her attempt to distract him.
”Too bad. Everyone should have a dog.” Her expression s.h.i.+fted to one of sorrow; old grief haunted her eyes. ”I had a dog when I married Oswald. The first time he hit me, Blackie bit him.” She turned her face away. ”I didn't dare take in another one.” Her voice trailed off.
So that explains the old bruises. Pity and outrage warred in him. He clenched his fists, suddenly not feeling as guilty about the death of Maggie's husband. In fact, Oswald was lucky to be beyond Caleb's reach, for he had a furious need to pummel the man.
She rubbed circles on her belly.
”Kittens,” Caleb said to chase the shadows from her eyes. ”When I was a child, we had a cat who resided in the kitchen. A tabby. But since I wasn't allowed in the servants' domain, I rarely saw the animal. Then one night, my nanny snuck me down to watch the kittens being born. Do you think being the doctor to kittens qualifies me to deliver your baby?” he deadpanned.
”Absolutely, Dr. Livingston.”
He didn't comment on her fabrication.
”I know my baby and I will be fine in your capable hands.”
You're so brave. Caleb almost blurted out the thought-he who always carefully chose his words. She must be terrified, yet she's able to joke with me. But he held in the sentiment, not knowing how to tell Maggie he admired her spirit.
She gasped, suddenly hit with what seemed like one of the strongest contractions yet.
Helpless to ease her pain, Caleb reached to hold her hand, praying the pain would end.
Maggie pushed away his hand. She curled up and grabbed her knees, holding her breath, and s.h.i.+fting as if trying to get comfortable. Finally, the contraction subsided, and she panted for air. Perspiration from the effort drenched her face and chest.
He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed the unbloodied part at the sweat on her brow. ”I can't imagine the pain,” he murmured.
”You ever had a charley horse?” she asked, her voice still thin from exertion.
Caleb winced and nodded, remembering the times after riding for hours that he'd woken up with one in his calf. The muscle would knot, and he'd yelp from the intense throbbing.
”Well, put a big cramp inside your stomach, and you'll know what I'm going through.”
I shudder to think. . . .
Maggie closed her eyes in obvious exhaustion. ”In the vardo, there's a small cabinet hanging on the wall, containing many square drawers,” she said without opening her eyes. ”I store my herbs there. Can you bring it here? There's a tea I need you to brew for me.”
Caleb squeezed her hand. Three minutes, he told himself. I'll be there and back before the next one. ”I'll hurry.” He jumped to his feet, loped to the caravan, and climbed inside. The cabinet hung askew on a wall. He navigated the tilted floor, his boots grinding on the gla.s.s, and reached up to take down the cabinet. A tea strainer was hooked on one side.
On his way out, he grabbed a pot and picked up a tin cup from the wreckage on the floor. Once outside, Caleb hurried to join Maggie, only to see her struggling with a fierce tightening of muscles. He set down everything and knelt, waiting.
She lay back, gasping for air and not speaking.
Finally, Caleb broke the silence. ”Tell me what to expect-what to do.”
She exhaled a long breath. ”I've never a.s.sisted in a birth, mind you. Mining camps don't have a lot of women. And when they do, the tent or cabin only has room for the most experienced woman and maybe a female relative or a close friend. But I've heard my mother's and grandmother's stories. Childbirth makes for a dramatic retelling.”
The thought that Maggie might be just as ignorant about childbirth as he was appalled Caleb.
She must have seen the expression on his face, for she smiled and patted his hand. ”Ever since I started to show, I've been hearing birthing stories from the women of Morgan's Crossing. Last week, Mrs. Tisdale sat me down and told me what would happen. She was quite. . .specific.”
”That's something, at least,” he muttered. ”We're not completely ignorant here.”
”You've forgotten the kittens.”
”How can you jest at such a time?” This woman continues to astonish me.
”What would you have me do? Cry? Scream? Have hysterics?”
He held up a hand. ”No! Jesting is just fine. Carry on.”
She glanced toward the caravan. ”You need to heat water-to wash your hands and to cleanse the knife for cutting the cord, to wash the baby. . .and me. At least the pots won't be damaged. I have cloths prepared-for cleaning and diapers. You'll find everything for the delivery and the needs of the baby in the cupboard near the bed.”
He stood and then wavered, reluctant to leave her. ”Yell if you need me.”
”Don't worry. I'm quite capable of making myself heard.”
He laughed, surprised at the emotion. ”You're a feisty little thing, aren't you?”