by Laura Beers
“Because if I were not, who would enact change?” Amelia answered simply.
Harrington sat silently, having no answer for her.
He looked out the window and saw a small, stone cottage in the distance with smoke billowing up from the chimney. As they approached the home, a disheveled man burst outside, and his faded blue shirt hung out over his rough tan trousers. Recognizing this man as the village blacksmith, Henry Stevens, Harrington saw the pain on the man’s face. Despite their difference in stations, it tore at his heartstrings.
The coach pulled up next to the blacksmith, who helped the maid step down. “Angela, bless ye for comin’,” he said in a relieved tone.
Before Lord Harrington could come around to assist Miss Wright out of the carriage, she was already striding towards the cottage with Angela directly behind her.
The blacksmith approached his lord with eyes that were red-rimmed. “A thousand thanks, milord, for escortin’ me sister-in-law all this way.”
“It was my pleasure, Henry, but I should warn…”
Amelia stuck her head out the door. “Excuse me, sir, I need to speak to you about your wife.”
Henry furrowed his brow and pointed over a shoulder with his outstretched thumb. “Who’s th’ lady, milord, and why did she just call me ‘sir’?”
Harrington frowned. “A friend. Do as she says, Henry. She believes she can help your wife.”
“All right, milord ‘Arrington,” Henry said, reluctantly moving towards the cottage door.
Ducking his head through the low doorway into the main room, the earl could see a small round stool in the corner by the crackling fireplace and a smoothly scrubbed table with benches in the center of the room. A side door was open, and he could hear moaning coming from within.
Amelia stepped into the main room as she wiped her hands with a cloth. “Mr. Stevens, is it?”
Henry stepped forward. “Yes, Miss.”
Harrington was amazed to see that Amelia’s demeanor spoke of confidence. With a strong, steady voice, she explained, “Angela told me your wife’s water broke after sunrise yesterday. I have examined her, and your baby is breech. This has now become a medical emergency.”
“Breech? Oh, law! Is my Amy goin’ to die?” Henry cried, wringing his hands.
“Not if I can help it,” Amelia asserted. “The baby’s head isn’t coming first. I can help Amy, but I need your permission to perform a procedure on her.”
“A procedure?”
“It is a surgery called a cesarean section,” she said. “I am going to cut your wife’s belly open, remove the baby, and stitch her back up.”
“Absolutely not!” Henry roared, but another long moan from his wife checked him. Her cries were weakening.
Expecting to see Amelia shrink back from Henry’s adamant tone, Harrington was surprised to see her stand her ground. “I understand your reservations, Mr. Stevens, but your wife will die if I don’t attempt this surgery.”
Henry started pacing back and forth, tearing at his already wild hair. “Will she live if… you do this thing, Miss?”
“I cannot guarantee it, but I will do everything in my power to keep her alive,” Amelia promised. “You need to know that this procedure will save the life of your baby. Without it, you will lose both of them.”
Henry stopped and glared at her. “I ain’t never heard of no female surgeon. ‘Ow do I know ye can do this?”
“Where I am from, women are trained to do many things, including surgery,” she explained, calmly. “Please, trust me. I can save Amy and your baby.”
An older woman, with a cap covering her white hair, left the side room and approached Henry. “I believe her, Henry. This is the only way.”
Pain was evident on Henry’s brow as he implored, “How can you be so sure, Mrs. Watts?”
“Miss Wright has told us what she intends to do, and I believe it might prove successful,” Mrs. Watts pressed. “But if we do nothing, your wife and baby will both die.”
Henry turned his simple, pleading brown eyes to Lord Harrington. “What should I do, milord?”
Adam winced, loathe to make this mind-numbing decision for another man. His eyes went to Miss Wright, who was standing so brave and tall, but she was fooling herself. There was no way she could save Henry’s wife from certain death. He would soon be mourning the loss of his wife and child.
As he opened his mouth to express his opinion, an unwelcome memory crashed into his mind.
