The Promise of Dawn

by Lauraine Snelling

  “Nei.” She clenched back another scream.

  “The baby? The baby is coming?”

  “Ja, I think so.” The blackness sucked at her again.

  “Nei,” Gerd ordered. “Do not faint on me now. Signe!”

  Surely she was far away. A long distance. Listen to her! That voice was within her. Signe tried to focus.

  “Can you roll over?”

  “I—I tried, but . . .” Had she tried? How long had she been lying here? It felt like hours. She clamped her teeth together as another wave of pain rolled over her.

  “I will be right back.”

  Do not leave me. Had she screamed that aloud or only in her mind? Panting, she stared up at the ceiling. I have to get up. Get up, Signe—now.

  Something was scraping against the floor.

  “I brought you a chair.” Gerd set it beside her. “Grab hold with your left hand so you can pull yourself over onto your right side.”

  Signe reached for the chair leg. Gerd sat on the chair. “Now pull.”

  Lying on her side seemed to take some pressure off her back.

  “Now! Signe, listen to me. Do not faint. We have to get you up.”

  “Ja, ja. I—I am.”

  “I’ll put the chair against your back to brace you. Bend your knees. On three, you will roll.” Gerd barked the orders. “Now, one—two—three. Roll!”

  In spite of herself, Signe did it. She was up on her hands and knees. Head hanging, she panted.

  Gerd patted her shoulder. “If only I were strong again.”

  Signe clenched her teeth against another searing pain. She panted past it and nodded. “I can stand up.”

  “Use the chair.” Gerd shoved the chair next to her shoulder and sat on it again.

  By some miracle, Signe grabbed the back of the chair, and with a strength beyond strength, got her feet flat on the floor and stood up with a shriek. “I did it.” Warmth trickled down her leg. Her belly convulsed. “The baby, she’s coming.”

  “I know. We’re going to walk to the bedroom now. Lean on me.”

  Signe wagged her heavy head. Lean on me, what she used to say to Gerd. “Your cane?”

  “Right here.” Gerd thrust it into her hand. “Now walk. One step at a time.”

  “I cannot.” The doorway looked forever away.

  “Ja, you can and you will. Now walk!”

  Together they staggered to the kitchen, where Signe clung to the doorway to inhale a couple of breaths. To the table, where she leaned on one chair after another. Now toward the bedroom. Her eyes demanded to be shut.

  She looked down. “There is blood on the floor.”

  “I know. Walk! Help this baby come.”

  “It’s too early. She will not live.”

  “Nei, I think you are further along than you figured.”

  “She will die.”

  “This baby is going to live. Now walk.”

  Anger surged up, snarling at the back of Signe’s throat. “Leave me!”

  “Nei! Walk!” Gerd tugged on her hand.

  One step after another. Signe leaned, puffing, against the doorframe.

  “Yoo-hoo, is anyone home?”

  Was she hearing things? Signe slowly looked toward the back door. “Is someone out there?”

  “Ja! Now walk!”

  “But—”

  “Walk. I will go see.” Gerd yelled over her shoulder, “Come in. We are in the kitchen.” She turned back to Signe. “Now get to the bed.”

  “Take the sheets off.” Signe panted between words.

  “Nei. They can be washed.”

  Signe took three steps, paused, then three steps more. Another pain was building. She literally threw herself in the direction of the bed and braced her arms against the mattress as the contraction rolled over her. The bed, she had made it to the bed.

  “Turn and sit,” Gerd ordered.

  “Oh, no.”

  Signe heard the voice from the doorway. She looked up to see Mrs. Benson charging across the room. With one hand, the storekeeper threw back the covers, then grabbed Signe’s hand with the other. “Here, lean on me, and we will get you situated.”

  Gerd leaned against her chair, puffing like Signe. “We did it.”

  “From where?”

  “The parlor. She fell off the ladder.”

  “Oh, Lord above . . .” Mrs. Benson turned back to Signe. “Can you stand there while we remove your skirt and petticoats?”

  “Ja, maybe.”

  “Do not faint on us!” Gerd switched back to giving orders, even though her voice was weaker.

