Jack skirted the communal pump that stood in the center of a narrow crossroads, nearly toppling in his effort to avoid crashing into it. He dashed past the long row of low stone houses, barely able to avoid splashing into the mucky gutter that ran in front of the houses, filled with discarded wash water, rotting vegetable peelings and rooting vermin. He hoped he was in time and that all would be well.
An image of Caroline flashed through his mind as he ran. She was the love of his life. He didn’t marry until after he’d turned thirty, never seemed to connect with any of the local gals as the other blokes seemed to do so easily. Caroline was different. She was special. He wondered again why she had ever been interested in him. Jack reached his cottage and stopped for a rasping breath. He huffed and closed his eyes in a moment of gratitude for his cherished wife.
He pulled the side door handle, and it swung open with its usual rusty-hinged protest. Inside, he bent double, hands on knees, and spewed out a fit of juicy coughing. He stood again, breath ragged, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, his lips trembling, heart rate struggling to slow. He wasn’t used to running, and his lungs could barely manage it in their state. I should see a doctor. He gasped for air. But right now, his worry was all about Caroline.
Jack paced with restless energy, gripping his brimmed, woolen cap in both hands, twisting it as his boots clomped across the scuffed wood floor in the airless kitchen. Caroline’s cries were laced with heavy panting, punctuated by the soft words of the midwife. He stared at the shut door to the bedroom, wide-eyed, as if he were trying to see through it. He ran a hand over his chin. He hadn’t bothered to wash up, ignoring the grime on his stubbled face.
Unable to keep still, he strode toward the open front door for a breath of early spring breeze, escaping for a moment the stifling smells of lamp oil, boiled turnip, and soot. He turned on his heel and paced by the black coal stove. A wobbly table stood in the center of the room, beside a couple three-legged stools. It was not a grand house, with only a kitchen and bedroom to keep them, but it was no less than the others who toiled for Waterside Ironmines could pay for. It was all that Jack could provide, in any case. Perhaps, he thought, he could apply for a three or four-room house, now that he would have a family to provide for.
It was quieter now, his wife’s screams of pain silent for the moment. He heard the voice of Ellen, the midwife, murmuring words of encouragement, something soothing he could not make out. Pulling a stool out from under the table, he sat with an impatient sigh and ran a dirty hand through his thick, black hair. He wondered if it would take as long this time as the last.
Jack wasn’t one to pray, but if he were, he’d have prayed right then that their second child would be safely delivered and healthy. He couldn’t bear to see the look in her eyes again, that hollow emptiness when she’d held her dead baby in her arms. But praying wasn’t easy for Jack, it had never felt natural to him. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe, he just didn’t think God could be bothered with him.
Jack’s head jerked up at the sound of an agonized groan, a moment’s silence and the strident wail of a newborn infant, loud and shrill. He stood clumsily, sending the stool clattering to the floor and tightened his hands on his cap. Let it be good news.
After several long minutes, the door opened. Ellen, a short, slightly stout woman with silvery hair peeking from a white coif, slipped out. A tiny bundle was tucked against her in one arm, a triumphant smile on her round face.
He held his breath a moment as Ellen announced,
“Ye’ve got yerself a wee lass, Jack Rae. A fine, strong little girl.”
He blew out his relief through puffed cheeks and bent to get a look at his second born. From beneath a thatch of damp, black ringlets, a scrunched, red face twisted angrily. She opened her tiny mouth and made a creaky, high-pitched complaint, then pressed her bitty lips together and opened her eyes. Jack took in a thrilled breath, his face creased in an astonished, gap-toothed grin.
“You set and hold yer daughter, now, I’ve got to see to her maw.”
He sat, and Ellen placed the bundle into his arms, showing him how to support her head on his inner elbow. She returned to the bedroom with brisk, purposeful steps.
Jack stared in wonder at his daughter. He ran a blackened, calloused finger along her pink cheek, marveling at how soft, how perfect she was. He smiled at the tiniest dimple indented in her chin, the little button nose. She wriggled in her blanket, and he adjusted her with awkward care against him. A pink arm worked loose from the wrappings and waved with shaky spasms in the air, impossibly tiny fingers splayed as if reaching out to touch her new world. Something welled up inside him, an unfamiliar feeling. He cleared his throat and straightened on the stool, letting the moment pass.
He wanted to see his wife to admire their daughter together. At this moment, he was simply awestruck, a bewildering experience for Jack. He wanted to share it. Cradling the bundle like glass that might break against his chest, he stood and stepped toward the bedroom door.
Ellen emerged, holding a bunched-up ball of bed sheets under an arm and slowly closed the door behind her. Her eyes, when they met Jack’s, were wide and full of dread.
“What’s the matter? Is somethin’ wrong?”
The midwife’s face was strained, avoiding his searching look as she laid the ball of sheets on the table. Jack saw that the sheet inside the ball was dark with blood— a lot of blood.
Ellen reached out to Jack and put a hand on the arm cradling the baby, “It’s nae good. She’s— she’s bleedin’ out, I’m afraid. I’ve got her in the best possible position, and she is holdin’ still as she can, but—” She shook her head and her eyes dropped to the sheets on the table. Her sigh cast an ominous pall on the dim room.