The surgeon had just informed Harrington that nothing could be done to save his wife. After mumbling a pathetic apology, the surgeon left so he could say his final goodbyes to his wife. As he sat on the bed, he reached for Agnes’s hand. Her skin had lost its glow, and her beautiful eyes were dull with exhaustion. “Adam,” she whispered, “is the baby all right?”
“She is. A healthy baby girl,” he replied as tears welled in his eyes. “You did well, my love.”
“I am… sorry… I won’t,” Agnes stopped, attempting to catch her breath, “… be there… to watch her grow up.”
Tears rolled down his cheek. “Don’t try to talk. Just rest and try to get your strength back.”
“You were my greatest joy,” Agnes whispered before her hand went limp in his desperate grasp.
Never had he known such grief and torment after his wife died. What would he have done if someone had given him hope at that moment, even if it was only fleeting? The answer was clear: he would have grasped it with both hands and pleaded for more time with his wife.
Breaking his painful reverie, Harrington lifted his gaze, his voice clear and unmistakable. “Henry, were I in your place, I would do everything in my power to save my wife.”
Henry bowed his head. “Then so be it.” Turning towards Amelia and Mrs. Watts, he pled, “Save my wife, Miss. Please, dear God, I can’t lose her!”
Amelia shot Harrington a grateful glance. “Thank you for your vote of confidence, my lord.” Turning towards Henry, she stated, “Wait here, Mr. Stevens, and pray for your wife as you have never prayed before. This may take a while.”
Chapter 8
Striding purposefully into the side room, Amelia was back in her element. She had performed hundreds of c-sections as a third-year resident in obstetrics and had great confidence in her skill. Although, she had never done it by candlelight.
Accepting an apron from Mrs. Watts, she mumbled her thanks as she tied it around her waist. “Have you given her something for the pain?”
“Yes, I gave her laudanum this morning,” Mrs. Watts replied.
The very first opioid drug, she thought. Perfect. “Give her a thimbleful while I drop the scalpel into the hot water.”
Amelia walked over to a table and searched through Mrs. Watt’s medical tools. Picking up the scalpel, she walked into the main room and placed it into the large pot that was hanging in the hearth. Taking time to carefully wash her hands, she then used a large spoon to carefully retrieve it from the bottom of the pot, knowing this was the best that she could do under the circumstances.
Looking around the room, she spotted Angela trembling in the corner. “Angela? Would you assist me, please?”
Eyes wide, the young maid followed Amelia into the room and stopped at the end of the bed. A sheet had already been placed under Amy in preparation for labor.
Pressing her hand to Amy’s lower abdomen, Amelia informed Mrs. Watts, “I will need to stitch the abdomen and the uterus after I cut it open. Can you prepare the needle? Then, I’ll need you and Angela to hold her legs and arms, so she doesn’t flail when I cut her belly.”
Pale, but following orders, Angela moved to the head of the bed, sitting beside Amy’s head. She placed a wet cloth on her sister’s forehead, then grabbed hold of her wrists, holding her arms still above her head.
Mrs. Watts laid the threaded needle on the nearby table, then moved to hold the laboring mother’s legs.
Before she placed the scalpel to Amy’s abdomen, Amelia asked, “Amy, can you hear
me?”
Amy moved her head weakly. “Yes, Miss, but you are far away.”
Knowing Amy was already under the influence of laudanum, she informed her, “I am about to make an incision, and it will hurt. Are you ready?”
“I am,” she mumbled.
With a quick, smooth motion, Amelia sliced a horizontal incision about six inches long into her lower abdomen. Amy’s loud scream filled the air, then all was silent as she passed out. Immediately, Amelia put her hands inside Amy, separating her abdominal muscles, finally making a horizontal cut into the lower section of her uterus.
Placing the scalpel on the bed, Amelia reached into Amy’s abdomen and pulled out the baby. After gently handing the baby to Mrs. Watts, she cut the umbilical cord and was pleased to hear the baby’s shrill cry fill the room.
“I have the baby, dear,” Mrs. Watts assured her. “You finish with Amy.”
