“Are you still praying?” Heather asked.
“Yea.” Sophrena opened her eyes and looked at Heather as the rising bell began to ring. “For you and for your baby.”
“Would you pray for Gideon too?”
Sophrena bent her head and prayed for this man she did not know but who she often saw reflected in the love on Heather’s face.
When she looked up, Heather said, “Thank you, Aunt Sophre . . .” She didn’t finish her word as she stiffened when a new pain grabbed her.
Sophrena scrambled to her feet and held Heather’s hands until her breath came easier once more. She smoothed the hair back from the girl’s face and had the strongest desire to kiss her forehead like a mother kissing a child’s bump to make it better. But this wasn’t some little bump or scrape. This was the battle for new life and it had only just begun.
“I am going for Brother Kenton.”
The girl caught her sleeve as she started to turn from the bed. “Don’t leave me, Aunt Sophrena. I fear being alone.”
“But he will know what to do.” Sophrena felt so helpless. She knew nothing about birthing babies.
“He will come after the morning meal. He always does. Besides, there is nothing he can do for these pains. It is as it must be. From pain comes joy.”
22
By the time the fog began to lift, Gideon’s company was in position. The men crouched down behind whatever cover they could find and waited for those in command to give the signal. It was the time Gideon hated the most. That time before the battle began when a man could do nothing but wait. And think about running into enemy fire.
Jake would tell him to stop thinking and start praying. Down the line from him, that would be what Jake was doing. He grabbed onto the Lord any chance he got. Gideon hoped he was praying for him too, because prayer words didn’t come easy for Gideon. He was better at coasting along on the prayers of others.
Not that he didn’t believe. He did. What man could deny God while standing at the bottom of a hill, knowing men at the top were ready to shoot him? A man like that might be stepping over into eternity at the next sound of gunfire.
As if he’d summoned it, a cannon boom pounded against his ears. Not too close. On another flank of the attack. But a signal of what was to come.
Heather’s face rose up in front of his eyes. Back at her home, she was waiting too. For the baby. For him.
The pains grabbed Heather and shook her like a cat grabbing a mouse, squeezing life out of the poor creature, but then when the mouse could bear no more, turning loose to allow it to breathe again. The pains took her into another world. A place where nothing was real except the pain. A wave washing over her and then receding and letting those beside her bed come back into focus.
Dear Sophrena kept dabbing Heather’s face with a damp cloth. She looked so frightened that Heather did her best to force a smile out onto her face each time the grip of the pains left her. Brother Kenton was there too. He’d come after the morning meal just as she’d told Sophrena he would. He measured the time between the contractions and smiled with great cheer as he told her everything was as it should be.
He went to see to his other patients even though Sophrena argued against him leaving. He did his best to reassure her. “Babies, especially first babies, are often slow to make their way into the world. I will be back in plenty of time.”
“But I won’t know what to do.” Sophrena’s voice had an edge of panic that Heather never thought to hear from her. She always seemed calm and in control, but now she was grasping at the doctor’s sleeve to keep him from going.
“Calm yourself, Sister Sophrena. The baby and the mother do all the work. We that are with her simply watch and wait.” He patted her hand and bent down to smile directly into Sophrena’s face. “I will bring you a calming brew. An herbal tea for the both of you.”
He had brought the tea, but whether it calmed Sophrena, Heather couldn’t say. It had done nothing for her. But she wasn’t nervous, simply becoming very tired. The pains mashed her down into the bed until at times she thought she might be pushed through it to the floor.
Float with the pain. She remembered Mrs. Saunders telling her mother that during her struggle birthing Jimmy. Breathe steady in and out and accept the pain. Don’t fight it. Heather tried, but the pain stole her breath until she had to gasp as black closed in around her.