“It may stop,” she continued, “sometimes it does.” She paused, squeezed his arm and looked from the face of the infant back up to meet his frightened eyes, “I think— I think you’d best take the wee one in there now an’ see her.” She nodded toward the door.
He stood, stunned, as the baby’s perfect little arm reached, the fragile fingers grasping at empty air. “Canna’ we send for a doctor?” he demanded, creasing his brow with desperation.
Ellen shook her head slowly, looking away from Jack’s face.
He struggled to understand what Ellen was saying to him. He was no expert in child birthing, but surely a doctor could help whatever ailed his wife.
“Is there nothin’ to be done?” he blurted, panic rising in his voice.
“There’s no time. She’s losin’ too much too fast.”
He stared at her, still not comprehending.
“Jack, she’s got half— maybe an hour, but no more.” Ellen leveled a despairing look at him and motioned toward the bedroom door with an insistent hand. “Go in, now, go in and speak to her. She’s awake. Go on in.”
He tore his eyes from Ellen’s distraught face and took two long strides to the door, grasping the latch with a last backward look of disbelief.
Caroline lay, bolstered slightly to one side, her feet propped up on a pile of old sheets the midwife had brought. Her eyes were half-open, her features calm. Dark, loose curls framed her face, which was nearly the blanched shade of the threadbare pillow cover. Jack pulled the stool Ellen had used from its position at the end of the bed and sat next to his wife, taking her limp hand in his free one. A tallow candle sputtered on a table by the bed, the acrid smell of its smoky flame prickling his nose.
He linked the fingers of his free hand with hers.
“My sweet Lassie, I’ve got two of ye now— both with eyes the bonnie blue of a highland sky, no less.” He tried not to let his own eyes betray his fear.
She lifted her gaze slowly and smiled at him. Her face was drawn and tired, but warm and serene with joy.
“Aye, my Jack, we have a lovely wee lass. Ye’re not disappointed it wasn’t a little lad, then?”
“A’course not! This blue-eyed beauty, she’ll be my little princess, she will.”
“What should we call her?” Her voice was so weak, he had to lean toward her to hear.
“Caroline, a’course. It’s the name of the only woman I’ve ever loved, and she should have it too.” He smiled, giving her slack hand a little squeeze.
“Give her here,” she said softly, lifting the hand toward the bundle. “Let ’er have a wee nurse now.”
Jack helped Caroline unbutton her shift and nestled the child in the crook of her arm. Caroline strained a bit to lean in toward the baby and winced at a sudden pain.
“Careful, now! Be still, Caroline. Ellen says it’s best to be still as ye can.”
“I’m a’right.”
The infant suckled right away. Caroline stroked the dark curls with a gentle thumb across the downy brow. She smiled, her eyelids sliding shut for a moment, then opened them again and fixed her gaze on her husband. Her joy gave way to a profound sadness, illuminated in her eyes. She reached a hand out to him. He took it with a tenderness he rarely displayed.
Caroline drew a shaky breath. Her voice came stronger now. “I want ye to marry again, Jack, when ye’re ready. I want our girl to have a step-mother, a woman to guide her as she grows.”
He began to protest, to tell her that all would be well.
She gripped his hand. “No, my love. Now listen to me.”
He shook his head and cast his eyes to the low ceiling in an attempt to stop the tears that he blinked away. He noticed the blackened spots from the hundreds of candles and lamps that had lit this room he’d shared with his wife. What an odd thing to think of at such a moment.
“Shhh, now,” Caroline crooned, “don’t fret. Ye know that we’ll meet again, Jack. We will.”
He felt her suddenly strong hand tighten around his and looked at her wan face again. He reached out to her, his fingers plying the flesh of her thin shoulder in anguish, still shaking his head in disbelief. This can’t be happening. He closed his eyes to block the horrible truth from his sight, as if it would be gone when he opened them.
Caroline’s voice came soft again. “Make sure Ellen knows she is nae to blame, will ye? It’s God’s will, that’s all. It’s God’s will.” Her eyelids drooped with heaviness. Her breathing was shallow now, and Jack noted a line of tiny sweat beads on her upper lip. Her grasp on his hand loosened.
Jack swallowed his grief in a thick gulp and reached to smooth a stray length of black, curled hair from her damp forehead. The infant lost the nipple for a moment. She wailed until her mother got her situated. The parents shared a smile for their lusty baby before the mother’s eyes fluttered shut. She opened them and leveled an anxious look at him.
“Jack,” Caroline’s voice was thin, but pleading, “there’s one more thing— the most important thing. I want our girl to know I loved her well, an’ I’ll be watchin’ over her, like her very own angel. Will ye make sure she knows?” Her eyes held the question, waiting for his response.
All Jack could do was nod, tears spilling from his eyes, trailing streaks through the grime on his face.
PLEASE leave a comment and let me know what you think! This novel is "finished" and has been professionally edited. Just looking for an agent.