“No!” Neva cried. “My baby—”
“—will be fine, darling,” Grace said simply. “And so will you. I’ll make sure of it.”
Neva calmed immediately. Strangely, so did I. There was something about Grace. She seemed in control. Grace, who lived for adrenaline, was, as it turned out, wonderfully cool under pressure.
“Mom,” Grace said to me. “What are our options?”
I stared at the wall. I’d been asking myself the same question. “If the head is stuck, we might be able to turn it in a way that will allow it to pass through the pelvis.” I thought about it some more. Yes, it could work. The risk of a serious tear to Neva was increased, but we didn’t have a lot of choice. “This is important, so I need you to listen carefully: We need to turn Neva over so I can apply pressure to her abdomen when she starts to push.”
Neva was already turning from all fours into a reclining sitting position. Grace helped her. I said a silent prayer.
“Now, Grace. Let the baby straddle your right hand … Yes, like that. Now, I want you to slide your middle finger into the baby’s mouth and your other fingers over the baby’s shoulders. Perfect. Now, with your other hand, press against the back of the baby’s head. I’ll apply pressure on the outside of her belly at the same time. All right?”
The door clattered shut and Lil appeared beside me with the delivery bag. I opened it and lay out the clamp, the cord, the gloves. I got everything unpacked just in time for the next contraction.
“Okay, Grace—push the head up slightly, rotate, and then pull down. Understand?” I looked at Neva. “Push, dear. Push as hard as you possibly can.”
Neva touched her chin to her chest and squeezed. At the same time, I pressed hard on the outside of her belly. The bones in her neck stood out like kindling.
“It’s coming,” Grace said, her voice barely a whisper. “The head. It’s coming.”
It was only then I realized my cheeks and blouse were sodden with tears. I felt movement under my hand as the baby’s head moved down. Grace lifted the baby’s torso as the head emerged. The baby was out.
Grace placed the baby straight into her mother’s arms. The raven-haired babe let out a soft mew. “Congratulations, dear,” I said to Neva as an overwhelming sense of déjà vu swept over me. “You have a daughter.”
27
Neva
The first thing I recognized when I opened my eyes was the nursing chair in the corner. I was in a maternity suite at St. Mary’s Hospital. The second thing I recognized was the person sleeping in the nursing chair. Patrick.
“Hey.”
My greeting came out as a hoarse whisper, but he sprang to life immediately. He came to my side and pressed the buzzer by my bed. “Hey.” He cleared his throat. “How do you feel?”
I looked past him and scanned the room for a bassinet. “Where’s my baby?”
“She’s in the nursery with your mom and Gran. She’s fine. Your mom hasn’t put her down since she was born. We were much more worried about you. You had a third-degree tear and lost a lot of blood. You were pretty out of it when they brought you in.”
My eyes found Patrick’s. “She’s fine? You’re sure?”
“I examined her myself. She’s six pounds two ounces. Completely healthy.”
Patrick was doing his confident pediatrician thing. I’d seen him do it with hundreds of parents over the years, and it never failed to put them at ease. It was even working on me. A little.
Two nurses I didn’t recognize appeared in my room. “We’ve paged Dr. Hargreaves. How do you feel, Neva?”
“Fine. I want to see my baby.”
“Leila is getting her,” said the nurse, slipping a blood pressure cuff over my hand and dragging it up my arm. “In the meantime, let’s have a look at you.”
The mention of Leila’s name made me look at Patrick. It might have been my imagination, but he looked like he wanted to smile. He took a seat on the side of my bed while the nurse took my temperature and read my blood pressure. When it was time to check my bleeding, the nurse glanced at Patrick, clearly expecting him to excuse himself. He didn’t. I tried not to read too much into it, but my heart sang.
“Six pounds two ounces?” I asked as the nurses did their thing under the sheet.
“Yep,” he said. “She’s a good size.”
I paused. “Full term?”
