Sea Witch (21 page)

Thirty

Jesamiah awoke with a throbbing headache to hear a grim sound on the stairs. He had collapsed across the bed and fallen instantly asleep, how long ago he had no idea. Only one lamp was burning, the others had guttered out. He groaned, eased cramped muscles, tried to shake the muzziness away from his spinning brain. Froze as the sound came again.

Alert, instantly awake and sobering fast, he crossed the room, lifted his pistol from the table; carefully, quietly, cocked it. Shielding the lamp with his hand he blew the flame out, leaving only the faint glow from the dying embers of the fire to light the room with a dim redness. Treading with care he slipped through the curtain and waited at the top of the stairs for his eyes to adjust.

The stairs creaked, the third from the bottom, it always did. Someone was there.

“I have a pistol,” Jesamiah announced into the darkness his muscles tensed, ready to fling himself aside at the sound of a hammer striking flint, igniting gunpowder, firing a shot. He was ready to shoot at the flash. “It is loaded and cocked. Who are you? What do you want?”

A moan. A woman. “Help me!”

Dear God! Tiola?

He swung back into the room, grabbed the lamp, a spill from above the fire; with trembling fingers lit the wick, barely controlling his patience to encourage the flame to burn. Was down the stairs again, sat midway, his head in his hands trying to stop his heart from thumping, his body from shaking. It was not Tiola.

The woman moaned again, a bitten-off scream clamped between her teeth.

What do I do?
Jesamiah thought. “What’s wrong, love?” No answer. Get her upstairs? Good idea.

He lifted her, his own hurts grumbling. At the top the woman pleaded to be put down, crouched on hands and knees, gasping. From the pain she was in he assumed she was dying. Her skirts were stained with filth and blood; had she been attacked? Her face contorted and she grabbed his hand, screeched. He yelled too, for she nigh on broke his fingers.

“Come on, I cannot leave you here.” Somehow, with difficulty, he got her into the room, although not as far as the bed. She stood at the table clutching it, her knuckles white. He lit two more lamps.

“I’ll go fetch help.” Would Bella come? Would she know what to do?

“No! No! Do not leave me! Please?”

What to do? What should he do?

The stair creaked again, someone coming? A knot of panic grovelled in Jesamiah’s stomach. He ran to look down into the shadows, closed his eyes, puffed exhaled air through his cheeks.

“Tiola! Am I bloody glad to see you!”

Weary, she stared up at him. “Jesamiah? Are you alright? Is there something wrong?” Her hair was dishevelled, the hem of her gown and her shoes were soiled with wet sand. Her face was flushed.

He jumped down the stairs to meet her, took her arm and hurried her upward. “There’s a woman here in trouble.” As they reached the top he tilted his head, questioning. “You been on the beach?”

“
Ais
,” was all she said as she pushed him aside and flung her mantle carelessly into a corner of the room followed by the wet shoes.

“My dear how long have you been like this?” She was beside the groaning woman, stroking back her hair, her hand going to the swollen belly.

“I found her on the stairs.”

“Ssh,” Tiola waved Jesamiah to silence, indicating she was counting. “Fetch me linen towels from the chest over there, Jesamiah. Is there hot water?”

He peered into the pot. “Quarter full.”

“Pour some into a bowl. Fetch me the brown glass bottle, too, if you please.” She was rubbing the woman’s back; the woman hunched into herself and screamed as if she was being torn in two.

Uncertain – a little afraid – Jesamiah half turned towards the stairs. “Er, should I fetch Bella?”

“No. Sit on the floor, dear-heart. What is your name?”

“Rosa,” the woman gasped, clutching wildly at her abdomen as Tiola helped her to sit.

“What’s wrong with her?” Jesamiah asked, bewildered, as he fetched what he had been asked.

Tiola looked up at him, her eyes crinkling with amusement. “By the Deep, the innocence of men! She is in the advanced stages of labour you fool.” To Rosa, as she lifted the woman’s petticoats and peered beneath then felt with her hand, she said; “Is this your first, my dear?”

Rosa shook her head, biting back her agony. “Fifth.”

“Ah, you know what we are about then. Jesamiah, you will have to help, there is something wrong here. Sit behind her, brace her.”

“I’m not sure about this Tiola.”

“Shut up and just bloody do it!”

Amazed to hear her swear, he did it.

Screeching like a banshee, Rosa arched against him and he gasped, the strength she had was incredible, almost pushing him over.

