One Christmas Knight

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One Christmas Knight Page 16

by Kathleen Creighton


  Sweating and muttering furiously, she subsided, leaving him bewildered, to ponder what she could possibly have meant by such a statement. He could think of a couple of possible explanations, none of which made him feel good. The unanswered questions sat in his chest like an anvil.

  After that, when the contractions got to be too much for her, he told her to think of her baby. Her sweet, precious baby boy, and how good it was going to be to hold him in her arms soon. Think of that, he told her. Don’t think about the contraction. Think of your baby.

  Himself he told to think of nothing at all.

  It seemed to Mirabella as though she’d been existing in a nightmare-or rather, in a sort of twilight world between wide-awake and dreaming. What it reminded her of was a time long ago in her childhood-the last and possibly the only time in her life that she’d been sick. Really sick. She remembered being in bed, having a terrible, terrible headache that seemed to go on and on. A second had seemed like an hour when it was happening, but then she would find that hours had passed in what she’d thought were only seconds. She remembered hearing people talk to her, hearing herself answer, knowing she was doing things-drinking water, taking medicine, eating soup, and getting up, trembling, to go to the bathroom-but having no real control over anything that happened to her. Right up until the moment when she’d opened her eyes, gazed into her parents’ worried faces and said in a loud, clear voice, “I want waffles.”

  She was in the waning moments of a contraction, coming down the back side of the mountain-that had been Jimmy Joe’s idea, those mountains. How many more of them were there, she wondered, before she reached the top? Hundreds, probably. Hundreds and hundreds.

  She felt an urge to hiccup, or perhaps to burp. But when she gave in to it, the ripples in her stomach seemed to want to go down toward her pelvis, rather than up toward her throat. “Oh,” she said, startled.

  “I want to push,” she announced.

  Jimmy Joe’s face hovered above her. He looked exhausted. “Well, that’s good,” he said huskily, smoothing back her hair. “Real good. Looks like you’re gonna be havin’ a baby pretty soon.”

  For some reason he looked much older than she remembered-at least ten years older. She reached up to touch his face, trying to rub away a deep crease that had appeared near the corner of his mouth. With deep pity she said, “Oh, no, not yet. I still have all those mountains to climb. Lots and lots of mountains…”

  There it was again-that strange, upside-down hiccup.

  “No more mountains, Marybell.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but instead of words, what came out was a low, growling sound. Was that her?

  “That’s it, you just go right ahead and push.”

  “I’m not…pushing,” she gasped stubbornly. “Can’t have this baby yet. Still…have…mountains…oh!”

  “No more mountains.” She felt Jimmy Joe’s body behind her, lifting and supporting her. “Just a great big sheer rock cliff. Now you gotta pull yourself up to the top, you hear? Pull yourself up, hand over hand, one pull at a time… Way to go…good girl. Now you rest a minute…just rest…”

  Rest? That’s easy for you to say, she thought resentfully. First all those mountains, and now he wanted her to pull herself up a cliff? What kind of a superwoman did he think she was? Here, her body was trying its best to turn itself wrongside out, and on top of that, now somebody-some strange man with a Texas accent-was yelling at her to, “Come in…come in!”

  Jimmy Joe jumped up like he’d sat on a pinecone. Laying Mirabella back against the pillows as gently as he could, he lunged for the CB mike and got his thumb on the button.

  “I’m readin’ you loud and clear!” he shouted. “Come on back.”

  “Ah…this the fella with the lady havin’ a baby, out there on the interstate?”

  “That’s me!” yelled Jimmy Joe. “Sure am glad to hear from you.” And that, he thought, had to be the biggest understatement he’d ever uttered in his life. He was so relieved, his insides felt like jelly. “Hey, where are you? Baby’s on its way. Right now. We could sure use some help!”

  “Ah…well, we’re gon’ try our best. Listen, I got me a gas station over here, just west of Vega-my power and phone’s been out pert’ near all day, just come back on a little while ago, an’ looks like it’s a good thing it did. Didn’t have my radio on, it bein’ Christmas Eve, an’ all. Anyways, I got a telephone call from the state police. They got a chopper stand-in’ by, but they not gonna be able to get it in the air until the weather clears. So what they done is, they got me patched through to the hospital in Amarillo. Got a doctor here on the line right now. Wants to know how far along she is.”

