“What is it?” she asked. “Have we left something we need at home?”
“Master Worthington, it is,” Catherine said, “and his long memory that attached to an ancient argument that would have him place his daughter in the hands of Goody Blodgett.”
“Oh, I see,” Phyllis said, and Catherine knew that in this instance, her sometimes slow thinking servant was right with her, as she usually was on questions of gender.
“Go on, with you,” Catherine said, “Felicity and her babe cannot wait for us.”
Phyllis strode ahead, and Catherine followed. Just as they turned into the way leading to the Rowlands’ house, they were overtaken by another woman whose labored breathing evidenced the haste with which she had been hurrying.
“And is it you Catherine?” she asked.
Catherine turned to face Alice Worthington.
“Indeed, it is, Alice. Your son-in-law has just summoned us, and so we are here.”
“And glad I am.”
“I come in opposition to your husband’s desires,” Catherine said.
Mistress Worthington shook her head slowly up and down.
“Aye, but he is not birthing a babe, and you know my daughter.”
“That I do, and I trust I am prepared to help her.”
“With the Lord’s help,” Mistress Worthington said, “she will not suffer overmuch.”
Catherine started to walk again, when she realized that Mistress Worthington was not following.
“I will come by and by,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. Catherine looked in that direction and saw the narrow shouldered shape of a man making his way toward them. He nodded as he passed, and Mistress Worthington sighed. “Samuel comes soon,“ she said. “I will wait a little for him.”
Catherine followed Phyllis to the door, which opened before she could knock on it. Daniel stepped aside to let them into a small front room. A servant girl stood uncomfortably by his side, unsure what to do as her master had pre-empted her responsibility to greet their guests. She bowed her head, and when Daniel was unable to do more than mumble something unintelligible, the girl pointed to a room to the left from which now could be heard a continuous but low moaning.
To the right was another small room, which apparently was going to be the nursery, for it contained a simple rope bed and a cradle. A candle burned on a table next to the bed, on which the bedclothes were rumpled, and judging from the tussled hair and half vacant eyes of the servant girl she had recently been roused, no doubt by Felicity’s moaning as her labor began. Catherine motioned Daniel into that room.
“Sit you down to rest in there,” she said. “There is no more you can do, and your girl will be needed to attend your wife. She will not be using that bed until after your babe is born, so now get you there.”
The young man, however, did not immediately move.
“She is calling for you and her mother.”
“Well, I am here. I can not vouch for Alice, but I do believe she will be here shortly.”
“I was packed to join Nathaniel,” Daniel said, “but then her time came.”
Catherine followed the non-sequitur.
“Your place is here with Felicity,” she said.
Daniel nodded and walked into the room and sat down on the servant girl’s bed. He ran his hand over the bedclothes, as if to see if they were still warm. When he seemed settled, Catherine strode past the servant girl, and motioned for Phyllis to follow her into the room in which Felicity Rowland lay in her bed, her face ashen, her lips quivering, and her body tensed as though to ward off the next pain.
Goody Blodgett, a plump woman of thirty, sat on a stool next to the bed and stroked Felicity’s cheek while making soft cooing sounds. She looked up at Catherine with an expression of perplexed concern on her face.
“I have been here this last hour,” she said. “She looked like she would be quick, but then . . .” she shrugged, “I am right glad that you are here, Mistress Williams.”
Catherine placed one hand on the young woman’s forehead, and ran the other over the swollen belly, noting how low the babe seemed to be. She waited for a contraction, but none after ten minutes none came.
“Have the pains stopped, then?” she asked.
Felicity shook her head up and down.
“How long?” Catherine asked.
Felicity shrugged.
“It was when I sat down next to her that everything stopped,” Goody Blodgett said.
Catherine pointed to the corner of the room.
“Put the stool there, Phyllis,” she said. “We will not be needing it for some time. Perhaps you and the girl can go into the kitchen and see what there is for us.”
“I fear, Catherine,” Felicity said. She raised her self and leaned on her elbow as she looked past Catherine to the door. “And my mother?”
“Soon,” Catherine replied.
“The pains began,” Felicity said, “and they hurt so bad. Daniel could not bear to look at me, and he ran out not knowing where he went. I sent him to get mother and you, but he came back with Goody Blodgett, and she it was who sent him out again for you.”
Catherine glanced at Goody Blodgett who nodded her assent.
“You understand,” Catherine said, “that Felicity is comfortable with me here.”
Goody Blodgett frowned.
“So she has said to me.”
“I will need your help,” Catherine said.
“Master Worthington himself . . .” Goody Blodgett said.
“If it is the fee you are after, you can have it,” Catherine said.
Goody Blodgett’s face relaxed.
“You know my Jacob has been sick,” she said.
“I do indeed,” Catherine replied. She turned to Felicity.
“Tell us about your pains.”
Felicity winced at the memory.
“So bad,” she said, “so bad.”
“Where?” Catherine asked.
The question seemed to perplex Felicity as though she had not located them before.