“Help her, Jesamiah.”

He shuffled on his buttocks to make himself more comfortable, his bent legs on either side of the woman’s shuddering body, his arms encircling beneath her breasts; braced, as straining, she again thrust her weight into him.

“When this contraction ends I am going to find out what is wrong,” Tiola said to both him and Rosa, while swabbing her hand and arm with the glistening oil from the bottle and folding back the woman’s petticoats to expose her lower half. With her hand, Tiola briefly made the gesture Jesamiah had seen before, saw her lips breath the sighing sound, “
Hie-asssh…
”

The woman relaxed, her head folding on to Jesamiah’s shoulder, the torment for a moment seeping from her. The quiet was noticeable now she had stopped yelling.

He shut his eyes, to protect Rosa’s modesty or his own squeamishness he was not sure. Opened them again when she threw herself back into him with a long, piercing shriek, as another contraction poured through her. This was like holding a bucking helm in a storm; needed strength and concentration to keep on a steady course.

“Your waters have not broken, Rosa.” Tiola said, cleaning her soiled hand in the water and sitting back on her heels. “Until they do, the babe cannot be born.”

Dripping with sweat, breathless, unable to speak, Rosa lifted her hand, indicating she understood. Jesamiah merely looked blank.

“I am going to pierce the babe’s bed, there will be a lot of fluid, so do not be concerned, it will be nothing amiss.” Tiola said to Jesamiah.

He bit his lip, uncertain. “Then what?”

Tiola smiled at him as she padded towels beneath Rosa. “Then we deliver this good lady of her son or daughter.”

Despite the warning Jesamiah was not prepared for the mess. A gush of bloodied water flooding everywhere. “You ought to have taken that gown off,” he admonished Tiola. “You’ve ruined the silk.”

“Damn the gown…
ais
, we have it…I can see the head. A few more pushes, dear heart…one more…it is coming! Careful, ah careful, gain your breath.”

With the waters broken the pain had eased for Rosa was now pushing with the steady contractions, not against. She no longer screamed but bore down, her face red and contorted, her head flung back on to Jesamiah’s shoulder, her teeth bared.

Tiola took her hand, guided her fingers to where the crown of the babe’s head was emerging.

“I want a son,” Rosa said, panting and laughing both together before the next wave of labouring spasm overwhelmed her. Her shriek became a shout, “I have daughters – I want a son!”

Jesamiah leant into her next contraction taking her weight, his arms supporting. He looked down, also elated, caught so unexpectedly within this woman’s world usually held secret from men. “By God, I can see it!”

“One more big push now, Rosa,” Tiola said, gathering up a clean linen towel.

Excited, Jesamiah urged, at the top of his voice to match Rosa’s own shout, “Come on woman, you heard what she said!”

And they were howling laughter and crying tears, together, all three of them, Tiola kneeling there holding the newborn, unlacing Rosa’s bodice, lifting the wailing child to her breast. “Your son!”

“Look at him!” Jesamiah exclaimed in wonder, hardly daring to believe this miracle of a perfect new life. “So small! Look at his hands! His toes – his tackle! Hell’s balls, he’s going to please the ladies when he’s grown!” He spoke with elated pride, as if the boy was his own son. Looked up, caught Tiola smiling at him. “Blimey sweetheart, that was wonderful!”

His face fell serious, gazed at her in respectful awe. “You were wonderful.”

She laughed, knotted thread around the cord and offered him her knife. “Cut it, here. Once this is done he will have to make his own way in life. I was nothing of the sort. Women go into labour every day, midwives such as myself help them everyday, in every country of the world.”

Jesamiah cut, was happy to help Rosa begin cleaning the babe with the warm water Tiola brought them. “Tell he’s a boy,” he grinned. “Covered in muck and filth. Had he been a girl I’d have expected the hair to be curled in neat little ringlets and tied in pretty ribbons.” He repeated what he had said. “You were wonderful, Tiola. Bella said your gift of healing was to be cherished, not feared. I see what she means.”

Ah, so he has been downstairs
, Tiola thought.

“She also said I was a damned fool.”

“Oh yes? Look away luvver,” Tiola advised as she pushed down on Rosa’s abdomen. “There are some things, the babe’s nest, even a pirate would not care to see.”

He did look, briefly, but turned his head quickly away as something foul and bloody was expelled.