  They finally got Signe in the bed with another sheet under her. A wave of pain tried to drag her under.

  “How often are the pains coming?”

  “Too often. She has lost a lot of blood.”

  Signe heard them talking, but her mouth wouldn’t cooperate, nor would her eyes stay open. She felt herself drifting. This pain seemed even stronger, rolling her over like a wave on the shore. A wave nearly got her when she was little. Or had that happened to someone else? She heard Gerd calling her name. Too tired, too tired.

  Mrs. Benson shook her shoulder as another wave crescendoed and crashed upon her. Moving, she needed to push.

  “You have to start pushing now.”

  As if she had a choice. She clamped her teeth hard. And felt limp and tossed back on the sand.

  A soft voice said, “Here, a soft rag to bite.”

  She did just that as her body prepared to push again. Tired, too tired. Push. The rag dimmed the scream that ripped through her, forcing itself until no breath propelled it.

  “One more, come on, Signe, one more. We can see the crown. When it comes again, push with all you have.”

  Signe threw her head from side to side. “No.” But it came again, and she pushed, and her body kept on, and she could feel the release when the baby slipped into Mrs. Benson’s waiting hands.

  “You have a baby girl.”

  A stutter that built to a yell announced that this new baby girl was not happy with the situation.

  “She has a good pair of lungs,” Gerd said with a snort.

  “Too soon,” Signe murmured, “too soon.”

  Mrs. Benson laid the baby on Signe’s chest. “Baby girl, meet your mor.”

  “There is an awful lot of blood,” Gerd muttered.

  Signe raised her head enough to see her daughter. “Oh, oh my.” She looked at Gerd, who was grinning like a cat with canary whiskers sticking out of its mouth. “Is she all right?”

  “Seems to be. She wasn’t hurt in the fall, if that is what you mean. But rest easy, Signe. She might be a few days early or perhaps a couple of weeks, but not a whole month.” Gerd laid one of the diapers over the baby. “To keep her from getting a chill.”

  Mrs. Benson tied off and cut the cord, then wrapped the baby in a bigger blanket. “Glad I gave you that box earlier. I see we’re putting it to good use.” She smiled down at Signe. “You are still bleeding too much, so we need to get that afterbirth delivered. That is why I am kneading your belly. Gerd has gone to make some tea.”

  Signe gritted her teeth against another wave of pain. “Is she really all right?” She unclamped her fingers from the sheet under her and touched her daughter’s cheek.

  Mrs. Benson returned to her doctoring duties and left Signe and her baby to study each other. “I will wash her as soon as I’m finished here.”

  “Gerd is all right?”

  “Oh, ja. Weak, but she saved your life. You have lost a lot of blood already—please, God, get it to stop. We might have to send for a doctor.” Mrs. Benson looked toward the window. “I hear the boys returning from school. Let me close the door.”

  Signe heard Leif greet Gerd in the kitchen.

  “Can I see her? Is Mor really all right?”

  Gerd said, “Go tell Knute to ride out to the woods and tell your far that he needs to come home right now.”

  Leif charged out the door, not bothering to close either on
e.

  Gerd returned to the bedroom. “Do we need to send for the doctor?”

  “Maybe.” Mrs. Benson picked up the baby. “Is the pan set with warm water?”

  “Ja.”

  “Can you clean up some in here? I will wash the baby. Do you know if she has a clean gown?”

  “Ja, it is folded on the shelf in the parlor.” Signe did not bother to open her eyes. “How bad is the bleeding?”

  “I pray it will let up soon. Did you have bleeding problems with your other birthings?” Mrs. Benson rocked the baby in her arms.

  “Not that I remember. I think the fall is causing the problem.” Answering the questions took every bit of strength she had. Please, Lord, stop the bleeding.

  They heard the back door open again. “Tante Gerd?” Leif called.

  “In here. I will be right out.”

  “Tell him he can come see me in a bit,” Signe whispered. The place on her chest where the baby had lain seemed cold without her. How bad was the bleeding? How often had they changed the packing? “Takk, Tante Gerd. Tusen takk.”