He nodded slowly and I could see he had already done the math. “Possibly even overdue.” He remained silent while I took that in. “She’s beautiful,” he continued. “Looks like you, except her hair is black and her skin is olive. She looks sort of … Spanish or Greek or something.”
“Italian,” I whispered.
“Yes.”
I stared at the sheet in front of me, so plain and blank, yet suddenly swirling.
“Anyway, I’m glad you’re okay,” he continued. “I was worried there for a minute. Your mother is a hero, doing a vaginal footing delivery at home. Someone suggested she should be nominated for an award.”
This snapped me out of it. “They did?”
“Mmm hmm. Look, I’m sorry about—”
“Here she is!” In the doorway, Leila stood behind a bassinet. Through the clear plastic I could see a mess of black hair and a pile of pink and white striped blankets.
“Someone has been eager to see her mommy,” she said. She reached into the bassinet and cradled the tiny bundle under her bottom and head. She came around the bed. “Congratulations. She’s a beauty.”
Leila’s voice was like elevator music—I could hear it, but it was irrelevant, barely noticeable. All my attention was concentrated on the person in her arms. My daughter. She was more perfect than I could have imagined. I reached for her. In my arms, she weighed almost nothing, like a cloud of cotton candy or a bunch of daisies. I opened my mouth to tell her something, anything. But there were no words.
I was right, I realized. When I reassured mothers that it didn’t matter how the baby came out, I was right. Right now, I didn’t care if this baby had been beamed down to me from outer space. The special moment had happened. She was mine. And I was hers.
“She’s got your chin,” Patrick said.
“You think?” I puckered my chin. “I’ve never paid much attention to my chin. Is it a good chin?”
He smiled with something resembling fondness. “It’s a very good chin.”
“It’s a perfect chin.”
Grace stood in the doorway, an award-winning grin on her face. She was still dressed in the clothes she’d been wearing last night—the paisley skirt now had a sizable bloodstain on the left side. A fluorescent pink elastic dangled from a few strands of hair. She’d been through hell. Without warning, fat tears began to slide down my cheeks.
Grace crossed the room in three large steps. “Don’t you cry or you’ll make me cry,” she said. In fact, a few tears had already escaped. “It’s a happy day. I’m a nana.”
We beamed at each other through tears, then dropped our eyes to the baby.
“Does she have a name?” Grace asked.
“Not yet. I only had a boy’s name picked out.”
“What was the boy’s name?”
“Robert. Robbie.”
“Your father would have loved that. But ladies are his lot in life, it seems. So no girls’ names, then?”
“Nope.”
In truth, I’d pretty much decided on Florence a few months back. It had occurred to me that Mom might have been offended being overlooked, but at the time I hadn’t cared. Now I did.
“We’ll think of something,” I said, and then I noticed that Patrick had slipped out of the room. “I mean … I’ll think of something.”
“He’s probably just gone to the bathroom, darling.”
I looked back at Grace and saw understanding in her eyes. She nodded encouragingly. But I didn’t share her optimism.
“Neva,” Grace asked. “I want to ask you something. Why didn’t you tell me? About the pregnancy and the father? I unders
tand why you wouldn’t tell Patrick, or people at the hospital. But why not me? You know I wouldn’t have judged you, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I said. “I do know that.”
“Then … why? You don’t have to answer—”
“No. It’s okay.” I closed my eyes and exhaled. “It might sound strange, but … I felt like if I talked about it, it wouldn’t be mine anymore. I’d barely got my head around it myself, and I knew if I shared it, you’d want to be involved. But this wasn’t something I wanted to share. I thought that if I didn’t keep it close, I’d lose it. Not the baby but … my way. And I wasn’t willing to do that. Not with my baby.”
I opened my eyes, steeling myself for the look of hurt on Grace’s face. But it wasn’t hurt I found. It was something resembling … pride.
“Does that make sense?” I asked.