Breathe. She kept hearing that word and she wasn’t sure if it was in her mind or if Sophrena was whispering it to her. Breathe. Brother Kenton’s voice was there too. Breathe. She could no longer see him smile. She thought others came and went, but she couldn’t be sure if she’d really seen them or only imagined them there. All telling her to breathe. Had Joseph told Mary that in the stable that Christmas night or perhaps angels had gathered round her to whisper encouraging words into her ears as the baby Jesus was born?
Heather thought she heard her mother’s voice and felt her work-roughened hand grasping hers. She slipped into a gray world of nothing but pain and the need to draw breath. Voices circled in the air above her. Her mother calling her in to supper. Her father reading the Bible on Sundays, his deep voice adding power to the words. Gideon’s laugh and whispered words of love. Simon daring her to climb higher. Lucas asking for a Christmas baby. A soldier screaming in the night after a battle. Or maybe that was her screaming while Sophrena and Brother Kenton told her to breathe.
Sophrena didn’t know when she’d been more frightened, but she was doing her best to hide it from Heather as she whispered soothing words to her. Words she wasn’t sure the girl even heard. Her suffering was worse than anything Sophrena could have imagined.
Brother Kenton said first babies sometimes came hard, but as the hours ticked past, the smile disappeared from his face. He too began to mouth silent prayers as he gently felt Heather’s abdomen.
“The baby is turned wrong,” he said. “A difficult way to bring a child into the world.”
“Can’t you do anything?” Sophrena asked.
“Nay,” he said, his face grim. “No more than you. Naught but pray.”
So they knelt together and prayed. They didn’t touch, not as he had touched her in such a natural way earlier as he tried to comfort her distress. Now their distress united them, and their prayers touched and mingled in the air as silently they begged for the Lord’s mercy on this mother and child.
At last the order came to charge the Rebel’s positions. Gideon scurried from cover to cover and then, when the cover was gone, followed the rest of the troops on toward the Confederate position. A man in front of him fell. Gideon kept going. There was no choice. Not now. Not once the battle commenced. A soldier fired his gun and reloaded. A soldier attacked where the generals pointed. And some soldiers fell.
The Rebels broke and began retreating toward the Granny Smith Turnpike. Gideon and the men around him chased after them. But a retreat didn’t always mean the other side was giving up, just falling back to better ground. Bullets kept flying. Cannons continued to belch out their brand of death, with the noise deafening the soldiers to the screams of the injured. Maybe it was better that way. A man couldn’t stop to help a friend in the midst of the fighting. He could only promise in his heart to come back after the battle was over—if no bullet found him first.
The sun was sinking. Darkness would end the day’s fighting. The captain was motioning the men back. The Confederates had made it to the other side of the pike where they’d be digging in for the battle to commence the next day.
Gideon blew out a long breath of air. He’d made it through another battle. He looked around to see if Jake was still standing too and was relieved to see the big man not far from his side. He smiled, thinking how Jake would tell him he’d loaned him the luck of the Irish or even better, prayed him through yet again.
But the day hadn’t ended. Jake let out a yell and ran toward Gideon. Not ten feet away, one of the Rebels was getting to his feet. With the terrible Rebel cry, he fired his gun directly at Gid
eon, but Jake got there first, his cry as spine chilling as the Rebel’s. Gideon crashed to the ground, Jake on top of him. More shots fired, taking down the Rebel, but it was too late for Jake. The bullet had found its mark.
The captain and Gideon carried Jake back to where the company threw up a quick camp. Jake was still breathing, but they feared he wouldn’t be for long.
A doctor came, gave him something to dull the pain, and said if he was still alive at daybreak to bring him to the field hospital.
Gideon sat beside him. Drawing breath because of this man, his friend. No greater love hath any man than to lay down his life for his brother. Would he have done the same for Jake?
They built a little fire to keep Jake warm. Gideon wet his handkerchief and kept sponging off his friend’s face as the man drifted in and out of consciousness. But in the darkest hours of the night, Jake’s eyes opened and he stared straight up at Gideon.
