CHAPTER 12 #3
“Aye,” said Cameron, his voice gruff. He laid his hand against the hard swell of his wife’s abdomen. “I can feel it as well.” He kissed the top of her head.
“Oh, look, she’s up—did the bairn come already?” asked Isabella, entering with Marjorie and Lettie.
“Judging by her size, I’d say the wee thing’s still tucked safely inside her,” said Lettie, setting down a basin and a stack of neatly folded linens. “Either that or she’s been eating far too many bannocks!”
“Was it a false pain, Clarinda?” asked Marjorie, while placing a small dirk, needle, and thread, and a soft little plaid on the table. “That happens sometimes, you know. With my third one, I felt sure it was coming, and then had to wait nearly a week before he finally appeared.”
“I don’t believe there was anything false about it,” Clarinda replied. “This bairn is coming today. It’s just taking a little rest at the moment.”
“Then why are you out of bed?” Marjorie asked.
“Because she feels like it,” Cameron said flatly.
“And since Clarinda’s the one birthing the bairn, she can do as she pleases.
” He hesitated at the door. “But if, by chance, she decides to stand on her head, be sure to fetch me. That’s a sight I’d not want to miss!
” He easily ducked the pillow Clarinda tossed his way, then closed the door.
“Isabella tells us you sent Elspeth away,” Lettie said, regarding Gwendolyn in amazement.
“I most certainly did.” Once again she began to escort Clarinda slowly around the chamber. “Clarinda did not want her near, and that was fine by me. Can you believe she was actually tying Clarinda to the bed when I came in?”
Lettie nodded and seated herself in the chair by the hearth.
“Elspeth tied me down when I birthed my wee Gareth. She ties all birthing mothers down. She believes the mother should lie still and suffer the pain in silence, since ’tis God who is sending her the pain, as punishment for her womanly sins. ”
“Didn’t you mind being bound?” Gwendolyn asked.
“I hated it,” Lettie admitted. “It made me feel helpless—like a prisoner. And I couldn’t move my arms or legs to a more comfortable position when I wanted to.
I was struggling as much against the bonds as I was against the pain.
My wrists were so raw and sore afterward, I could scarcely hold my bairn. ”
“I think it’s a horrible thing to do to a woman,” Gwendolyn said. “I may not know much about birthing, but it seems to me one should do everything possible to make the mother more comfortable, instead of lashing her to the bed and ordering her to keep still.”
“I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to be tied down when I had my bairns,” agreed Marjorie, sitting on the bed.
“That was long before Elspeth became the clan’s healer.
In my day, the women who attended you just made you lie in bed until the bairn came.
Which is strange,” she mused, frowning, “since my mother said she always worked right up until a few minutes before the bairn pushed its way out. She claimed that when I was born, she wrapped me up, put me in the cradle, and then carried on making supper. Said my father hated it if anything interfered with his supper being ready!”
The women laughed.
“Oh my!” Clarinda gasped. She grabbed Gwendolyn for support as her knees buckled beneath her. “Oh—my.” Her eyes squeezed shut, she crumpled to the floor, unable to say anything else.
“What’s happening to her?” Isabella asked anxiously. “Is the bairn coming?”
“Clarinda, are you all right?” Gwendolyn knelt beside her. “Do you want us to help you to the bed?”
Clarinda held her breath, her lips locked tight as she struggled against the pain.
“Breathe deeply, Clarinda,” instructed Marjorie, hurrying over to them. “Come, now, lass, a nice, deep breath. That’s it. Now let it out. It won’t last long—you’re almost through it—and everything is just fine—you’re a good lass. Just a wee bit longer, and then you’ll feel much better.”
“Shouldn’t we do something?” demanded Gwendolyn, distressed at seeing her friend in such agony.
“There’s nothing much we can do,” said Lettie, who had also moved closer. “You have to suffer until you think you cannot bear it a moment longer, and then you suffer even more. And finally the bairn comes out, and you forget about everything except the wee person you hold in your arms.”
“Oh!” gasped Clarinda weakly, relinquishing her crushing grip on Gwendolyn’s hand. She exhaled a long, steadying breath. “That was a fierce one.”