She cupped her hand over mine. “Nothing has ever made more sense. Protecting your baby, listening to your instincts—that’s what being a mother is all about. Sounds to me like you’re going to be a good one.”
“Mom, don’t make me cry again.”
It was the first time in years that I had called her Mom. It felt surprisingly right.
Suddenly I remembered that I hadn’t told her the full story. “But, Mom, the baby was full term. Which means Sean isn’t the father. The father is a guy I went on one date with, a month before anything happened with Sean. Not married. An accountant. An Italian guy who wears sensible shoes. A guy who now has a serious girlfriend.”
I waited for Mom to scream, pursue me for more information, or do something outrageous. But she didn’t. She just waited.
“So I need to tell him about her,” I said.
“You mean now?”
I nodded. “It’s already far too late.”
“Okay.” Grace stood. I couldn’t believe this restrained, accepting woman was my mother. “Do you have his number?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll get your phone.” She crossed the room to retrieve my phone from my purse, then brought it back to me. She took a few steps toward the door, then turned back. “You know … children are accepting little people. Much more than adults. Some have two mommies or two daddies. They have step and half and adopted siblings. They don’t question it. The biological parents are important, of course. But the more people to love a child, the better, I say.” She held my gaze. “He hasn’t left your side, you know. Patrick, I mean. He wanted to be here when you woke up.”
It took me a moment to process what she was saying. By the time I did, she had already left the room.
28
Grace
After leaving Neva’s room, I roamed the hallways in search of a coffee machine. As I passed the nursery, I couldn’t resist having a peek. Fathers and grandparents lined the halls, pointing at their babies from behind glass. I felt a stab of sadness. The father of my granddaughter wasn’t doing that. He probably didn’t even know about her yet.
I was about to turn into the waiting room opposite the nursery when I noticed Patrick among those peering at the babies. I sidled up behind him and touched his shoulder.
“Grace,” he said. “Hello again.”
“Are you going in?” I asked.
“No. Just doing the rounds. I’d better get back.” He lifted his bag over his head so it hung across his torso. I opened my mouth to speak, but he beat me to it. “Congratulations. You have a beautiful daughter.”
At first, I assumed he’d meant to say “granddaughter.” But after I thought about it a little, I wasn’t so sure. He was clearly in love with my daughter. And though Neva was much harder to read than Patrick, she obviously loved him too. I felt an overwhelming urge to grab Patrick and frog-march him into her room. I’d force them to admit how they felt about each other, and they’d all live happily ever after. But I resisted. It was their lives. They’d have to figure it out for themselves.
I watched until Patrick disappeared from sight. Then, while I waited for the coffees, I texted Robert.
Mommy and baby reunited. All is well. G x
After we’d gotten the all clear that Neva and the baby were okay, I’d sent him to Neva’s apartment to get her some things and then to Walmart to get Onesies and sleep suits for the baby. Those little instructions were the most communication we’d had in days. Weeks. It made me sad. We had just become grandparents. More than anything, I wanted to share it with him. I stared at my phone, debating whether to call him, but ultimately, I decided not to. I dropped my phone back in my purse and grabbed the coffees.
Mom was in the family lounge, which was empty apart from a young woman who was reading a tatty picture book to a toddler. Mom turned the pages of the magazine in her lap while staring out the window. She rose to her feet when I entered. “How is she?”
“Still resting,” I said, handing her the coffee.
She sat again. “And the baby?”
“Precious.” I sat beside her and we both sipped our coffees. “More precious than you can possibly imagine. Neva’s calling the baby’s father now, to tell him about her.”
Mom raised her eyebrows, but I just shrugged. I didn’t have the strength to go into it now. But when her eyes lingered on my face, I saw that she wasn’t asking for information. She was contemplating speaking herself.
“What is it, Mom?”
“I’m just thinking … perhaps I should follow the bravery of my granddaughter and admit some truths myself.”
“Truths?” I laughed. “When have you not told the truth?”
I expected her to smile, but her face remained straight.
“Mom?”
