by Pamela Clare
“The witch?” Nate shook his head. “I won’t have her anywhere near my Becky!”
Cassie ignored him. “—to the tanner’s cabin.”
Nan nodded and was gone, hurrying as fast as her legs could carry her toward the pit saw, where Zach and Cole were cutting lumber.
“No!” Nate shouted again.
“Listen to me,” Cassie met Nate’s gaze. “Takotah might not live the way we do, but no one knows more about healing than she. I would trust Takotah with my life. Aye, and Jamie’s, too.”
She ignored the incredulous frown on Nate’s face and hastened toward the cabins, leaving him behind.
“She wasn’t able to save your mother, now, was she?” he shouted after her.
Cassie felt her step falter. “That wasn’t Takotah’s fault.”
If Cassie had stayed to help, as Takotah had asked her to, her mother might have lived. But her mother had been in so much pain. Cassie had not been able to bear the sight of such suffering. Like a scared child, she had fled.
“It’s said she has a drink that will curdle a man’s seed in his wife’s body and make it useless. I even hear she has a poison that will kill a babe in its mother’s womb. She’s a witch!”
“Nonsense!” Cassie turned to face him, her patience at an end.
She’d not waste her time explaining the necessity for such potions. These were women’s secrets, not to be shared with any man. “Your wife and child need you. You can either stand here arguing with me, or you can help them. Which will it be?”
* * *
Alec stepped through the low entrance to the Indian woman’s lodge. When his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he realized she was not home. There was no reason to feel tense, he told himself. She was just an old woman. An old woman who had saved his life and who was now desperately needed by another.
The scent of wood smoke and strange herbs tickled his nose. Quickly taking in his surroundings—a small fire in an open hearth at the center of the room, plants, roots, and berries hanging from the ceiling, a bundle of animal hides stowed carefully in the corner—he turned to leave.
He froze, suppressing a gasp. He had not heard her approach, but the Indian woman stood just inside the doorway, looking up at him, assessing him with eyes so dark they might as well have been black. Her thick gray hair hung nearly to her waist in two slick braids. Her wrinkled face, as dark as that of any slave, was covered with strange black tattoos. She was clothed in an Englishwoman’s blouse and a skirt of tanned animal skins. Whatever he had imagined she would do next, he did not expect her to smile and pat him on the arm. The simple gesture at once put him at ease.
“You are strong again.”
“Aye. Thank you. I’m told you saved my life.”
“I think you must have wanted very much to live.” She brushed his thanks aside. “Now, let’s go to Rebecca.”
“How did you know?” Chills crept down his spine. He hadn’t told her his reason for coming.
“About Rebecca?” Takotah grinned. “Maybe the wind whispered it in my ear. Or maybe her husband has a very loud voice.”
In the tanner’s cabin they found Cassie already administering the first draft of quinquina powder to Rebecca, who lay pale and shivering on the bed in the center of the tiny room, her dark hair clinging to her damp face, her arms wrapped protectively around her heavy abdomen.
Nate stood at the foot of the bed, shouting. “I tell you I won’t have that savage anywhere near...”
He blanched and his words fell abruptly into silence when he saw Takotah enter.
Apparently oblivious to the ill will borne her by the tanner, Takotah went at once to Rebecca’s side.
Rebecca’s eyes widened in fear, and she recoiled.
“Don’t touch her!” Nate lunged forward.
Alec caught Nate with a shoulder to the chest, knocking the air out of him and driving him back against the wall, where he held him fast. He had no doubt Nate would have thrown the old woman from the room had he not restrained him.
“Rebecca, Takotah is here to help because I asked her to come.” Cassie took Rebecca’s trembling hand and spoke in a calm, even voice. “She is the only one who can help you and your baby. Will you let her try?”
No longer the inexperienced maid Alec had kissed yesterday afternoon nor the hot-tempered planter’s daughter, Cassie spoke now with the confidence and composure of a woman accustomed to managing a large household, reminding him for one unexpected moment of Elizabeth.
Rebecca’s gazed moved back and forth from her husband, who swore and struggled fruitlessly with Alec, to Takotah, who sat calmly next to her on the bed.