“Why here, mostly,” she said, pointing to the base of her spine.
“Ah,” Catherine replied, “so is that the way of it.”
“Yes,” Felicity replied. “Am I in danger?”
“No,” Catherine replied. “But the babe is lying against you backbone, and that is why it hurts you the way it does.”
Felicity formed her face into a question, as a child does when presented with a new and confusing datum.
“Is that bad?” she asked.
“It is why it hurts,” Catherine replied. “It will continue to hurt you there until we can get the proper pains to start again. Those will bring the babe down where it belongs.”
“I am too afraid,” Felicity replied.
“I know,” Catherine said, her voice now almost a lullaby. She leaned across the bed to Goody Blodgett. “Tell my Phyllis we need that special tea. She will know what I mean. And if she is already into the beer, tell her that can wait, and attend to the tea.”
Goody Blodgett bridled.
“I am not . . .” she began.
“No, you are not,” Catherine agreed. “But I must stay with Felicity, and yet I need that tea.”
Goody Blodgett rose slowly to her feet.
“Yes,” she said, and she walked out of the room. Catherine watched her back, wondering whether it was more difficult to deal with the pride and financial need of an inexperienced midwife such as Goody Blodgett, or the stubborn vindictiveness of a man such as Master Worthington, when all that any of them should be concerned about was the terribly frightened young woman so they could provide Felicity with some measure of assurance that she would survive the birthing process.
Felicity lay with her eyes closed. Perspiration beaded her forehead. Her breathing was shallow and strained, and every few moments her face tightened as though responding to a spasm of pain, and yet, Catherine knew, her labor had stopped. That was worrisome to the degree that the longer this pause lasted t
he more drained Felicity would be of the strength she would need to push out her babe. And further, Catherine knew that the babe, too, was vulnerable as it worked its way down to the birth canal, a trip of only a few inches, but one fraught with potential difficulty. It would be better, she knew, for mother and child to bring the babe out as soon as possible.
To that end, she would use her tea made of valerian root, and the feather. The tea would relax Felicity so she could gather her strength. And then the feather would be able to do its job. Catherine stroked the young woman’s forehead, and was rewarded with a half opened eyes and a grim smile.
“My mother?” she asked.
Catherine looked about her as though expecting to see Mistress Worthington in the room. “She is on her way. I have sent Daniel out to fetch her in. I do not know what she can be thinking about.”
Felicity smiled a little more fully.
“Father always says how forgetful mother is, but I do not think she will forget me now.”
“No, I think not,” Catherine said.
Phyllis appeared in the doorway with a steaming dish of tea. Its pungent aroma filled the small room. Catherine motioned for Phyllis to come forward. Goody Blodgett followed her into the room, her eyes fastened on the dish. Phyllis handed the dish to Catherine.
“Drink,” Catherine said. “You need to rest, and this will help you.”
Felicity lifted her self and took the dish from Catherine. She lowered her mouth, but then jerked her head back as she breathed the fumes rising from the liquid.
“I do not think I can,” she said.
“What are you giving her?” Goody Blodgett asked. She placed her hand on the dish to prevent Felicity from bringing it again to her mouth.
“Just a root tea,” Catherine replied, “that you would do well to learn how to use on occasions such as this.” She bowed her head toward Felicity.
“I use blue cohosh to start her pains,” Goody Blodgett said, and thrust out her chin.
“And well you do,” Catherine replied, “but not for Felicity, not now. She is not ready.”
Felicity shifted her eyes back and forth between the two women, and then stopped with her gaze on Goody Blodgett.
“I must drink, as Mistress Williams says.”
Goody Blodgett let her breath escape loudly from beneath her clenched teeth, and then dropped her hand. Felicity brought the tea to her lips and took a small sip. She puckered, and then took another, larger sip, and finally gulped down the rest. She let her head fall back on the pillow, and closed her eyes. Catherine took the dish from her hands and stood up.
“Let us leave her for a bit. Then we must see if we can start her again.”
Goody Blodgett was already on her way out of the room. Instead of turning back toward the kitchen, she headed toward the front door. She took her cloak down from a peg next to the door, flung it about her shoulders, and turned back to face Catherine.
“I cannot be responsible,” she said. “I do not know what was in that tea, but I did see the feather on the top of your bag, and that I cannot countenance. Blue cohosh is the thing, so say I, and so I shall report to Master Worthington, who, if you needs must know, has paid me well enough, and in advance. He will not be happy to find you here in my place.”
“Master Worthington’s happiness does not concern me,” Catherine replied. “Do you not have something prepared for us in the kitchen?” she asked Phyllis.
“Something and somebody,” she said.
Goody Blodgett pulled the door shut behind her, and Catherine trailed behind Phyllis into the kitchen, where sat Mistress Worthington, her head leaning toward a candle on the table as though seeking its warmth. The servant girl crouched next to an indifferent fire, trying to poke it into life. Mistress Worthington shivered and lifted a worried face toward Catherine.
“How is it with Felicity?” she asked.
“She rests. Do you not want to see for yourself?”
