Mary awoke with a start, looking around in confusion. Oh, she was in her own stable, with three, no, four horses, and it was Christmas Day. She beamed at Midnight Star who was again nursing happily. The gray sky gave no real indication of the time, but she could feel that it had gotten late. Certainly everyone at her sister’s house would already be on their way to the Kenners. She hoped Dorothy had remembered to bring her dress, as requested, since what she had on was not party attire. She’d need to wash up, too.
Checking each of the stalls, she made sure there was still plenty of water and hay in each and extra grain for Sasha. She’d let Henry handle the rest of the chores to avoid confusion over what had been done. Besides, she wasn’t sure she could handle a shovel just now.
Come to think of it, where was Henry? Guess it must not be as late as she’d feared if he hadn’t been by yet. Maybe she still had time to get back home and arrive with her sister. She’d just pop by their cabin for a cup of coffee before heading out.
“Well, Betsy, let’s get you saddled back up and be on our way!”
But as she got to Betsy’s stall, Mary saw she was holding her off-fore leg up. Shaking her head she went back for the pick from her grooming tools and reapproached.
“Betsy, I’m going to tie you up so you don’t try to crowd me, now.”
She kept talking, murmuring softly as placed her hand on Betsy’s shoulder, slowly running it down the leg and leaning in on her. Then, pinching the cannon bone slightly, she encouraged Betsy to lift her hoof to be examined. As she’d thought, some small stones were lodged against the frog. Gently working her pick, Mary cleared the hoof, but Betsy must still have been feeling bruised and tender as she did not put her full weight down.
“Now what do I do?” she murmured to herself. But Old Dusty must have been listening as he whickered at her softly from the next cell.
“Oh, Dusty, have you been feeling neglected, poor thing? First Sasha and now Betsy have been demanding all the attention.” She untied Betsy and hurried over to hug Dusty.
“You’re trying to tell me that you’d like to take me to the Kenners? Well, why not? You still look just fine and we don’t have that far to go.”
Once Dusty was saddled and they were outside she again used the mounting block to heave her somewhat cumbersome shape aboard, and headed to the Stockwell cabin. It was just starting to snow. Well, the children would enjoy that!
Strange. There was no smoke issuing forth from the chimney. Starting to feel alarmed, she trotted Dusty over to the door and slid down, hurrying to knock. Receiving no answer she lifted the handle and opened the door, calling out.
“Margaret Sue? Henry? Are you in there?”
Maybe they’d already left for the party? But, no, Henry hadn’t tended the stock yet. She was feeling quite alarmed as she went in and looked around, fearing what she might find. There’d been no trouble from the raiders since they’d killed Robert, but . . .
She spied a piece of paper on table. My sister Emmy’s husband has took sick and we are going to help out. I arranged for Alvin to do chores. Henry
Well that would explain why she hadn’t seen them at the pageant after the service last night. But why hadn’t they said anything to someone then? Alvin would have to do his own chores at home before coming over, but he was pretty responsible and would surely be over soon. She’d left plenty of hay and enough water to last until tomorrow, and now needed to get over to the Kenner ranch as soon as she could.
She remounted and turned toward the river path. It would be faster than heading back to the road and the snow was starting to fall more thickly.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN ― Dashing Through The Snow
Dusty was clearly happy to be out and frolicked a bit when some large flakes landed on his nose.
“Behave yourself, boy! Don’t jostle me so,” she laughed. “I’ve already got a backache from sleeping on that hay bale!”
Suddenly she felt a twinge. A sort of cramp but stronger. Oh, no, was she having sympathy pains for Sasha? She wasn’t due until next month, the doctor had said. And then she remembered that Dorothy’s first had come a few weeks early.
“Lord, you were born on this blessed day, so if you want my child to share your birthday, I am in your hands. But, please help me to get safely out of this storm first.”
It was getting hard to see. The snow was really falling heavily and the wind had begun to blow. Dusty just kept on plowing through and she let him have his head. He knew his way around these parts—he’d ridden back and forth among these farms and ranches his whole life. But the pains were coming harder and faster now. She hoped they got there soon. Offering another prayer that the angels be Dusty’s guidance, she huddled down behind his mane trying to get out of the wind.
They were passing through trees and there was a few minutes’ respite from the storm. The odd light made even the familiar look strange as she looked around. But surely that was one of the trees she’d climbed as a child. The extra low branch had given a petite youngster just the boost she’d needed to get a leg up to climb. Reassured they were on the right path, she offered thanks and requests for continued intercession.
Then they left the woods and were back in the open.
The air was now howling around her and snow was coming down so swiftly and whirling so madly that she truly couldn’t even see Dusty’s head. She gripped the saddle horn as another wave of pain swept her and, not long after, felt a gush of warmth between her legs. Her water had broken. She closed her eyes and kept praying.
“C’mon, Dusty, get us there, boy!”
Dusty seemed to nod his head and move faster. And, just as she could feel the wet freezing on her legs, he stopped. Looming in front of her was the stone of Charles’ new barn.