“Aye.” Her voice was so weak Alec was not sure at first she had really spoken.
Nate sagged against Alec with a resigned sigh, yielding to his wife’s wishes.
Takotah closed her eyes and settled her open palm on Rebecca’s swollen belly. “Your child is alive and healthy. She moves.”
“She?” Rebecca smiled weakly through chattering teeth.
Alec wondered what kind of power Takotah possessed to tell so much from a simple touch.
“We must drive this sickness from you.” Takotah motioned to Cassie to pour water into a tin basin next to the bed. Dipping a cloth into the basin, Takotah wrung it out and placed it gently on Rebecca’s forehead.
“Come, friend,” Alec said, loosening his grip. “Let’s leave the women to their work. I’ve a notion we’ll only get in their way.”
He placed one hand firmly between Nate’s shoulder blades and propelled him toward the door, feeling oddly satisfied by Cassie’s grateful smile.
Chapter Fourteen
Alec swallowed another foul mouthful of whiskey and cursed. Distracting Nate was not proving at all easy. Enlisting Zach’s help, he had at first managed to keep the distraught husband busy cutting lumber and, later, when that task was completed, playing cards.
But just before sunset Cassie had appeared, her face pale and drawn, with bad news. Rebecca had gone into labor, her weary body apparently eager to rid itself of its extra burden. One look at the frantic expression on Nate’s freckled face, and Alec knew there was only one thing they could do for the tanner—get him good and drunk. And no man wanted to drink alone.
Old Charlie had generously donated a jug of his strongest whiskey to the cause, though he himself did not join them. Now Nate sat in front of a dying bonfire, with Alec on one side and Zach on the other, far beyond pain. They were far enough from the cabin so Nate could not hear Rebecca’s agonized cries, which at first had driven the father-to-be into a frenzy, but close enough so that the distressed man could see the cabin’s door. Not that Nate could actually see the cabin, with his eyes half closed and his head rolling limply about on his shoulders, Alec realized foggily. He handed the whiskey jug to Zach, who contemplated it for a moment as if he did not know what it was before clumsily accepting it and taking a swig.
So it had been when his sister had given birth to her children, the fifth no different from the first. Alec and Matthew had sat below in the drawing room, drinking Scotch in silence, both of them flinching with each pained moan that reached them from the floor above. Strange that men, who were supposed to be the stronger sex, who were supposed to protect women from suffering, became so completely useless when it came to childbirth, a suffering for which they were to blame.
Zach hiccupped and went to hand the whiskey to Nate, but Nate was no longer there. Or rather, he was no longer upright, having flopped over backward, unconscious, into the grass.
Zach struggled to his feet and looked down into Nate’s placid face. “I think ’e’s had ’nough.”
“Aye.” Alec felt dizzy himself.
Zach took another swig and handed over the jug.
Alec’s stomach lurched. “No, thank you very much. Nate is quite uncon … uncon … uncon .. . he’s out. We needn’t drink another drop.”
It was very hard to think.
“Suit yerself.” Zach took another swallow and dropped
the nearly empty jug into the dirt with a belch.
Alec found himself wrenched to alertness. Someone was calling for him.
“Mr. Braden?"
The call came again.
He stood up, willing his legs to be steady, and turned to find Nan hurrying toward him. Her face was pale, her hands clutching nervously at her apron.
“A fine bunch ye are.” She cast a scathing look at the three of them.
“Aye,” Alec managed in reply. The ground was very wobbly.
“Nate’s keeled over for the night, I see. A lot of good he’ll do his Rebecca in this state. Zach might as well be. Zachariah!” the cook bellowed.
The sawyer, who’d been staring blankly into the fire, jumped to his feet, staggered, then fell to his knees. “Yes’m? Pardon me, sweet Nan, but I’m a wee bit . . . um . . . drunk.”
“Don’t ‘sweet Nan’ me, you big lout.” Nan planted her hands on her hips. “And look at ye, Mr. Braden, barely able to stand. Shame on the lot of ye, bein’ worse than useless when the mistress needs ye!”
For a moment Alec felt like a young boy who’d been caught stealing sweets from the pantry.
