Patricia Rice (35 page)

"Dora, what do I do now?" he murmured as he carried her toward the stairs.

"Pray," she muttered in return.

Pray. Hell, he didn't even know what that meant. Prayer was for women. He only understood action. But the kind of action needed here wasn't the kind he understood.

He tried not to race up the stairs. Dora's fingers dug into his neck, and he could sense she held back her cries. He didn't want to jostle her any more than necessary.

He was cursing by the time they reached the top and he started down the hall.

"Blasphemy is not prayer," she reminded him as he carried her into their bedroom.

Their bedroom. He'd scarcely shared it with her these last weeks. He had harbored a tiny thread of hope those first days when he'd laid beside her and held her against him. He didn't know where that hope had gone. He supposed it had died in the tedious toil of the field and the shattered illusions of his nighttime depredations. He couldn't expect Dora to give him what he couldn't find for himself.

But at least she didn't fear him at the moment. That was something. They shut out the outer world when they entered this room. His entire world became this room and Dora and the babe making its entrance. And himself. Pace felt utterly useless and incapable of dealing with the magnitude of events.

"A dry gown," Dora ordered softly, resisting his effort to place her in the bed. "And pads. I would not ruin thy bed."

Gown. Pads. He didn't even know where to begin to look. He glanced hastily around. Her gray dress hung on a hook where she had placed it after taking it off. He didn't think she meant that. Still holding her in his arms, he demanded, "Where?"

"Put me down, Pace," she replied patiently. "Then look in the bottom drawer of the dresser. It was empty. I did not think thou wouldst mind my using it."

Dresser. He didn't want to put her down. She looked so frail he feared she would disappear if he let her go. But he couldn't get in the bottom drawer unless he put her down. Cursing again, he gently set her feet against the floorboards. She steadied herself on his shoulders, then gradually drew away. His arms felt empty, but she had given him an action he could comprehend. Hastily, he fell to the floor and ripped gowns from the drawer.

"Why in hell didn't you take one of the top drawers?" he cursed, shoving aside feminine garments and rags he didn't want to consider the use of. "You could have hurt yourself getting in this thing."

"It was good exercise," she answered with almost a note of amusement.

He gave her a look of irritation, then jerked out a plain white cotton gown. She should have ribbons and lace. He should fetch one of Josie's damned gowns. His wife shouldn't be reduced to rough cotton.

As if reading his mind, Dora nodded approvingly. "That one will do. It's old. I wouldn't wish to ruin a good one. The pads are in the chest. I've been saving old sheets for this."

Pads. He didn't want to consider the use of pads either. He suspected having babies meant lots of blood. He didn't want Dora bleeding for him. He damned well should have thought of that before he stuck himself inside her.

Pace began to sweat. This was all his fault. He'd gone and ruined the one good thing in his life. And now his carelessness would kill her. Dora wasn't meant for having babies. She was too small, too frail, too removed from this world to have babies. He should have married a big strapping girl like Sally, someone who could drop a baby a year without a qualm. He should never have taken Dora. Had he been out of his mind?

The answer to that question was yes, but it didn't help knowing that now.

Dora screamed and grabbed the bedpost.

She had taken her wrapper off. Pace could see the blood.

Events collided much too quickly. Inside his head, Pace screamed with her.

Chapter 26

A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step.

Chinese Proverb

"It's perfectly natural. I am fine, Pace."

Pace could feel the sweat pouring down his brow, but it was Dora's face he wiped. Somehow, he'd got the gown on her but couldn't button it. Perspiration shimmered between her breasts as well as on her face, but he didn't dare swipe that shadowy hollow. He should have known his child would arrive on one of the few warm nights of spring. He glanced longingly at the closed windows, but he was afraid of what he would let in if he opened them. He had no desire to drape the bed in mosquito netting at this point.

He could see Dora's face pull taut as the contraction started again. Pace strained with her, letting her dig her fingers into his palms as the pain crippled her and brought her near to screaming. Her agony terrified him. Surely giving birth shouldn't be this painful? Why in hell would women go through it? Something had to be wrong.

He'd sent Solly riding off for help. The only help he could rely on here was Solly's mother, but she had half a dozen children of her own to look after. She was industrious, but not the world's brightest person. She'd brought the hot water but hadn't told him what to do with it. He only had Dora's instructions, and he didn't see how she could remain coherent much longer.

"I've sent for Josie. You only need to wait a little while longer. It's going to be all right," he said when the contraction ended, more for his own benefit than Dora's.

Dora gave him a look of amusement. "Josie won't come. Use the alcohol to clean your hands, Pace. Unless God sends down an angel, it's just you and me."

Pace didn't want to hear that. Stricken, he gazed at the large mound of her stomach. Surely it had doubled in size these last few minutes. How could he possibly get a baby out of there? What if something went wrong? His whole life had been wrong. Why should tonight be any different?

Just the thought of losing Dora gave him the holy terrors. Dora had always been there. He had never realized how much he had depended on her presence, how much a part of him she had become.

"Dora, I can't... I don't know how..."

This time, she nearly bent double with the pain. Pace grabbed her hands again, let her pull his arms half out of the sockets as she fought the pushing, straining motion. She was panting before it ended, and her clean gown was drenched in sweat.

"It's almost here, Pace. This one won’t wait. See if you can see its head."

He stared at her incredulously. She wanted him to...? She pulled her gown over her knees before arching her back in pain again. He would have to look.