Dusty neighed and was met with an answering whicker from within the barn. Before Mary could lift her leg to dismount, Charles had come out the door and was running up to her. He reached up and plucked her from the saddle as if she were a doll. Her eyes welled up with tears of gratitude to have found him home.
“Thank you, God!” she murmured.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN ― Away In A Manger
Scooping her in his arms, Charles walked into the stable, Dusty following closely behind. He hadn’t gone too far when she was seized with another contraction and moaned softly.
“Are you all right? What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?”
He hustled into the nearest stall, which was piled high with hay, and laid her down.
“I’m okay! Just close that door so we can keep out the wind!”
He looked worriedly at her but, seeing her determined face, hurried to do her bidding.
Dusty had helped himself to a stall, waiting patiently to be unsaddled.
By the time Charles had shut the door, she was back on her feet and moving toward her mount.
“Talk to me, Mary. What’s going on? Why aren’t you already at Tom and Suzanne’s? Let me get you some blankets to warm you up. And leave that horse alone. I’ll see to him!”
“I’m just fine, now I’m here.” She gasped and grabbed her belly. “But the baby is coming a bit sooner than we thought.
“You just finish settling Dusty down, please. He’s a good boy and remembered his way home!
She turned around and returned to the other stall, mounding the hay a bit and laying back down.
“You may want to start boiling some water. And I don’t suppose you have some clean rags?”
“Why don’t you come through to the quarters? You’d be a lot more comfortable on the bed.”
Mary smiled sweetly but there was a mulish set to her chin. “If a stable and manger was good enough for my namesake, it is certainly good enough for me!”
Charles raised his hands in surrender and grabbed the horse blankets that had been among the housewarming gifts his neighbors had been so thoughtful as to provide him. Taking one off the top for Old Dusty, he passed her the rest, suggesting she might want to take off some of the wet clothes. She no
dded graciously, as if receiving tea, and thanked him as she accepted the blankets.
After rubbing down Dusty and getting him some water and feed, Charles went off to start some water boiling.
“And you leave that new quilt on your bed!” she yelled after him. He raised his hand in acknowledgement and started thinking about what else she may need—that he might have.
Since the new-to-him kettle was on the back of the stove, he knew he’d have some hot water available pretty quickly. But meanwhile there was Mary, sopping wet from snow and more, and about to give birth. He opened his trunk and pulled out his flannel nightshirt. It was pretty well worn out but it was clean. He just wished he had something nicer for a lady but he’d barely set up housekeeping as it was. He still had some coffee in the pot from earlier, which he’d also set to warm, and filled a mug, adding a dollop of cream from the crock the Richardsons had given him. He smiled remembering how Mary always liked her coffee lightened. He’d used all of his sugar baking the pie he’d planned to bring to Christmas dinner, so he couldn’t sweeten it for her, too.
Coming back into the barn, he called out in case she was in dishabille.
“I’m under the blankets, it’s alright.”
She was sitting up with one blanket wrapped around her like a sarong and another draped over her shoulders shawl-like, with only her arms and toes showing. The third blanket was laying across the straw where she was sitting.
Handing her some clean sheets, he commented, “Ms Perkins said these were extras from her rag bin but that it is always good to have some handy. Little did she know how quickly they’d be useful!”
He then handed her the nightshirt and the coffee, and placed the chamber pot he’d had in the crook of his arm into the farthest corner. She looked down into the cup and smiled joyfully up at him.
“You remembered!”
“Not sweet, though.”
“Usually isn’t, but how nice to have the cream!”
They grinned at each other and then another contraction had her clutching the cup tightly and panting.
“What can I do to help?”
“You already are, just being here.” She finished her coffee and handed him the cup. “But you can use that boiling water to sterilize a knife to cut the cord and some twine to tie it with, and then we will want warm water to wash the babe before swaddling it.”
“Why don’t I bring you some of that water right now for you to clean up a bit with?”
She looked at him gratefully and nodded her head.
Moving swiftly but carefully, he returned a few minutes later with a bar of soap, a wash cloth and towel atop a small, hand-carved table.
“Why, that was your mothers,” Mary exclaimed.
He beamed at her. “Suzanne gave that back to me after the pageant. She’d put it with the things I’d stored with her because she feared her rambunctious boys might damage it. I tried to tell her I’d grown up with it, but she just pulled a face and reminded me I’d had a sister, not a brother.
“Now I’ll get out of here so you can bathe, and,” he nodded delicately toward the corner now housing the chamber pot as he slipped back out of the stall.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN ― What Child Is This?
“So why are you . . .”
“Why are you still . . .”
Charles had rejoined Mary who was now wearing his nightshirt under the blankets and still refusing to let him bring her the softer and more comfortable bedding he now owned. The only concession she’d made was to the soft flannel shirt he’d brought in to swaddle the baby. Its red plaid was faded with many washings but it would be soft against the newborn’s skin.
“Ladies first. How is it you are here sheltering from the storm instead of at the Kenners with your family?”
“Well, I woke up before dawn just sort of knowing Sasha was in labor, and rode over to my barn to take care of her. I’d planned to come in with the Stockwells if I was running late, but when I checked on them they’d left a note saying they were going to help out Emmy, Henry’s sister.”