“I do ’pologize, but we merely did what we could to console young Nate.” He fought to clear his head and tried to remove the effects of the alcohol from his speech. “If there is aught I can do to help, please let me know.”
The cook snorted derisively, her gaze moving from Nate to Zach and coming finally to rest again on Alec.
“I suppose ye’ll have to do.” She turned abruptly and headed back toward the cabin. “Come. We have need of yer strength—if ye have any that ye haven’t squandered on drink, that is. Piss and wind. That’s menfolk.”
He fell in beside the cook, the brisk walk helping to clear his mind.
“The babe is not turned right, and Rebecca is too sick to sit on the birthin’ stool, too weak to push, God bless her.” Nan sounded near tears. “Poor Miss Cassie! This is so hard for her, though ye’d never know it. She’d never complain, but I see the fear in her eyes. She was eighteen when her mother died. Blames herself for it, too, she does.”
“Blames herself?”
“She tried to stay by her mother’s side, she did, tried to help Takotah, but she couldn’t stand watchin’ her mother suffer. Out the door she ran, pale as a ghost, out into the forest. When she came back she found her new baby brother alive, her mother dyin’. The master was so beside himself with grief when his dear Amanda finally passed on, he never saw how Miss Cassie tortured herself for it.”
A muffled cry in the distance interrupted the cook and caused them both to hasten their steps.
“Then when she began to lose the master, too … ” The cook suddenly fell mute.
Now alert, Alec willed her to continue, but Nan remained stubbornly mute.
She had almost said too much, and she knew it.
* * *
Cassie tried to ignore the ache in her arms and shoulders. She must hold out for Rebecca’s sake. She sat in the bed behind Rebecca, whom she had pushed into a semi-sitting position to ease the birth. Normally the birthing mother would squat on the bed or sit on a birthing stool, but Rebecca was too delirious from pain and fever to do either. Nor was she able to lift and part her knees on her own. Martha, a bondswoman who’d herself given birth nine times, supported one leg, while Takotah, who sat on the bed where she could easily reach under Rebecca’s gown to check her progress, supported the other. Cassie had wedged her back against the wall for support, but she hadn’t enough strength to hold Rebecca up for long.
She could see from the look in Takotah’s eyes that things were not going well. The babe was coming into the world feet-first, and the birth waters Rebecca had passed were murky instead of clear. Takotah had tried to turn the babe, but that had only increased Rebecca’s bleeding. To make matters worse, Rebecca had been unable to keep the quinquina down once her labor had begun, and now, exhausted, she lay shivering with fever in Cassie’s aching arms, conscious only when the pains came.
At the sound of the opening door, Cassie looked up, relieved, expecting to see Nan followed by Nate. Instead Nan entered with Cole.
“He’s passed out, he is, Missy. Drunk—they’re all dead drunk.” Nan glared at Cole, more than a little disgust in her voice.
Cassie looked questioningly toward Cole, who apart from a slight flush looked reasonably sober.
“I believe I’ve enough wits about me to help,” he said.
“Very well, Mr. Braden.”
Rebecca moaned softly, turning her head to and fro. Nan quickly took Rebecca’s other leg from Takotah, leaving the Indian woman two free hands. Gradually the moan grew louder and more frantic until it became a wail, and Rebecca’s eyes at last flew open. Cassie fought for the strength to hold her up.
Cole was already at her side, taking Rebecca’s weight and sliding into the bed behind her. “I’ve got her.”
Though his breath smelled strongly of whiskey, his movements were smooth, his touch as he adjusted Rebecca’s weight on his chest gentle.
Cassie bathed Rebecca’s contorted face with a cool cloth, silently chiding herself for the weakness she felt inside. Silly emotions had no place here. Her sympathy for Rebecca’s suffering would only make matters worse if she allowed herself to be overwhelmed. She had already learned that lesson.
The pain neared its peak. Rebecca sobbed and clutched frantically at the sheets. Cassie felt her own heart beat faster, and closed her eyes against the burning of tears. The parish priest had told her after her mother’s funeral that women were meant to suffer in childbed as God’s punishment for the sins of Eve. She hadn’t believed it then, and, looking into Rebecca’s anguished eyes, she refused to believe it now.