Dora swallowed her screams, but Pace could hear her choking gasps. Clenching his jaw, he gingerly draped her gown back some more and adjusted her bent knees. He thought he saw something, but he wasn't sure. It still didn't seem possible. He was barely acquainted with this part of his wife. She had been shy and he had been careful with her. They'd scarcely known each other intimately for half a week. And now he was supposed to touch her in this manner as if she were just a mare giving birth.

That thought leveled some of the panic. He'd delivered foals. He could do this. If it just wasn't Dora weeping and moaning in this bed.

"Pace!" She cried urgently.

He came back around to the side of the bed and sponged her brow again. She grabbed his hand.

"Tie cloths to the bedposts. Give me something to hold besides your hands," she ordered.

In some dim way, that made sense. Pace hurried to find something suitable, grabbing up some of his best neckties and knotting them to the heavy posts so she could reach. She wrapped them around her fingers and strained again.

This time, she couldn't hold back the scream. The sound pierced the hovering darkness, wailed through the halls, and shattered Pace into a quivering mass of nerve ends. He hurried back to the end of the bed, hoping his damned child would make an appearance soon, before he was too distraught to think straight.

The bedroom door opened and his mother entered. Pace gave her a furious glance and returned to watching the growing puddle of blood. He'd heard the expression of having his heart in his mouth. He was certain he chewed on his right now.

"Prop her up against the pillows so she's pushing down," Harriet said, opening the door to let in Ernestine, Solly's mother.

Dora didn't disagree. Pace didn't know if she was beyond hearing or not, but he attempted to do as told. Gently, he helped her in place. The next contraction came swiftly, and he hurried back to his assigned position, suddenly possessive of this duty. This time, when he looked, the baby's head had appeared, and his heart thudded erratically in the vicinity of his tonsils.

"Breathe slowly, child." Harriet took a place at Dora's side, wiping her neck and face with the sponge. "It's coming along just fine. Just a few more minutes now. Breathe with the pain, let it come."

Her agony was so much inside of him that Pace didn't hear Dora's screams so much as feel them ripping from his own lungs as the child pushed through the narrow opening and into his hands. Tears flooded his face, and his knees shook when the bloody infant filled his palms. Grief, joy, and terrible uncertainty paralyzed him. Wasn't it supposed to cry?

Ernestine matter-of-factly took the still body from his hands, cleared its throat, turned it over, and gave it a solid whack on the back. A choking cry built into a weak wail.

"Girl or boy?" his mother asked, still wiping Dora's face while unwinding her fingers from the ties.

He hadn't even noticed. Rubbing his face on his shirtsleeves, Pace tried to think, but it didn't matter. Hell, it could be half girl and half boy for all he cared. He looked anxiously at the growing puddle of blood and asked, "What do I do now?"

"Cut the cord and tie it. Push on her belly a little more to get rid of the afterbirth. She's going to be fine. She did real well for a first one."

It looked to Pace like Dora had passed out and that didn't sound good to him. All that blood didn't look any better. But he comprehended orders when necessary, and he preferred any action to none at all. He did as told, all the while conscious of the wail of the infant being bathed behind him. The child was meaningless to him as yet. Dora was not. He didn't know how it had happened, but Dora had become everything to him. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would be dead now if not for Dora, that she was the only reason he remained among the living. He meant to do the same for her, but he felt incompetent for the task.

Once the afterbirth was expelled, his mother took over. Pace cleaned himself and went to sit beside his wife, holding her hand, pleading silently for her to open her eyes. She still breathed. He counted her breaths. He felt her heartbeat through his fingertips. She was alive. She had to be all right. If he didn't know himself better, he would think he was praying.

"Dora," he called quietly. If she would just look at him, he knew everything would be fine. He could feel a hot burning sensation behind his eyelids, a sensation he hadn't felt since childhood. He wouldn't give in to it now. "Dora?"

Her lashes flickered. The voice was too soft to be Pace's. Pace yelled and railed and shouted. But there had been a time...

The voice called her name again. She remembered him whispering her name in her ear as his body covered hers. He had sounded like that then, loving, entreating, tender. It was wishful thinking to believe he sounded like that now. But she let the gentleness wash over her. She hurt. She ached all over. But that voice soothed the pains.

And then she heard the wails of an infant and her eyes flew open.

Pace sat there beside her. His linen shirt opened at the throat, revealing the sweat stains trickling down through the damp curling hair of his chest. She raised her eyes in embarrassment and met the green fires burning behind his gaze. She felt scorched, but the hand taking hers was gentle. Lines of strain marked the leathery skin around his mouth, and the crinkles around his eyes had deepened, but she saw something in the way he looked at her...

"Thank God," Pace muttered fervently, bending to place a kiss on her forehead. "I've never been so scared in my life."

Dora widened her eyes at this nonsense. He'd been in battle. He'd seen a great deal worse than childbirth. Why should something so natural scare him? She dismissed the idea, too exhausted to give it careful consideration. "The child?"

By the time she asked, Ernestine had deposited the squalling bundle in Pace's arms. He looked at it with alarm until Dora giggled at his expression, then he set his square jaw and carefully explored the package he'd been handed.

"She's got the tiniest little fingers!" he exclaimed in amazement. "Are they supposed to be that small?"

"Give the babe to Dora, you imbecile," his mother ordered. "Of course they're supposed to be that small."

Dora knew Harriet's sharp words were not disapproval, but she saw Pace immediately stiffen. Not wishing to have any harshness ruin this moment, she pulled the blanket aside so she could see. The child had grown quiet in her father's arms. "What will you name her?" she asked softly, worshipfully, as tiny fingers curled into fists around Pace's large thumb.

"Me?" he asked, dumbfounded. "I don't know anything about naming babies. Don't you have a name picked out?"