Charles nodded. “Yes, someone fetched Henry out of church to let him know about his brother-in-law and he got hold of young Alvin who agreed to take care of the stable. I didn’t realize he hadn’t told you before they left.”
“I was helping the girls get ready for the pageant so he probably couldn’t find me. Sasha did fine but it seemed to me she was calmer with me there. And Midnight Star is a fine colt with his mama’s coat but his daddy’s star.”
“Is his sire Sam’s Evening Star?”
Mary paused for a contraction before replying, “Why, yes he is!”
Charles nodded thoughtfully. “Robert always wanted to start a serious horse stable. I remember him telling me in his last letter how he’d found a filly he wanted to cross with Evening Star, but her name was Alexandra.”
“Sasha is the Russian short version of Alexander.”
“Where on earth did you learn that?”
Mary grinned at him while panting. “From the Russian Count who sold her to us! He was traveling west to shoot buffalo and thought she was too delicate for the prairies. He stayed with us several days, looking over our stock and practically gave her to us. We couldn’t have afforded so fine an animal otherwise. Of course he bought some solid geldings from us, perfect for distance travel.
“But it seems Midnight Star’s birth inspired my baby to come today, too.
The contractions were coming closer together and seemed to Charles to be getting stronger. Of course farming had taught him about livestock but he’d also found himself helping in human births three different times during the war. Each birth had given him renewed strength to carry on despite the horrors surrounding him. And there was a Charles, a Charlotte, and a Charlene back east who’s first human touch had been his. He’d shared that tidbit with Mary—about his previous experience as a midwife, not about the names—when he came back for the basin and pot to clean up preparatory to setting up for the infant.
“Oh,” she’d exclaimed, “I knew I was safe with you already, but I am pleased you have had some experience. I helped Dorothy but it’s a bit different when it’s me doing the panting. But,” she added slyly, “I already knew about Doc Charles!”
“Doc Charles?”
“That’s what Reg started calling you in his letters.”
Charles put a hand over his face and groaned.
Laughing at his theatrics, she declared, “It’s your turn! Why are you still here?
“And I’m really glad you are!”
He started laughing. “Do you remember my old dog Bowie? Little Michael Ames had taken a real fancy to him and, when I joined up, he offered to watch him for me.
“Seems Michael’s pa had a bitch in heat and Bowie covered her, producing six pups, one finer than the next. Well, Michael stopped by shortly after you dropped the stove off, for which I again thank you, and presented me with one of Bowie’s granddaughters. She was quite pregnant and chose this morning to give birth to . . . six puppies.” He grinned broadly.
“Couldn’t have come up with better Christmas presents than that!”
“Oh, no, you don’t mean to give them to the children?”
“Actually, I was thinking of offering you second choice!”
“Second?” she queried, acting mildly insulted.
“Well, I’ve already claimed the first born, a male, for myself—and I’m calling him Bowie after his great-grandpap.”
“Well, where are they? I need to choose my new dog!”
Charles helped her up and they strolled carefully to the stall housing the dogs. Mary made much of the beautiful shepherd mix and her little balls of fur suckling against her, but took care not to get too close. New mothers could be mighty protective of their young!
“What’s her name?”
“Serena. Kind of fitting, looking at her.”
“Well, I think your serenity is about to be breached. I believe I’m at the stage when I will be doing a great d
eal of yelling now.”
Charles made ready to scoop her up and Mary laughed up at him.
“I can still walk, thank you, and it has helped quite a bit to do so! But I’m ready to lie down now.”
Once she was comfortable on the straw he handed her a rag he’d braided. She looked at it then up at him.
“The lady in Georgia had one of these that she bit on so her screams wouldn’t carry out to the soldiers camped nearby. She seemed to think it helped her concentrate on pushing. She also had an iron bedstead she could grab onto. We don’t have that but I can run a rope through that tether ring if you like.”
Mary nodded and he fetched a rope and a pair of gloves. She raised an eyebrow, then felt the rope, and nodded her thanks. Putting on the gloves she grasped the rope which he’d knotted to the tether in its middle, leaving both ends free for her to grasp. He then put a loop on each end for her to put her hands in. Having tugged a few times she nodded again and placed the braid in her mouth and bit down. Hard.
“Mary, I would like to touch you to see just where the baby is and be sure everything is in position.” He was gentle but firm in his touch, but he smiled up at her, confirming she was ready.
The contractions were coming much faster now and Mary started pushing.
“It’s coming,” she gasped.
Charles moved toward her feet with a towel over his arm and the sterilized knife and twine wrapped in a sterilized rag. He had carefully washed his hands, splashing a bit of whiskey on them to sterilize them, too. Looking at her for permission, he raised the nightshirt so he could check what was happening, and cried out, “I can see the head!”
Mary’s laughter gave way to panting and another muffled scream as she bit down on the rag and pulled the rope while giving a mighty push. He reached down to support the head as the shoulders emerged.
“One more good push should do it, sweetheart!” Mary grinned weakly, having heard him use that exact same endearment when talking to his horses. Grunting, she pushed again and the baby slid out.
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