Reaching back inside, Amelia ensured that the placenta was delivered properly before she started stitching up the uterus. Before closing the incision on the abdomen, she took her apron and tried to slow the blood flowing out. Taking great care, Amelia stitched up the new mother.
When she was finished, she moved tiredly to the water basin and washed her hands before she wet a linen cloth and started cleaning off the blood on Amy’s belly. She watched as Mrs. Watts handed the swaddled infant to Angela. Amelia looked at the still-unconscious Amy, knowing she would probably not awaken until much later, perhaps not until morning.
After covering the new mother with a blanket, Amelia removed her apron and went to speak to Mr. Stevens. As she opened the door, both Lord Harrington and Mr. Stevens jumped up from their chairs. Their expectant expressions were nearly identical as they watched her face carefully. Smiling, she turned to Mr. Stevens. “Your wife and your baby girl are both doing well. Congratulations.”
Mr. Stevens clapped his hands together as his wide grin showed pride and relief. “Amy is alive! Oh, saints be praised! Thank ye, Blessed Mother of God!” He danced a lopsided jig, then clapped a hand to his bearded face. “And I have a daughter!”
Putting her hand up to halt the giddy new father, Amelia explained in her no-nonsense doctor tone, “Amy is still sleeping and will be for several hours. Don’t worry even if she sleeps until morning. I will be back tomorrow to follow up, but most likely I won’t remove the stitches for fifteen days. As a precaution, Amy is not allowed to leave her bed for the first three days. Angela can see to her private needs until then.”
Lord Harrington cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the subject at hand.
Ignoring him, she added, “If you do not follow my directions precisely, there is a chance that the stitches will rupture, or infection could set in, and your wife will die.”
Mr. Stevens nodded slowly, but his smile never dimmed. “I understand, Miss.”
“Good.” She turned to Lord Harrington. “My lord, will you ensure that plenty of fresh vegetables, leafy greens, fruit, and meat are delivered here as quickly as possible? Amy needs plenty of food, since she is now caring for a baby, as well as herself.”
Bemused, Harrington simply nodded.
A smile played on Amelia’s lips as she saw Mr. Stevens practically dancing in a circle as he kept glancing at the door separating him from his wife and child. “You are welcome to go see them.”
Amelia had barely finished her sentence when the burly man ran past her. Turning back towards Lord Harrington, she was surprised to see he was staring at her once-pristine gown. Glancing down, she saw that it was covered with blood.
Lord Harrington took a step closer, reaching towards her with deep concern. “Were you injured during the surgery, Miss Wright?”
“This is not my blood,” she assured him. “It is all from Amy.”
Slowly, he swiped his chin with his hand, looking a bit worse for wear himself. “That is a great deal of blood.”
Walking over to the water basin near the fireplace, Amelia scrubbed the stains from her arms and hands, especially under her nails. “Heavy blood loss is common during a cesarean delivery,” she explained.
“And Mrs. Stevens survived?”
“She was magnificent.”
“Miss Wright, how did you…” His words trailed off as he shook his head slowly, trying to understand.
Using a relatively clean, dry cloth that hung near the basin, the young doctor dried off her arms. “How did I what, my lord?”
“How did you… know… what to do?”
Amelia smiled, taking pity on the handsome earl. “I told you, I am a surgeon.”
“That is impossible,” he huffed. “I’ve never heard of a female surgeon.”
Feeling no need to argue, she stated, “Regardless, Amy is alive, as is her baby.”
“I can’t believe you saved them both,” Lord Harrington said with awe in his voice. “What you did here in this simple hut was nothing short of a miracle.”
“Birth is always a miracle, my lord,” she contended softly. “I did what I was trained to do. That is all.”
Mrs. Watts emerged from the bedroom with a bright smile on her face. “Well done, Miss Wright! Wait until the other midwives hear about this…”
Amelia cut her off. “You mustn’t tell anyone,” she said urgently. “Promise me that you won’t discuss what was done here.”
“But why, dear?” Mrs. Watts asked. “You should be praised for what you did for the Stevens family.”
“I did not ask for praise. I only did what needed to be done,” she insisted. “Please, promise me.”