“My husband,” she began. “I saw Goody Blodgett leave. I told him when I left to come here that I would see that you left.”
“He is not here,” Catherine said. “Goody Blodgett decided her skills were wanting. And your daughter waits for you.” She turned to the servant girl, who still prodded the fire as though unsure what else to do. “What is your name, girl?”
The girl did not respond, but stood up so that Catherine could get a good look at her. She was, perhaps seventeen or eighteen, with straight black hair, a dark complexion, and a sullen look on her face.
“I see,” Catherine replied. “What name was given you?”
“After the English took me from the swamp, they said I am Elizabeth.”
“Well, Elizabeth,” Catherine said, “I expect you have seen a babe born before.
“I have.”
“Then leave the fire to us, and go sit by Felicity in case she rouses.”
The girl’s face did not change expression, nor did she nod, but she left the kitchen.
“I worry,” Mistress Worthington said. “It was Samuel’s notion to give that captured Indian girl to Felicity and Daniel. I did not approve the idea.”
“She will not hurt your daughter.”
“I suppose you have some knowledge of them.”
“Matthew does not tell me much of his people or his ways. As you recall that is forbidden him.”
“I do not take you for a person overly concerned about what the magistrates forbid.”
“Nor you your husband.”
“As to that,” Mistress Worthington replied, “I am not as brave as you. She looked toward the door. “Samuel will be here soon, and he will have met with Goody Blodgett.”
“Be that as it may, we must tend Felicity,” Catherine insisted, “and the sooner the better.”
Phyllis was stroking Felicity’s hand as Catherine and Mistress Worthington returned to the birthing room. Elizabeth sat on the bed, cradling Felicity’s head in her lap.
“How does she?” Catherine asked.
“She just awoke,” Phyllis said, “and asked for her mother. Her pains seem to have begun again.”
Mistress Worthington strode to the bed.
“I am here, child,” she said.
Felicity grimaced in response to a contraction, set her teeth hard against it, and then yawned. Mistress Worthington turned to Catherine, a question in her eyes.
“She is drowsy from the root tea I gave her. It is powerful, but she needed her rest. She was exhausted, and she is not strong, as well you know.”
Mistress Worthington nodded.
“Now, we cannot wait any longer,” Catherine said. “She has what strength returned to her as she is like to have.” She picked up her midwife’s bag from the corner of the room where she had stowed it, and pulled out the feather. Elizabeth started to get up as Catherine approached.
“Stay you there,” Catherine said, and squeezed between Mistress Worthington who had sat down on the bed, and Phyllis. She waited for another contraction, which followed within a couple of minutes. And then another came as Catherine watched. The room was silent except for the breaths expelled from the several women, and the sharp intake of air as Felicity felt the start of each new pain. Catherine lifted Felicity’s shift and ran her fingers between her legs and into the birth canal. She probed until she could feel the opening in the cervix.
“She is open enough,” she said, “but her travail is weak. Her pains are regular, but they are not strong. Alice, you must open her mouth for me. She may well resist anybody else.”
“Is that necessary,” Mistress Worthington asked.
“It is,” Catherine said, “and promptly.”
Felicity opened her mouth in a loud gasp, and she lifted her body off the bed, holding it rigid until the contraction stopped. She let herself fall back onto the bed and reached for her mother’s hand.
Catherine motioned to Phyllis, who stood up and slid the birthing stool next to the bed. With her mother on one side, and Elizabeth on the other, Felicity slid her f
eet to the floor and stepped to the stool. Catherine was struck by how frail Felicity looked, and she recalled her as a child, with long brown hair trailing after her brother as they ran about the meadow behind her house, so thin that it seemed the breeze might lift her off her feet. And now as she tottered next to the bed where she had been lying, only her swollen belly gave her any token of solid substance, and even that was smaller than one would expect at full term, causing Catherine some concern as to the well being of the babe beneath that small bulge. Other than her belly, Felicity’s body was a series of sharp angles on a narrow structure, her hips barely wider than her shoulders, which did not extend too much beyond her pretty face and disheveled hair.
The stool had a high back and a flat bottomed seat shaped like a U. Felicity eased herself down, and Catherine stood on one side, Mistress Worthington the other. Mistress Worthington looked at Catherine.
“Yes, now, “ Catherine said.
Mistress Worthington brought her hands to the side of her daughter’s jaws, and stroked along the hinge.
“You must open,” she said.
Felicity shook her head, her eyes expressing confusion and fear. Her mother pressed a little harder on either side of her jaw, and he mouth opened slightly. Felicity moved her head back and forth to greater purpose, but her mother’s hands remained firm.
“Just a little more,” Catherine said, and waited while Mistress Worthington succeeded in opening her daughter’s mouth a couple of inches. Felicity’s eyes began to roll back in her head in terror, and then another contraction started. Catherine slid the feather into Felicity’s mouth and pushed it down her throat. As the contraction built, Felicity gagged against the pressure of the feather.
The Blind in Darkness Page 7