  With the realization that that excited voice on the radio was all the help he was going to get, Jimmy Joe felt the terrifying sense of responsibility settle once more onto his shoulders. He closed his eyes briefly, then shrugged it off and spoke into the mike with a calm and confidence he was a long way from feeling. “She’s wantin’ to push. Ask the doc if it’s okay to let her, or if she ought to be pantin’, or something.”

  There was a pause, then, “Doc says don’t let ‘er pant, it’ll just wear her out. Says, let her push, but not too hard. Don’t let ’er hold her breath, or turn purple, he says. Just little pushes, if, ah…if that’s what her body wants to do.”

  “Gotcha,” said Jimmy Joe, with a glance over at Mirabella, who looked as if she was trying to lift the back end of a truck. He was about to put the mike down and get over to her when the voice spoke again.

  “Uh…the doc here’s got a couple questions for ya. Wants to know, can you see the baby’s head yet?”

  Jimmy Joe’s stomach gave a lurch and nearly jumped into his throat. He broke out in a cold sweat and just did manage to mumble, “Don’t know… I’m gonna have to get back to you on that.”

  “Okay…he says check and tell him what you see. Then he wants to know if you’ve got somethin’ to catch the baby with.”

  “Yeah,” said Jimmy Joe, “I got that.” He took a deep breath and felt better. “Tell him I think I’ve got everything ready. Got plenty of clean towels. Got a pretty good first-aid kit-antiseptic and bandages, scissors, stuff like that. Ask him if there’s anything else I oughta have.” Besides an ambulance and a couple of experienced paramedics, he thought.

  There was another pause. “Doc says sounds like you got it pretty well covered. Wants you to check her and get back to him.”

  “Right… Ten-four.” He pulled the mike cord out as far as it would go and draped it over the back of the seat so he would have it within arm’s reach when he needed it, then eased himself back into the sleeper and sat down on the bed beside Mirabella. “How you doin’?” he asked, his throat husky.

  She rested, propped on both elbows, and glared at him. “How do you think I’m doing?”

  “Guess you heard all that.” She nodded, watching him. “I’m gonna have to look.” And again she nodded.

  And then she closed her eyes and groaned, “Well…be quick about it, dammit!” as another powerful contraction overtook her.

  Funny, he’d been dreading that moment so. But she didn’t seem to mind it when he gently and carefully drew her nightgown up and eased her legs apart-barely seemed aware of him at all, in fact. Instincts a lot more compelling than modesty were driving her now.

  A moment later he was back on the radio, his heart beating like a jackhammer. “Can’t see anything yet,” he panted. Behind him, all inhibitions apparently forgotten, Mirabella was making all the noise he could ever have wanted, and more.

  Pause. “Okay, doc says get back to him when you see the head. Oh-and he says, don’t let her lie on her back. Says you should get her as upright as possible-get gravity workin’ for you.”

  “Right.” Back to Mirabella. He settled himself behind her, supporting her with his body, and whispered in her ear, “You’re doin’ fine, darlin’. Just got a little bit more work to do… That’s right…just a little bit more.”


  How much more could she do? he wondered. He’d never in his life seen anybody work so hard. Her hair was soaking wet with sweat, and he knew his arms would bear the imprint of her fingers for a long time to come. He began to get scared again. It seemed such an impossible thing she was trying to do, and it didn’t do any good at all to remind himself that it had been done a few billion times before. What if she couldn’t do it? What if…

  And then…there it was.

  “I see it!” he shouted into the mike. “I can see the head.” He was laughing, crying a little, too, maybe. Trying to hold on to the mike and Mirabella at the same time.

  “Doc says, you sure it’s the head?”

  “Yes, I’m sure… Hey, darlin’, you hear that? We got a head!”

  “I…hear…you!”

  “Doc wants to know, is it facin’ up or down?”

  “Can’t tell yet… One more push, darlin’…one more…one more…”

  “If you…say that…one more time…I’ll kill youl”

  “Down! It’s facing down!”

  “Doc says-”

  “No, wait-it’s turning! It’s turning to one side!”