  “You gave me the scare of my life.” Gerd sank down on the chair by the bed. “But the little one doesn’t seem any worse for it. Have you thought of a name for her?”

  “I want to name her Inga, but Rune wants to name her after his mor, Gunlaug.” She fought to keep her eyes from staying closed. But she wanted to put her daughter to the breast to get her a good start—not that Signe had milk yet, but she had always had plenty before.

  I have a baby daughter. After three boys, I have a girl who is healthy. They had lost a baby girl within an hour after she was born several years earlier. Signe had not gotten pregnant for several years after that. Please, Lord, let this one live and thrive like our boys have.

  By the time they heard a horse galloping toward the house, the women had cleaned up Signe and the room and set the baby to her breast. The baby rooted around, then with a bit of help, began nursing.

  Rune hit the porch running and burst into the bedroom, dropping to his knees beside the bed. “Are you all right? What happened? You weren’t in labor this morning.”

  “I slipped off the ladder, and the fall sent me into labor.”

  She saw the horror in his eyes. “But what were you doing on the ladder? I thought . . .”

  “I needed some things from the attic.” She shook her head. “I know, but I . . .”

  “You could have been killed, or the baby killed. Signe, how could you do such a thing?”

  She ignored his question and folded back the diaper thrown over her shoulder as she nursed. “See, Rune. Meet your daughter.”

  He reached out and touched her bald little head with a reverent finger. “Oh, she is strong. I thought not until November.”

  “So did I, but she seems to be near term, so . . .” She trapped a yawn with her other hand.

  “You are all right?”

  “Pray the bleeding stops.”

  He turned to look at Mrs. Benson standing at the end of the bed. “How bad?”

  “Steady, but if it doesn’t let up, I think you should send for the doctor.”

  “What will he do?”

  “I don’t know. I am not a midwife or a doctor. But I have had six and helped with several others.”

  “How did you know she needed help?”

  “I didn’t. I came to visit with Signe and arrived just after her fall.”

  “Tante Gerd helped me get up and walk in here.” Signe nodded to the older woman.

  Rune turned to her. “You did?”

  “Ja, desperation can give one strength when needed. I was sleeping when I heard a scream. I found her on the floor at the bottom of the ladder.”

  “The ladder.” He shook his head slowly. “I should have built the stairs in spite of Einar.”

  “Far, can we come in?” Knute asked from outside the bedroom door.

  “Ja, let them.” Signe knew she needed to sleep, but her boys needed her more. When they tiptoed over to the side of the bed, she showed them their baby sister.

  “She’s so little.” Leif stared at the bundle in his mor’s arm. “How come she’s all red?”

  “Babies are like this. Getting born is hard work.”

  When both boys had touched her, Mrs. Benson shooed all the males out of the room. “You can come back in a few minutes, and then your mor needs to sleep. See, the baby is already sleeping.” When the boys were gone, she pulled back the covers and checked the packing. “Soaked again.” She changed it. “We better send for the doctor, and if he can’t come, Mrs. Jongkavn, the midwife. She knows as much as a doctor anyway.”

  Rune leaned over the bed. “I will be back as soon as I can. You sleep and get some strength back.”

  “I could go, Far,” Knute offered from the kitchen.

  “I better. But takk. You go get started with the chores.”

  With addresses in his pocket, he kissed his wife on the forehead, shrugged into his warmer coat, and rode out of the yard at a gallop.

  Mrs. Benson came back to look down at Signe. “Tell me what you planned to make for supper, and I will do that.” She nodded toward Gerd, who was sound asleep in the chair. “She is worn out too.”

  “Does your family need you?”

  “Not as much as you do. But while you are telling me, I will massage your belly again. We have to get this to stop.”

  Signe nodded, told her what she had started, and in spite of her wish, drifted to sleep. Please hear and take care of me—of all of us—Lord.

  Chapter

  28

  A slow lope was easier on the horse, but not on Rune’s mind.

  Fears bombarded him for Signe, their baby daughter, himself, the boys, even Einar and Gerd. He tried blinking them away, reminding himself to pay attention to the horse and the road and getting the doctor.