“I told you I’d make sure you got home to see that baby.”
“You did.” Gideon choked back tears and managed a smile. There was no need telling Jake the battle would start up again at daylight. What would he do without Jake?
“Who’d a thought a Johnny Reb would have wanted you dead that bad? He could have waited and crawled off to fight another day. Now we’re both dead.”
“You’re not dead,” Gideon said.
“The same as, but don’t you worry for me, lad. I’ve done glimpsed what’s ahead and seen my sweet Irene there waiting for me. And she looked to be holding that wee one I lost along with her.” A smile slipped across Jake’s face before the pain made him wince again.
“Hang in here, Jake. The morning’s coming.”
“That it is, lad. That it is.” A peaceful smile spread across Jake’s face. “Love that sweet babe of yours when he comes.”
“I’ll name him Jacob. After you.” Gideon gripped Jake’s hand and willed him to keep breathing.
“What if your pretty washerwoman has a girl?” Jake’s smile got wider.
“Even then,” Gideon promised.
“A girl named Jake.” He laughed a little as he closed his eyes. “That would be something. Best say a prayer for a boy.”
Jake passed as the first fingers of dawn began to lighten the eastern sky. Gideon covered him with his army blanket and got ready to follow the captain back out to attack the Confederate line. It was what soldiers did.
Sophrena prayed through the night. Brother Kenton stayed with them, doing his best to ease Heather’s pain with potions he dribbled down her throat. The girl hardly seemed aware of anything around her and often cried out for her mother.
Eldress Corinne came and prayed over her. She left to gather some of the Believers for more prayer. Eldress Lilith came too, stood over Heather, and watched her desperate struggle. “Her sin must have been great to be so punished.”
Sophrena pulled in a breath. “She is little more than a child who fell in love the worldly way. Brother Kenton says the baby is large and turned wrong.” Brother Kenton had gone for more herbal potions.
“Yea, the marital union can bring much sorrow.”
“You shouldn’t speak so where she can hear you.” Sophrena stood up and stared at the eldress. “If you have no sympathy in your heart for our little sister, then it would have been better for you to stay away.”
“Worldly thoughts are leading you into sin, my sister. I only speak the truth as Mother Ann would.” Eldress Lilith’s eyes narrowed on Sophrena. “You will have much to ask forgiveness for on Sacrifice Day.”
“I will not be the only one who stands in need of forgiveness.” Sophrena met her eyes without flinching.
The eldress jabbed a finger toward Sophrena. “I will expect your confession on the morrow.”
“Yea, I will have much to confess.” Sophrena turned away from the eldress back to Heather. She had no time for the woman’s words. Not now. Not with Heather needing her every thought and prayer.
At last those prayers were answered. Brother Kenton brought Sister Doreen back to the cabin with him. “She knows about babies,” he said.
“That I do,” Sister Doreen said matter-of-factly. “Helped many a baby make his way into the world. Including nine of my own. I know the words to talk her through this and the ways to make it easier.”
At her instructions, they elevated the head of the bed to let the natural pull of the earth help. Then she pushed Heather’s knees up to make a tent of the sheet over her. “Brother Kenton, you be ready to assist the baby. It could be he will need air very quickly. You hold her hands, Sister Sophrena, and send her as much strength as you possibly can. I am going to be doing the same.”
She leaned over close to Heather’s ear and began talking so softly Sophrena could only catch a word now and again, but as if by some prayerful miracle, Heather’s body visibly relaxed. She began breathing in and out without gasping for air as she had been doing.
Sister Doreen glanced toward Brother Kenton. “Are you ready, Brother? Do you see the baby coming? Remember, you must be quick with your gentle help.”
“Maybe you should do it, Sister Doreen,” he said.
“Nay, you are skilled. Simply out of practice.” She turned back to Heather. “Now, child, it is time. The Lord is going to help you push this baby out. Do you believe that?”