“And what else did Bella say?” Tiola jibed, tempted to spread the afterbirth out in front of him to check it was intact. Subtle revenge?

“Nothing much,” Jesamiah admitted wrinkling his nose, disgusted, as she lifted the bloodied thing and carried it to a bucket. “I came back here. Fell asleep.”

Passed out was nearer the truth, but he was not going to be admitting that. Nor was he going to admit Bella had kept the gold coin.

Half an hour later, dropping the last of the soiled towels onto the heap he had made, Jesamiah grinned at Tiola as she emerged from the smaller room.

“Rosa is asleep. The poor dear is exhausted,” she said, wiping her sleeve over her forehead. She had removed the ruined silk of her best, her only, formal gown, to dress more comfortably in bodice, petticoat and overskirt. She draped her sodden stockings beside the hearth to dry and sank into the chair beside the fire which he had chivvied into life, spread her bare toes to its warmth. Was pleased to note the kettle was beginning to sing.

Jesamiah thought she looked exhausted also, but there was no point in stating the obvious. “I have washed the floor where it was stained. Anything else I can do for you sweetheart?”

“Thank you for helping. A lot of men would not have done what you did.” She smiled, her beautiful enigmatic smile. “Especially not a pirate.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t have much choice did I? Where is Jenna?”

Leaning forward Tiola swung the kettle off the hook. “Do you want coffee?”

“No. Where’s Jenna?”

The baby, settled in a drawer for a makeshift crib, whimpered.

“She is not here.”

“I can see that. Where is she?” Jesamiah collected the boy up, wrapping one of Tiola’s shawls around him, jiggled him tenderly in his arms. “And where are those rather lovely emeralds you were wearing when you left here some hours ago?”

He had noticed their disappearance almost from the first moment she had walked in. A sudden thought. Alarmed he said, “You are unharmed? Nothing has happened?” Pirates were not the only thieves in Cape Town.

Tiola sat on the stool and gazed at the crackling flames. Her Craft had alerted her to come home, if it had not she would be on the beach still, walking and thinking. But Craft had its own way of working these things which other people would call fate. She had been so relieved to discover her summoning had not been because of Jesamiah himself. She sighed, studied her hands. “Jenna is disgusted with me. She remained at the ball, it ends at dawn. I walked home.”

“Oh? And why would that be?” The baby stopped his whimpering; snuffling, contented in Jesamiah’s strong arms he drifted asleep.

“Because I returned Stefan’s gifts. He asked me to become his wife and I refused.”

“Ah.” Jesamiah made a half-hearted attempt not to grin.

“Jenna said I was a fool, and she would have nothing more to do with me.”

“Ah,” Jesamiah said again. “I think you are a fool too. That makes both of us fools don’t it?”

“Do you really want to hold the babe?” Tiola said rising and offering to take the child. Amused, added as he shook his head and settled the baby himself. “I declare, Jesamiah Acorne, you have gone quite broody!”

“Oakwood. I am the respectable Captain Jesamiah Oakwood, remember? It appears the acorn has matured and is no longer a sapling. Or a pirate.” How his mother would have approved! “Great oak trees from little acorns grow.” He could almost hear her saying it.

Tiola tipped her head on one side, quizzical.

“I‘ve decided to make an honest man of m’self.”

“Oh? And what brought this on?”

Jesamiah tucked the shawl around the tiny body, satisfied himself the baby was content. Stood, put his hands on Tiola’s shoulders.

“You did,” he said. “It goes with this, your birthday present.”

Tiola glanced out of the partially shuttered window, it was still dark but midnight was long past. “That was yesterday.”

“So, I am a day late.” He removed the signet ring from his finger, slipped it on to hers. “As soon as I can I will purchase something of a better fit. A rare diamond if you want it.” He grinned cheekily. “Anything except an emerald.”

She stared at the gold band swamping her marriage finger. “I do not want a diamond,” she said, lifting her gaze to capture his. “I want only you.”

Very gently he kissed her, nothing intrusive, nothing demanding. Her arms encircled his neck as she kissed him back.

“And I want to make love to you,” he said, moving very slightly away from her so he did not appear threatening or intrusive. “If you will let me.”

For answer, Tiola also stepped back, her hands going to the pins in her hair. She pulled them out, dropped them to the floor letting her black mane tumble from its formal confinement. Then she unlaced her bodice and pushing it from her shoulders exposed her breasts.