Time was forgotten as she lay in the darkness. She heard Brandon come upstairs again and move about his room, then silence returned once more as he retired to bed. Sleep came finally for her but it was not long. She woke slowly as the drawing within her belly became painfully real and no longer a dream. It left her wide awake as it passed, and she slid her hand to her stomach knowing her time had come.
The pains gripped her until it seemed every muscle in her body ached with the strain. She struggled from the bed finally, intent upon sending Mary for Hatti, and lit a candle by her bedside. By its glow she saw that her gown had been stained and seeking another, carefully moved toward the bureau. She was half way there when her eyes widened in surprise and she gasped. The discharge left her gown soaking, and the fetal water ran from between her legs without stopping. Standing in helpless confusion, she looked around as the door from Brandon’s room opened. He walked in naked, just shrugging into his robe.
“Heather, are you all right?” he questioned. “I thought I heard . . .”
He stopped abruptly, his eyes falling to her stained and clinging gown, then he came to her in a rush.
“My God, it’s the baby!”
“Brandon,” she said in an amazed tone. “I’m all wet. It happened so suddenly. I didn’t know it was coming.”
She stared up at him as if her soaked condition was the only thing that concerned her, then she began unfastening the garment.
“Please get me another. I can’t go back to bed in a wet gown.”
He hurried to her bureau and threw open the drawers, scrambling through them like a madman and leaving them gaping and lingerie hanging over the sides. He finally located the gowns, neatly stacked in the bottom drawer, and ran back to her with the top garment, but Heather declined it.
“But, Brandon, that’s pink. I’m having a boy, and boys don’t wear pink. Go get a blue one, please.”
He stared at her for a moment in astonishment and finally regained his wits.
“Madam, God’s truth, I don’t care whether it’s a girl or boy,” he exclaimed. “Just put this on and let me get you back into bed.”
“No,” she said stubbornly, “I’m going to have a boy, and I shan’t wear that.”
“But, madam, he won’t be wearing anything when he gets here so it doesn’t matter,” he cried. “Now will you get this on?”
She met his stare and pursing her lips, slowly shook her head in negative motion.
Brandon threw up his hands in exasperation and the nightgown floated to the floor as he ran back to the bureau and began tossing gowns this way and that in a frenzy. Finally he found a blue one and rushed to her with it. She looked up at him expectantly as she took it, but he was most confused and just stared down at her dumbfoundedly.
“Will you turn your back, please?” she requested, seeing his bewilderment.
“What?” he asked stupidly.
“Will you turn your back, please?” she repeated.
“But, madam, I’ve seen you without clothes be . . .”
He stopped and spun about, realizing it would do him no good to argue with her for she was hell bent to have her way and he would only delay things by trying to explain anything to her.
Heather threw the blue gown over his shoulder, finding no other place to put it, standing in the middle of the room as they were.
“Madam, will you hurry,” he urged. “You’re going to whelp right there if you don’t and our child will be the only one ever born on his head.”
Heather giggled lightly and let the wet gown fall to the floor as she reached up for the clean one. “I doubt that, my dearest.”
“Heather, for God’s sakes,” he pleaded. “Will you stop chattering and get that gown on!”
“But, Brandon, I wasn’t chattering. I just answered you.” She drew the gown in place and began tying the ribbon. “You may turn around now if you want.”
He whirled and bent to pick her up.
“But, Brandon,” she protested. “I must wipe up the floor.”
“To hell with the floor!” he exclaimed and gathered her into his arms. He stood holding her for a moment in indecision, glancing from her bed to his door and made up his mind quickly. He hurried from her room into his.
“Where are you taking me?” she questioned. “Hatti will never find me. She’ll have to go all over the house looking for me.”
He placed her carefully in the middle of his huge bed. “There. Does that answer your question, chatterbox? It’s where I’d like my son—or perhaps my daughter born.”
“I’m not having a girl. I’m having . . .”