“Yes.” Heather murmured her first understandable words for hours. “The Lord is my shepherd.”
“And he loves you. And your baby. Now push, my child. Bring this baby into the world where you can hold him.”
She gripped Sophrena’s hands so tightly her nails cut into the skin of Sophrena’s palms as she pushed.
“Good,” Sister Doreen said. “This time scream as you push. It is a natural thing. I will scream with you.”
Their screams bounced off the walls, but it was a different scream than those that had escaped Heather earlier. These screams had victory in them.
“He’s coming,” Brother Kenton said. “One more push and I will bring him into the world.”
The first rays of the sun pushed through the window as Brother Kenton shouted. “A boy. You have a boy, Sister Heather. A fine boy.”
And then the baby cried. Sophrena had never heard a more beautiful sound. Brother Kenton laid the baby on Heather’s stomach as he cut the cord.
“Wrap the child in a towel and bring him to his mother,” Sister Doreen ordered.
Brother Kenton handed the baby to Sophrena, who had a towel ready. The joy in the doctor’s eyes matched that flooding through Sophrena. As she gently wrapped the towel around the baby, she looked down into his round, wrinkled face, his mouth quivering as he cried, and she loved him at once. There was no sin in this child. This was life.
23
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.
The pain was like a live thing. She tried to float with it, but it became a raging torrent throwing her against rocks and pounding her down under the waves of blackness. It conquered her. Completely. She surrendered to it, and when she did, she stepped beyond her body into a different realm.
Her mother was there, reaching for her. “Am I dying?” The words rose from somewhere deep within her.
“Nay, nay.” The voice pulled her back. Not her mother’s voice, but one she had to heed.
The voice demanded she turn loose of the pain. Demanded she step back from the void swallowing her and do as the voice said. Demanded that she push her baby out into the world.
A baby’s cry came through the pain. Her baby’s cry. The shadows had tried to swallow her, but she’d ridden out the pain. She’d come through the journey.
Somebody was sponging off her face. Not Sophrena. Doreen. The little woman was leaning over her, speaking, forcing her to come up out of the waters and speak to her.
“Sister Heather, awake for your child. You have done well. He’s a fine boy. Sister Sophrena brings him to you.”
Heather tried to moisten her lips, but her mouth was too dry. Doreen held a moi
st cloth to her lips. “Easy, child. The worst is over. You must keep breathing and heal. The joy’s begun.”
“Joy.” Heather managed to get that word out. She forced open her eyes.
Sophrena was there over her, holding a bundle with the dark crown of a tiny head peeking out of the blanket. She placed the baby in the crook of Heather’s arm with tears streaming down her cheeks, but her face was glowing.
“Praise God!” Sophrena said softly. “He’s so very beautiful.”
Behind Sophrena, the doctor was smiling as he said, “A fine boy, Sister Heather. A fine boy.”
And he was. Fine. Beautiful. Heather peered down into the red face of her baby and love melted her heart. She peeled the blanket back away from his chin and he pushed out his tiny hand, fingers spread wide as he continued to cry, mouth wide open, small tongue quivering with his distress.
“Shh, little one,” she crooned. “You are here. Safe with us.” She stroked his cheek in a gentle caress. Her baby. Gideon’s baby.
He blinked and his crying stopped with her touch, and somehow new love flowed into a heart she thought had no room for more.
Had Mary felt the same looking down at the Christ child all those years ago? She had known her child was a miracle. She had spoken to angels and yet that first moment of looking at her baby, did she see only the miracle of a child she’d loved at his first quickening in her womb? Did all mothers feel the same? Each child a miracle after their trip through the valley of the shadow of death into a world of light and air. A world that might demand much from them.
As Mary surely hadn’t foreseen the path her son would have to travel, Heather could not know the future of this, her child she held. All she could hold onto was the moment.
The moment was good. If only Gideon were there beside her to peer down at this result of their love.
Christmas at Harmony Hill Page 14