“Grace,” she said. “This is going to be a lot to take in. But there are some things you need to know about your father.” She took a deep, raspy breath. “And about your mother.”
29
Floss
Kings Langley, England, 1954
The fire had burned to embers and the room was almost as dark as the fields outside. Elizabeth lay still, her cool face cupped in my hands. It was like a horrible dream that wouldn’t end. Evie held Elizabeth’s wrist loosely, but I knew it had been a while since she’d felt a pulse. Still I couldn’t help but feel that any second now Elizabeth’s hand would move, or her eyes would jolt open. She’d been alive a few minutes ago. She’d created a life a few minutes ago. It couldn’t end like this.
“She can’t be gone.” I looked desperately at Evie. “She can’t.”
Evie let go of Elizabeth’s wrist. “It’s been six minutes, Floss. Six minutes with no heartbeat.”
She stood and walked to the window. Outside, there was not a light to be seen. There wasn’t a sound in miles, apart from the crackle of the fire.
“One of us will have to ride to the phone box,” she said.
Her words, flat and final, pushed me over the edge.
“No. No! It’s not over.”
“It is,” Evie said simply, and I knew it was. No matter how I wanted to deny it, it was over.
“Who do we call?” I asked, wiping a tear from my cheek. “Sister Eileen? The police?”
“Both. And Bill.”
Just the sound of his name caused a physical reaction in me. My heart felt like it was being flung against my rib cage. My chest strained like an overfilled balloon.
“Damn that man. Damn him to hell!”
In the bassinet, the baby began to fuss and without a thought, I snatched her up and held her to my chest. Elizabeth lay lifeless on the bed. My friend—the striking, flame-haired beauty—was gone. So skinny and pale, with a huge boggy mound on her stomach. I wanted to bathe her, comb her hair, wrap her in a warm blanket. But this wasn’t what Elizabeth needed from me. She needed something much more important.
“What about Grace?” I asked.
Evie continued to stare out the window. “Grace?”
I looked down at the bundle in my arms. “The baby. Elizabeth said she wanted to name her after her mother.”
Evie nodded. “Well, what happens to
her is for Bill to decide.”
“Like hell it is.”
Now Evie did look at me.
“I’m not handing this child over to that man, Evie. Not over my dead body.”
“What choice do we have?” When I didn’t respond, a slight crease came to Evie’s brow. “What are you suggesting, Floss?”
I wasn’t sure what I was suggesting. But a second later, I was saying, “We’ll tell him that the baby died as well.”
Evie looked me straight in the eye. “You’re talking madness. Pure madness.” But her slow, careful tone gave away her true feelings. She wasn’t so sure it was madness.
“I’ll take her, right now, on the bike.” I was talking so fast, I tripped over the words. “You’ve got the birth documents there—write my name down as the mother. I’ll leave town tonight, go to a new village, a new country if I have to. I’ll say I had her out of wedlock, or that I’m a widow. I’ll raise her as my own.”
“Floss—”
“I’ve decided. Don’t try to talk me out of it.”
Evie went quiet. I returned the baby to the bassinet and with shaking arms, gathered up my things. The evaporated milk, the syringe, one diaper. I felt Evie’s eyes, but I didn’t look. I couldn’t do anything except what I needed to do. With my hands on the wool blanket that Elizabeth had knitted, I paused.
“Take it.”
The voice was so soft, I wasn’t sure I’d actually heard it. Slowly, I lifted my eyes to Evie’s.
“Take it,” she repeated. “By the time he gets home, hopefully Bill will be far too drunk to notice it’s missing. You’ve got a long ride ahead. You’ll want to make sure she’s warm.”
Evie and I locked eyes.
“You’re right,” I said, taking the blanket. “Elizabeth told me once that he often remembers nothing from when he drinks. He probably won’t even remember that it existed.” I finished piling everything into my bag. When I looked up, Evie was staring at me. “What is it?”
The Secrets of Midwives Page 21