Chapter 30
The very day Ana had been born, Mamá had walked all the way to the square from their home just on the outskirts of town to buy food for the day.
When she had nearly arrived home, her waters came rushing, and Papá carried her the rest of the way, which Ana had always thought was terribly romantic.
Within only a few hours, Mamá had her new babe in arms. She always attributed the speed of Ana’s arrival to her long walk in the fresh air, in addition to her brief stop at the Catedral to pray to the Virgen María.
Ana’s current experience could not be more different.
Instead of having the luxury of moving about outside to combat the pains heating her back and midsection, she was confined to her room and, most often, her bed.
Even the windows were locked shut and the curtains drawn.
The accoucheur protested that opening a window could increase the risk of Ana falling ill, but she ironically felt even worse stuffed up in the warm room.
It was entirely uncomfortable, particularly the bed that Ana was confined to.
It was lightweight and would make it quite easy to change the linens, but it certainly was not as comfortable as Peter’s bed.
In their preparations, they had arranged her adjoining dressing room into somewhat of a gathering room for Peter.
There was also a makeshift bed arranged for the monthly nurse.
It had all resulted in quite a crowded affair, but Lady Ashmore had insisted these preparations would make her lying-in and recovery much easier.
Lady Ashmore had requested a wet nurse, but Ana had finally strongly insisted that this additional arrangement was entirely unnecessary.
She may not experience the lying-in period that had been typical for her own mother, but she would nurse her own child, much like her mother had done and her grandmother before her.
Ana lay flat on her back, breathing slowly and heavily, in an effort to stave off the growing sharpness of the pain surrounding the lower half of her body. Elena pressed a cool cloth against her forehead.
“I need to move. Por favor,” she moaned. “It cannot hurt the bebé. It will help me, no?”
“Married to the son of an earl and she hasn’t bothered to properly learn English.
A great shame it is,” the monthly nurse, Nurse Williams, grumbled in the corner, clearly believing that Ana could not understand her.
“You simply cannot allow her to leave the bed. Her temper, her passions, could run wild. Your reputation as a physician could very well be put at risk.”
Ana clutched the sheets to keep herself from springing from the bed and running from the room, pains and all.
Women like Nurse Williams were not understanding in the least and certainly not forgiving.
If Ana lost her temper, she would jump to even more judgmental conclusions and would quickly start blaming Ana’s intelligence or nationality for any issues between them.
In this very moment, when Ana’s life—and more importantly, the life of her child—could very well be at risk if even the slightest complications arose, tension and arguments would not help either of them.
Ana would simply have to do what she had always done when her wisdom or her character had been questioned by soldiers, foreigners, or even Mamá.
She would clench her jaw and bite her tongue to ensure that a word would never escape her lips.
But then another, stronger wave of pain struck Ana. She could not help but moan aloud. Dr. Lee, the short, stocky accoucheur, had beady eyes that were darting between Ana and Nurse Williams while his nervous hand brushed a few spindly hairs over his balding head.
“Mrs. Ashmore, with my assistance, I will allow you to move about the bedroom.” Hope filled Ana’s chest like a full breath of air, such as the type of breath that had evaded her for months now, thanks to the growing body inside her.
Now she just needed her husband beside her, to support her physically just as much as emotionally.
“Peter can help me?”
“I am afraid it cannot be permitted. It could be unsafe to allow him inside while you are in such a delicate state.”
That puff of air deflated as quickly as it had come. Dr. Lee held out a hand to Ana, and Nurse Williams reluctantly moved to her side, helping her to rise to a sitting position once the wave of cramping passed.
* * *
“Mrs. Ashmore . . .”
“It’s Ana!” she nearly yelled as the pain-filled pressure heaved downward yet again. The baby had to be nearing birth now. She had been exerting all her strength in pushing for what felt like hours. And her patience for hearing her formal name had at last worn thin.
“Very well, Ana,” the physician finally surrendered, his voice urgent. “The baby is in position. You’re very nearly there. Push again, please.”
Ana moaned through a wave of agony and then began to move her trembling limbs when relief finally came. But nearly as soon as it passed, another wave attacked her.
“Yes, that is precisely it. Now, please bring your knees forward a bit more.”