She was again wrenched with pain as another contraction seized her and she bit her bottom lip in agony.
“I’ll awaken Hatti,” he muttered and fled the room quickly.
But the old Negress, having seen from her cabin Heather’s room alight, had sensed the situation and was already in the hallway when he came flying out.
“She’s having the baby!” he cried when he saw her. “Hurry.”
She shook her head as she speeded with him into the master bedroom. “It’ll be a long while yet before she has that baby, Master Bran. It’s the first and they takes their good natured time. It’ll be hours yet.”
“Well, she’s in pain now. Do something for her.”
“Master Bran, I’s sorry, but there ain’t nothing I can do for her pain,” she replied. With a concerned frown creasing her black brow, she bent over the writhing Heather and smoothed her hair from her face. “Don’t fight it, child. Just pant while you’re having them, then relax when they go. You’ll need your strength for later.”
With Hatti directing, Heather panted. The pain eased soon and she was able to smile at Brandon as he came to stand near her. He sat down on the bed’s edge and his hand moved to hers, and she saw that his face was grim and seemed suddenly lined.
“I’m told every mother has to go through this,” she murmured consolingly. “It’s part of being a woman.”
Hatti roused the household and banked fires were stirred up and great kettles of water set to boil. Fresh linens were brought and with Brandon’s help some of these were placed beneath Heather. The blue gown was pulled up out of the way and a clean sheet spread to cover her nakedness, and the time went slowly for some, swiftly for others. Hatti rocked in a chair by the bedside when she was not tending her mistress, and Brandon with each contraction became more distraught.
“Hatti, how much longer do you think it’ll be,” he questioned anxiously, wiping his brow.
“No one knows that, Master Bran,” the woman replied. “But it sure looks like Miss Heather is holding up a darn sight better ‘n you. Why don’t you go have a nice big drink of that stuff you like to drink. It sure couldn’t hurt nothing, and it might help a lot.”
Brandon felt in strong need of a brandy but declined, wanting to stay and comfort his wife in any way he could. She clung to his hand tightly, seeming to want him there by her side, and he could not leave her when she was so tortured with giving his child birth.
Again the agony came and again it went. Brandon wiped Heather’s face with a cool, wet cloth and brushed her hair up from her neck and looked a little paler than he did before. Hatti moved to the bedside and taking his arm, urged him from it.
“Master Bran, you best let Master Jeff fix you something strong. You don’t look so good.” She guided him to the door and opening it, gently pushed him out. “You go get drunk, Master Bran. Go get drunk and don’t come back until I calls you. I don’t want you fainting while I got to tend the missus.”
The door closed and Brandon was left staring at it, feeling lost and out of sorts. He glanced around him, and finally went downstairs and into the study where George and his brother waited. Jeff took one look at him and pressed a stiff drink into his hand.
“Here, you look as if you need this.”
Brandon tossed the drink down without hardly noticing the two who regarded him, and Jeff motioned to George and the servant
quickly took his captain’s glass and poured a small draught of brandy in it and an ample supply of water. Brandon didn’t realize the difference as he paced the floor.
Between the two of them, Jeff and George managed to keep Brandon’s drinks pretty well watered. Jeff watched his brother light up one expensive cigar after another then crush them out after taking only a puff or two. He moved in a sort of daze around the study, inattentive and unconcerned with what went on around him, ignoring them and paying no heed to what he did. He strode into the hallway many times and gazed upward toward the second floor, then he would turn again and reach for another drink. A maid scurrying up or down the stairs now and then would send him rushing to the door, but for no reason. When he poured himself a bourbon and swallowed a good third of the contents without noticing the difference, Jeff knew he was in another world entirely.
“Brandon, you’re getting too old for this sort of thing or else that little girl up there matters more to you than you admit. I’ve seen you go after a wounded boar without fear, knowing exactly what you were doing. Now you’re so addled, you’re drinking my bourbon and you can’t stand the stuff.”