  “Doc says that’s okay-that’s good.”

  “One more…”

  I will kill him, Mirabella thought. If I survive this.

  She was on fire. Burning. Splitting in half.

  And then-suddenly there was relief.

  “The head’s out! Darlin’, you hear that? The head’s out!”

  I know…

  “Just a little bit more-let’s get the shoulders out-come on, now, one more good one…”

  One more…one more…

  “Doc says you gotta clear the airways!”

  Silence.

  “Hey-what’s happenin’ out there? Talk to me…talk to me!”

  What’s happening? Jimmy Joe? Oh, God…my baby…

  And then she heard it. A faint gurgling, then a tiny, rasping cry. As the cry grew louder and stronger, a sob struggled up through her exhausted body. More sobs…laughter and sobs. She struggled to sit up, reaching for the purplish, squinting thing in Jimmy Joe’s hands.

  It was so tiny, slippery wet, all waving arms and frantic wails. He held it for a moment, then laid it carefully, almost reverently on her belly. She touched it-oh, God, what an incredible thing! Soothed and cradled it with her hands. And the wails quieted to soft mewings.

  Jimmy Joe knelt beside her, and she felt his body quaking as his arms came around her, helping her, holding her up so she could see better.

  “Merry Christmas,” he whispered brokenly. “Say hello to your baby girl.”

  Chapter 11

  “Okay, big truck, ya missed me… Come on back” “Thank ya kindly… Think I’ll stay out here awhile.”

  1-40-Texas

  “I can’t believe it,” Mirabella whispered as she gazed down at her daughter’s tiny head, dwarfed by the breast she was so eagerly nuzzling-so tiny and yet, so utterly perfect. “A girl…”

  She thought of the waiting nursery she’d decorated in primary colors and Disney characters. Thank God she didn’t believe in genderizing, and had always hated pastels. But still…

  She shook her head and laughed softly. “Here, all this time I’d been planning on a boy-”

  “Yeah, well, my daddy had a saying,” Jimmy Joe murmured, lightly stroking the baby’s head with a wondering finger. “You want to make God laugh?” He glanced up at her and for the first time in a long time she saw his dimple. “Just. make a plan.”

  “Huh,” said Mirabella absently, and smiled. She wondered briefly that it didn’t seem at all strange to her, that juxtaposition of her baby’s head, her naked breast, and Jimmy Joe’s hand, or even that it had been he who’d shown her how to get the baby to nurse. But then it was a night for wonders.

  She didn’t remember very much about the immediate aftermath of her baby’s birth. In a fog of exhaustion, exhilaration and awe, she’d been only dimly aware of Jimmy Joe…tying and cutting the cord, wrapping the baby in one of his own shirts, following instructions shouted over the radio. She thought there’d been some bad moments when he’d worried about bleeding, and it seemed to her that was when the voice on the radio had told him to try to start the baby nursing. And he’d shown her how, by tickling one tiny cheek so that the baby had turned her mouth instinctively, like a baby bird, toward the waiting nipple.

  Then Mirabella had felt the most amazing, excruciating tingling sensations, tingles that radiated from her nipples outward and through her entire body. There had been more contractions, but not too terrible or lasting too long. The placenta had been delivered, the bleeding stopped, and soon after that the voice on the radio had gone away. She’d been vaguely aware of someone wrapping her in clean towels and warm blankets, of her sweat-damp nightshirt being pulled gently over her head, and her arms being guided into the sleeves of a warm flannel shirt. How strange and wonderful it had felt to be fussed over and coddled.

  She remembered saying, “Look at us-we match,” gazing at the incredibly beautiful, absolutely perfect little face nestled in a bunting of farmer’s plaid and laughing tearfully, and that Jimmy Joe had laughed too, the same way, and had kissed her on the tip of her nose.

  But she’d begun to shiver uncontrollably then, in spite of the warm shirt and all the quilts and blankets he’d been able to pile on her. So he’d stretched out on the bed and wrapped his arms around her and held her until the shivering quieted.

  “Rest,” he’d crooned to her, as if she were a baby. “Rest now.”