She complied and groaned as force and pain mounted. Then pressure flooded Ana’s body. She found she could not contain her vocalizing; her yelling was innate and visceral. Elena gripped her hands. Somehow Ana’s body knew what to do, and she pushed with all her might.
“That’s it, Ana. Wonderful, wonderful!”
One last strong push, and there was a splash and a thump and a great, blissful relief.
A small, wet, wriggling form was plopped into Ana’s arms, and the most heavenly, helpless cry mingled in the air in perfect harmony with Ana’s own sobs of joy.
Tears blurred her vision, and she blinked hard as she looked into the small, delicate face of her baby . . . her daughter.
“She is a girl, Elena!” Ana exclaimed in Spanish. “I have a daughter!”
“Hermosa!” Elena responded, her voice filled with awe.
Small, perfect lips. Dark, wide eyes that were now blinking against the harsh light of a new world.
And wet, messy hair that was already curling insistently, so similar to Ana’s own hair.
A ferocious feeling of protective, all-encompassing love slammed into Ana as she pressed the babe to her skin.
This child was her flesh and blood. Part of her very soul.
Ana very nearly laughed as pure elation and relief coursed through her.
This was heaven. It had all been well worth it.
Still, distant painful memories pushed at the safe bliss that surrounded them, reminding her that Mamá had borne her in a similar manner, Papá had treasured her tiny body in this same way, and it had not been enough to keep them.
“I will protect you from the bad things of this world,” she whispered. “I will not abandon you. Te lo prometo.”
* * *
Finally, Peter was to be allowed into the lying-in chamber.
Before Dr. Lee could even fully and properly open the door, Peter pushed past him and very nearly ran to his wife’s side.
She was now comfortably resting in her bed, the temporary birthing bed discarded to the side of the room.
And while exhaustion was written all over the lines in her brow, the circles beneath her eyes, and the trembling of her hands, pure, unrestrained happiness shone from her gaze, unlike he had ever seen before.
It brought tears to his eyes and made his knees buckle, bringing him to his knees at her bedside.
“How are you?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.
“Perfecto,” she murmured. “I am mother to un ángel.”
“It was . . . beyond frustrating that they would not allow me to be here at your side.”
“Dr. Lee says it was for my health.”
“But I needed to witness your health, your well-being, for myself,” Peter said, his voice breaking.
“I needed to protect you.” The helplessness that had him pacing all throughout the house like an injured beast was akin to the desperation that he had felt upon finding her after the siege.
Never had he felt such panic, such distress.
His need to ensure Ana’s safety had very nearly become his purpose for living, and being separated from her, even for the space of a day, had almost made him a madman.
“Peter, amor, I am safe,” Ana said. “I did not need protection. I am well.”
“You are so strong. So brave. You are simply marvelous,” Peter breathed into Ana’s neck as he embraced her with gentle, careful hands.
“And so is she.” Ana tilted her arms, exposing the tiny, caramel-toned face that had been previously lost in a bundle of swaddling.
“She?” Peter choked, emotion clogging his throat.
“Meet my . . . our daughter, Esperanza.”
Hot tears doused Peter’s cheeks and he blinked rapidly, not wanting to miss even the smallest detail of the tiny being his wife had brought into the world.
Dark, wavy hair capped the top of her perfectly round head, and bow-like lips wiggled in an echo of sucking.
She was already learning to love her mother’s sustenance, it seemed.
Peter’s gaze darted to Ana’s form again, just now seeing the loose gown she wore.
It had quite a low neckline and two buttons at the front, likely making it easy to feed the needy babe.
Her body was clearly swollen and exhausted from the immense transformation she had just endured, but to him, Ana had never appeared more beautiful.
Pure, abiding love wrapped around Peter like an embrace, and he found himself weeping again.
He rose to press a gentle kiss to Ana’s lips.
“Say her name again for me, please, that I might pronounce it correctly.”
“Esperanza.”
“Esperanza,” he repeated slowly, feeling out the inflection of the syllables. “A beautiful name. What does it mean?”
“Hope. Because she is my little hope.”
“She is our little hope.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and Ana María turned, tipping up her chin to welcome his lips and his embrace.