Such a god could only be a despicable tyrant.
She looked up to find Cole gazing at her as if he could read her thoughts. Hastily she looked away.
“Strength, Rebecca. Strength.” Takotah spoke in a voice gentle yet as strong as iron. “You and your baby can survive this.”
Cassie looked toward Takotah for proof she believed what she had just said, but saw nothing but worry on Takotah’s face.
Slowly Rebecca’s cries subsided, and she went limp once again.
“Poor lamb.” Nan shook her head.
“A man ought to be good for more than spillin’ his seed in a woman and causin’ her such misery.” Martha shared an understanding glance with the cook and glared at Cole, who opened his mouth as if to speak in defense of his sex, but said nothing.
“We must get her to drink.” Takotah rose from the bed and poured water into a tin cup.
“Rebecca.” Cassie took the cup from Takotah and urged Rebecca to consciousness. “Rebecca, you must drink.”
Rebecca looked at her through glazed eyes, seeming not to comprehend. Cassie put the cup to her lips, but after taking just a sip, Rebecca turned her head away, slipping into unconsciousness again. Water spilled onto Cole’s forearm and the sleeve of his shirt.
“Sorry,” Cassie grabbed a cloth and wiping up the rivulets that ran down his arm.
“It’s only water.” Cole gave her a lopsided grin.
“Nate?” called Rebecca weakly, turning her head toward the sound of Cole’s voice. “Nate?”
Takotah nodded to Cole, who looked puzzled for a moment before responding, “Aye, Rebecca.”
“He calls her Becky,” Cassie whispered.
“Nate?”
“Aye, Becky.”
Cassie refilled the cup with water and gestured to Cole to speak again.
“You must drink, Becky. The babe…uh…needs water,” he said, looking sheepish.
“Here, love,” said Cassie, smiling at the embarrassed flush that appeared on Cole’s cheeks. “Drink this.”
Rebecca responded, swallowing the contents of the cup sip by sip before lapsing into a troubled sleep.
“When the next pain comes, ask her to push.” Takotah held the baby’s tiny feet. “If she thinks you’re her husband,
it might give her strength. The sooner this child is born, the better for both of them.”
Cole nodded, though the look on his face showed he was more than a little uncomfortable.
The next contraction came almost immediately, building slowly until Rebecca began to cry out and call desperately for her husband.
“I’m right here, Becky. I’m here. Take my hands.”
Rebecca released the sheet she had been clutching and grasped Cole’s hands.
“The babe is ready to be born, but you must help it. You must push, Becky. Push.”
For a moment Cassie was afraid Rebecca was too delirious to understand or too weak to push despite Cole’s comforting presence. Then she lifted her head and began to bear down.
“Strength, Rebecca,” Takotah crooned. “I can see your baby’s feet.”
“That’s it, Becky.” Despite whatever embarrassment he felt, Cole seemed to understand what was needed.
Rebecca cried out as the contraction passed its peak, then sagged against Cole, remaining only half-conscious.
“Rest, Becky,” he murmured. “It will soon be over.”
“I love you, Nate.”
The chagrined look on Cole’s face nearly made Cassie laugh out loud.
After two more contractions Cassie could see little legs. After three, Takotah held the baby’s limp body in her hands. It was, as she had predicted, a little girl.
“Come, Becky, your daughter’s nearly born,” Takotah crooned as the next contraction began to crest. “Push her into the world where you can hold her.”
Rebecca moaned through gritted teeth, and her bloodcurdling scream pierced the air as at last the baby’s head emerged. The pain finally gone, she lapsed again into unconsciousness.
Cassie watched, hardly daring to hope, as Takotah massaged the baby and cleared fluid from its throat, speaking softly to the infant in her native tongue as she worked. Seconds seemed to stretch into eternity as, unable to breathe, Cassie waited with the others for some sign of life.
Just when it seemed sure that Takotah would be unable to coax life into the child, there came a little cough, followed by another, followed by the tiniest cry Cassie had ever heard. The baby’s skin changed from bluish gray to bright pink, and Cassie knew from the smile on Takotah’s face that she would live.