  “Please, Lord, let him be home and able to come take care of Signe—now.”

  The horse flicked her ears back and forth, as if trying to gauge what he was doing.

  Rune blew out a breath and settled deeper in the saddle. Riding was not one of his joys in life. Stop the bleeding, stop the bleeding. He caught himself chanting in rhythm with the horse’s hooves.

  By the time he reached Blackduck, dusk had succumbed to dark, but he managed to find the doctor’s office. He flipped the horse’s reins over a hitching post and hustled up the walk to pound on the door.

  “Come on in.” A woman’s voice. Not the doctor. She smiled at him. “How can I help you?”

  “My w-wife had a baby and now the b-bleeding won’t stop,” he stammered in his consternation. He watched her face, trying to understand her words. “What do you mean he’s out of town? He can’t be. We need him now!”

  “I am so sorry. But he will not be back for two more days, on the afternoon train. Where do you live?”

  “A couple miles from Benson’s Corner.”

  “Then I suggest you go to Mrs. Jongkavn, the midwife. She is closer to you, and perhaps she can help. I am so sorry.”

  “Do you have any kind of medicine that might help?”

  She went to a cabinet, pulled out a container, and measured some powder into a packet. “Try this. Mix with water, warm but not hot.”

  “Takk—er, thank you.”

  “You know the way?”

  “I hope.”

  “One mile straight past Benson’s Corner. On the right.”

  Rune let himself out and stared at his tired horse. No loping or galloping now. He mounted and reined her around to head back the way they had come. The thought smacked him. Why did I not go to the midwife first, since she is closer? He tried to settle against the cantle of the saddle. If only the moon would come up. Lord, help me.

  It seemed like hours before he saw a lighted house on the right a mile past the store. Crossing a creek had been one of the landmarks Mrs. Benson had told him. He hoped Mrs. Jongkavn had a horse, since his was so tired he should lead her home.

  A woman answered his knock.<
br />
  “Are you Mrs. Jongkavn?”

  “Yes, and by the look of you, you need the midwife. Where do you live?”

  “Two miles west of Benson’s Corner. I tried the doctor, but he is out of town.”

  She called over her shoulder, “Harness up, please,” then turned back to Rune. “Ah, you are the people staying with the Strands. Never mind, I will come anyway. You can ride with me, since your horse must be exhausted if you’ve been to Blackduck and back.” She gathered up her bag and shrugged into a wool coat. “Brisk out there, eh?”

  “Ja, I guess so. I’ll carry that for you. My wife has been bleeding since the baby was born.”

  “How long ago?”

  “This afternoon.” He followed her out the door. “She fell off a ladder and . . .”

  “And that sent her into labor.”

  The trap stopped by his horse, and a big man stepped out. “Drive carefully.”

  “Yes, dear.” She handed him her bag, and he helped her into the buggy. “Thank you.”

  Rune tied his horse to the back of the trap and swung up onto the seat. “Can we hurry?”

  “As fast as is safe, so we get there.” She flicked the reins, and the horse obediently picked up the pace. “Now, tell me all that you know. Were you with her at the time?”

  “Nei, I was out in the woods, cutting trees with Onkel Einar.”

  “Einar Strand.”

  “Ja, do you know him?”

  “I know of him.”

  Rune stared straight ahead. Of him. So he had a reputation, and not a good one, from the tone of things. He chose not to ask for more information.

  “And your wife?”

  “Signe. Oh, sorry, my name is Rune Carlson.”

  “I see. How many babies has your wife had?”

  “We have three boys.” He gave her their history, the miscarriages and long barren years. “So we now have a baby girl and . . . and you have to keep Signe alive. This baby needs her. . . .” He choked back tears. “I—we all need her. She has made Tante Gerd regain her strength and . . . and . . .”

  “I understand, Mr. Carlson, we will do the best we can, but the most important thing is prayer.”

  “I-I have been praying all the way and . . . and we did not pray much for a while, but we are doing so again.”

  “I am glad to hear that.”