  Exhausted as she was, she’d been too full of fear and wonder to rest, afraid to take her eyes from her tiny daughter even for a moment. “I can’t believe it,” she’d said, and was still saying. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Yeah,” said Jimmy Joe in a groggy drawl, “I don’t think Eric is gonna suit ’er. Guess you’re gonna have to call her Erica.”

  Mirabella glanced at him, but he was still gazing down at his finger, watching it brush back and forth across the baby’s downy head. She could see his wavy, dark-blond hair and matching eyebrows, his thoughtfully furrowed brow and dark cresents of eyelashes, the strong, straight bridge of his nose. Lips that were curved in an utterly besotted smile. And suddenly her chest seemed to swell, and for the first time in her life she understood what the phrase, “a full heart” meant. Her heart was so full she felt as if it would burst. So full it had to overflow-with the tears she’d been saving all her life and now seemed to have in endless supply.

  “No.” She paused and drew a quivering breath. “Her name is Amy.” There was a moment of utter stillness, and then through a rainbow shimmer she watched his lips tighten and his lashes quickly drop in a vain attempt to hide the shine of moisture that had caught him unawares. Shaking with emotion, she leaned across the tiny bundle in her arms to kiss his temple, and then with her lips against his hair, to finish in a choked whisper, “Amy…Jo.”

  It was, finally, too much for Jimmy Joe. Unlike most Southern-raised boys, he’d never been indoctrinated with the taboos against men’s tears; his uppity mama’s opinions had been every bit as radical on the subject of rights and privileges for the male of the species as they were for her own sex. But he’d grown up in the real word, after all, and while he wasn’t ashamed to shed a tear in private if the occasion warranted, breaking down and crying like a baby wasn’t something he enjoyed, or felt comfortable doing in front of other people. The events of the night had already stretched the limits of his self-control just about to the breaking point; dazed and raw, he’d been sagging on the ropes trying to catch his second wind. And now this. He felt as if he’d suddenly been stripped naked. Enough! he wanted to cry. Enough!

  For a few moments he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, just sat rigid and vibrating with his arms locked in a protective circle around Mirabella and her baby, with Mirabella’s cheek pressed tight against his forehead. But no male animal tolerates such vulnerability for long. Self-preservation messages sang along his
nerves and shouted in his brain: Protect yourself! Take cover! Flee!

  Heart hammering, muscles surging, he “fled” to the limits of available space, which in his case was only as far as the front of the cab-to his own realm, his domain, where he’d always been in supreme control-to his driver’s seat. But it was enough. In that familiar space he felt his heartbeat slow and his panicked breathing ease, and a sense of humility and calm settled warm and soft around his shoulders. He looked over at Mirabella, propped upon the pillows, eyes shining in her pale face like silver stars as she gazed back at him, then down at the baby cradled against her breast. He thought he’d never seen such a beautiful sight in all his life. The Madonna herself couldn’t have looked so lovely.

  He huffed out air, smiled sheepishly and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Wow,” he said. “Amy, huh?” And then again, “Wow.”

  “Would you like to hold her?” she asked softly.

  His heart stumbled; his chest quaked. He nodded.

  She leaned forward, holding the baby toward him in her outstretched arms, swaddled in his own favorite, his very softest blue plaid flannel shirt. He took her like the precious gift she was, with suspended breath, with gratitude and awe, and held her up so he could see her face-to-face…eye-to-eye. “Hello, Amy Jo,” he whispered. Welcome.

  She gazed back at him with her unfocused newborn’s stare, one tiny fist curling and uncurling against one perfect, petallike cheek. And suddenly it seemed to Jimmy Joe that he heard tiny, silvery tinklings and loud, rumbling crashes, the sounds of things falling and breaking all around him. Soft and miraculous as the sound of raindrops falling on flower petals-the sound of a heart falling in love. Mighty and powerful as an avalanche-the sound of the earth shifting beneath his feet, of his life changing forever.

  My God, he thought. My God.

  He thought how different this was from the way he’d felt when he’d first set eyes on his son, J.J. He’d been so proud, of course. Sorry he hadn’t been there to see him born. And relieved the baby was healthy and strong, glad his own long vigil was finally over, hopeful Patti would stay off the dope this time, and sad because deep in his heart he’d known she wouldn’t. It was only later that he’d come to love that little boy more than his own life.

 

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