Brandon thrust the glass at him. “Well, why the hell did you give it to me then if you knew I disliked it?”
Jeff turned a bemused expression to George, and the man smiled in return and shrugged his shoulders. The younger brother went to the desk, shaking his bead, and relaxed back in the chair. After a moment he took up quill and paper and began to scratch out a few figures. When he turned to Brandon again, he wore a grin broader than a barn door. It couldn’t have worked out better if he had possessed a hand in fate.
“You know, Brandon, according to my calculations, you’d have had to marry Tory the first day you were in London port.”
George spewed a mouthful of ale out in surprise and coughed and choked as some went down the wrong way, while Brandon lowered his head between his shoulders and scowled at his brother.
In the master bedroom Heather writhed in silent agony as she bore down in an effort to force the child from her. She breathed in deeply as the pain eased, but her relief was short and she was again tortured. She clung to the servant’s hand and gritted her teeth while Hatti encouraged her.
“The head is about to come, Miss Heather. It won’t be long now. Push down. That’s it. Scream if you want. You been silent too long, child.”
A whimper escaped Heather as her body was consumed in pain. She fought the urge to cry out, but as the child’s head emerged, a scream did come, and down below in the study Brandon slid weakly into a chair as he heard it. He stared unseeing across the room, and George caught his glass as it tipped. Both the servant and the younger brother glanced at each other in nervous indecision, realizing that Heather’s cry had affected them too.
Some time later, with a broad grin upon her black face, Hatti opened the door of the study, holding the wee Birmingham close. She went to Brandon first as the two other men stared at the bundle, drawing back the blanket for him to see his child.
“It’s a boy, Master. A strong, fine, healthy boy. He was asqualling before he left the hatch.”
“My God,” Brandon uttered as he came from his daze to see the wrinkled, red face of his son before him. He grabbed up his drink and tossed it down and looked around as if he needed another badly.
Jeff and George sidled closer to view the child and beamed proudly as if they were the ones responsible for his being there, forgetting Brandon entirely. Jeff poked a gentle finger at the small hand.
“He doesn’t look much like Brandon,” he commented.
George quickly glanced from father to son, but Hatti spoke up in disagreement.
“Master Brandon looked just like this when he was born. He was just about as long too. This baby’s gonna be as tall as his pa, that’s for sure. He’s already got a good start.”
Brandon stood up and peeked leerily over George’s shoulder at his son again. He moved from the group as they continued to admire the baby and hurried out of the room and up the stairs to the master bedroom. Heather smiled drowsily as he came to the bedside and took her hand.
“Have you seen him?” she questioned as he sat beside her. “Isn’t he beautiful?”
He nodded to the first inquiry and reserved opinion on the second. “How do you feel?” he asked softly.
“Sleepy,” she sighed. “But wonderful.”
He pressed his lips to her brow. “Thank you for the son,” he murmured.
She smiled and closed her eyes, holding his hand clutched to her breast.
“We’ll have your daughter next time,” he whispered.
But Heather had already drifted to sleep.
Brandon gently eased his hand from her grasp and tiptoed out of the room to the sitting room, leaving Mary to sit with his wife. He paused by a window and saw that dawn was breaking. He smiled to himself, feeling fit enough to wrestle a bear and quite good despite the fact that he had been up all night. He brought a chair to the window which he opened and sat down, propping his feet on the sill. A moment later when Hatti came through the room she found his head slumped on his chest and his eyes closed in sleep.
She shook her head slowly and smiled, “Poor Master, he sure had a hard night.”
The sun was streaming down in bright rays over Harthaven when Brandon woke to the sound of angry squalls and realized his son was making his demands. He rose and washed the foul taste from his mouth left from the night of drinking, then pushed open the door to the nursery to find Hatti bending over the wee one. She was clucking to him and cooing and talking in a soothing tone, but he raged on.