“On my honor, I won’t tell a soul,” Mrs. Watts said, eyeing her with concern. “However, Bexmore is a small village. I have no doubt that the news will travel fast.”
Shifting her gaze towards Lord Harrington, Amelia asked, “Are you ready to depart, my lord?”
“Yes,” he answered with a puzzled expression, “if you are, Miss Wright.”
As she walked out of the cottage, Amelia felt a sense of dread wash over her. Would Aunt Nellie be furious that she had performed a c-section? After all, according to her medical books, the first known instance of a British surgeon performing the surgery with both mother and child surviving was in 1826.
Her steps faltered. Did her actions just alter the course of history?
She allowed Lord Harrington to assist her into the carriage. “Thank you,” she murmured.
As the coachman guided the horses back towards Belmont Manor, Harrington gave Amelia only side-long glances. She was relieved that he didn’t attempt to start a conversation with her, and simply stared out into the darkness in silence. Emotionally, she was exhausted, and she was trying to imagine what Aunt Nellie would do when she told her what had transpired at the cottage. What if Aunt Nellie zapped her with her magic, and she was forced to live the rest of her life as a bug?
Harrington’s voice broke into her thoughts. “I know I did not express myself adequately back there, but I am impressed that you saved Mrs. Stevens and her child.”
“Thank you, Lord Harrington,” she said, giving him a tentative smile.
Leaning back, he put his right arm on the back of the bench, shifting his body towards her. “How did you learn to perform a…”
“Cesarean delivery.”
“I am unfamiliar with that term,” he admitted with a chuckle. “Did you assist your father with these types of surgeries?”
She wanted to say, no, I went to medical school, and I am a doctor in the year 2018. Instead, she replied, “I have trained with the best.”
Lord Harrington smiled sadly. “I wish that you’d been here to save my Agnes.”
“Forgive me if I’m intruding, but what were the circumstances of her death?”
Removing his arm from behind Amelia, he clasped his hands tightly together. “The same as Mrs. Stevens. Marian’s head didn’t come first.” His words were so quiet that Amelia almost didn’t hear him.
“Did Agnes get to see Marian before she died?”
He sho
ok his head. “After the delivery, Agnes was too exhausted to even keep her eyes open.”
Amelia gently placed her hand on the sleeve of his riding coat. As he brought his gaze up to meet hers, she hoped that her next words would convey the depths of her sympathies for him. “I am so sorry for your loss. It sounds like Agnes was an incredible woman.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners as sadness marred his features. “I believe you could have saved her,” he said, his voice hitching with emotion.
It was the last thing spoken between them as they drove back to Twickenham Manor.
The following morning, Amelia placed her hand on the door handle, debating about just turning around and running far, far away. She had tossed and turned all night in bed as she thought about Aunt Nellie’s possible reproach.
Perhaps she could just write a letter and slip it under the door. She sighed. When did she grow so spineless? Oh well, this conversation had to happen, she knew. Taking a deep breath to gather her courage, she pushed open Aunt Nellie’s study door.
“Good morning, Aunt Nellie,” she said with far too much effort.
Aunt Nellie lowered the paper that she was reading and gestured to a chair. “Please sit, Amelia. We haven’t had a chance to discuss your evening with Lord Harrington. Marie mentioned the dress that you were wearing last night was ruined,” Aunt Nellie stated as she leaned back in her chair, her expression giving nothing away. “Would you mind explaining how so much blood got onto a very expensive gown?”
Gnawing her bottom lip, Amelia ventured, “I may have broken the space-time continuum.”
Putting her elbows onto her desk, Aunt Nellie rested her chin in her hands. “Oh, dear. I think you’d better start at the beginning. This sounds like a fantastical story.”
Attempting to buy herself some additional time, Amelia smoothed out her pale blue day dress. “After the picnic, Lord Harrington escorted me to his estate, and we played games with his lovely daughter, Marian.” Her eyes roamed the room as she took in all the shelving that contained piles and piles of books. “After playing on the lawn, we had a delicious dinner. We discussed…”