“We gonna have you fed in just a minute, lil’ Birmingham. It ain’t the end of the world.”
Feeling now a fatherly interest and pride in his son, Brandon drew closer and stood with hands behind his back as he watched the old Negress struggling to remove the wet clothes. The baby drew up his knees and wailed the louder, turning red with his anger.
“Whooee, that boy sure is mad. He’s a wanting something to eat and he’s letting everybody know it.”
As soon as he was dry, the young Birmingham’s manner calmed some. He smacked his lips, opening his mouth like a little bird everytime his fist brushed his cheek, and released whimpering little gurgles, now and then letting out a disgruntled yelp.
Hatti chuckled at him. “Look there, master, he’s trying to sweet talk me into giving him something to eat.”
Brandon smiled and the baby gurgled pleadingly.
“You sure is an impatient lil’ fella,” Hatti cooed, picking him up and cuddling him to her big bosom. “But your mammy is awake, and we’re gonna take you in there right now.”
Running his fingers through his tousled hair, Brandon followed the servant into the master bedroom. There he saw Heather sitting up in bed, hair combed and ribboned, fresh and frilly gown donned, and looking irresistibly beautiful. When she saw him she hurriedly motioned Mary away, giving her a hand mirror, and then turned to give him a radiant smile and hold eager arms out for her son. He followed Hatti to the bed, sitting beside Heather as she took the babe gently into her arms. He saw a light blush spread across her features when she undid her gown and pushed it aside, and sensed her unease with this new, unfamiliar task of motherhood, yet she cooed to the baby softly and tried to direct him as he rooted about eagerly. The nipple brushed his cheek and he turned his head hurriedly in that direction and latched onto it with the ferocity of a starving pig, causing Heather to jump in painful surprise as his mouth clamped down on her. Brandon smiled, and Hatti chuckled as she viewed the babe sucking at his mother’s breast.
“Lordy me. The young master is hollow from the feet up. Most likely, we’ll be having to fix that boy a sugar tit to tide him over until his mammy gets milk.”
The tiny, tugging mouth sent strange rivers of delight pulsating through Heather’s body as she gazed lovingly at her son. Already she thought he looked a great deal like his father. Soft, black hair covered the small head and magni
ficent little brows were already shaped with his sire’s curve and not his mother’s slant. With a maternal pride, she thought him a most handsome baby.
“He is beautiful, isn’t he, Brandon?” she murmured, lifting warm eyes to his, and Hatti prodded Mary out the door, closing it behind them as Brandon replied.
“He is indeed, madam.” He reached and thrust a gentle finger into the tiny fist that pressed against her breast. It was readily accepted and firmly held, and Brandon smiled in pleasure.
He returned his gaze to his wife’s face and lost himself in the soft liquid eyes that beheld him. He was barely conscious of his actions as he leaned forward, almost mesmerized by the deep pools of blue. His free hand slipped through her hair to the nape of her neck and still she stared, and then his mouth found hers and eyelids lowered. He felt her lips slacken and begin to tremble and then open as his mouth moved upon hers. He tasted response, sweet, warm and clinging and was aware of the rapid beat of her heart beneath the fingers resting on her breast.
Heather struggled for breath under his flaming kiss, all too aware of his hands upon her, of his searing mouth taking hers. Feeling faint, she tore free and laughed shakily.
“You make me forget the baby.” She sighed as his lips slid to her throat and tried to stop the spinning of her head. “What shall we name him?”
He drew back and looked at her. After a moment he murmured, “If you have no objections, I’d like to name him after a friend of mine, now dead. He was killed a few years back fighting a fire that burned his church. I admired the man very much, but you might be warned that he was a Frenchman—a French Huguenot. I will understand if your English ancestry disapproves of naming our son after him.”
“You forget, m’lord,” she smiled, “that in all actuality, you are more English than I. What was your friend’s name?”
The Flame and the Flower Page 35