“Where is the bairn?” asked Isabella, who hadn’t moved from the opposite side of the chamber. “Do you have it?”
“Not yet, Isabella,” said Marjorie, smiling. “We have to wait awhile longer.”
“That was very good, Clarinda,” praised Gwendolyn. “You were absolutely splendid—like the mighty Torvald when he was almost torn in half by the terrible two-headed monster!”
“Perhaps that’s how I should think of it,” Clarinda suggested weakly. “I am a great warrior who refuses to be conquered by this pain.”
“And in the end, you are rewarded by a marvelous treasure,” suggested Lettie.
“You mustn’t think you need to be brave,” Gwendolyn countered. “Or at least, you needn’t be quiet. Make all the noise you want, do you hear?”
Clarinda smiled. “I will, Gwendolyn. Thank you.”
“Would you like to walk some more?”
“Actually, I believe I will lie down for a moment. That left me feeling rather wilted.”
Gwendolyn and Marjorie obligingly helped her over to the bed.
“There, now,” said Gwendolyn, adjusting the pillow behind Clarinda’s head. “Are you warm enough?”
“I’m fine.”
“We must wait awhile now,” said Marjorie, sitting on the opposite side of the bed. “It can be a slow business, waiting for a bairn.”
“Why don’t you tell us a story, Gwendolyn?” prompted Isabella. “That will make the time go faster.”
Clarinda’s expression brightened. “Tell the one about when the mighty Torvald went to slay the kelpie who had stolen the poor man’s daughter—”
“—only he found she was living as a princess in a magic kingdom deep at the bottom of the loch,” finished Isabella excitedly.
Gwendolyn looked at Isabella in surprise. “How do you know that story, Isabella? I have only told it to David and Clarinda.”
“I—I must have heard it somewhere else,” she stammered.
Gwendolyn reflected on this in confusion. The mighty Torvald was a character her father had created exclusively for her, and that particular tale was one they had made up together during one of their many walks in the mountains. She could not imagine how Isabella could possibly have heard it.
“Do tell it, Gwendolyn,” prodded Lettie, pulling her chair closer to the bed. “It sounds like a wonderful tale.”
“Very well.” She settled herself beside Clarinda. “Long ago, in a land far beyond the edge of the ocean, there lived a magnificent warrior of extraordinary strength and courage, who was known by all as the mighty Torvald….”
Afternoon slowly melted into evening, but the circle of women scarcely noticed.
Gwendolyn spun the fiercest, most glorious tales she could think of, trying her best to distract Clarinda from her advancing pain.
When the contractions grew stronger, she held Clarinda’s hand and spoke encouragingly to her, telling her to hold fast just a little longer, and promising her that it was nearly over.
And when Clarinda would collapse against the mattress and whimper that she could not bear any more, Gwendolyn would gently massage the hard, aching swell of her belly, while Isabella sponged Clarinda’s face with cool water and Marjorie and Lettie spoke about what a wonderful experience it was to finally hold your very own child in your arms. More candles were lit, keeping the chamber bright, and outside the rain continued to pour, so that the air was fragrant with the sweet tang of wet heather and pine.
“…that’s it, Clarinda, you’re doing just splendidly,” said Gwendolyn, supporting her friend’s shoulders as Clarinda heaved and strained to free her child from her body.
“I can see more of the head!” announced Marjorie excitedly. “Oh, my,” she said, laughing, “what a lot of hair!”
“Let me see,” said Isabella, who had thus far avoided looking anywhere near where the child was to emerge. She cautiously moved to the end of the bed, then stared at the dark, wet crown of the baby’s head in shock.
And fainted dead away.
“Let’s hope she manages to stay awake for her own child,” quipped Gwendolyn.
“Come, now, Clarinda, you’re almost there,” said Lettie. “Another few pushes, and it will slip right out.”
“I can’t,” sobbed Clarinda, sagging back into Gwendolyn’s arms. “I just can’t.” She closed her eyes and began to weep, overcome with pain and exhaustion.
Marjorie regarded Gwendolyn with alarm. “She mustn’t stop now—”
“Look at me, Clarinda,” Gwendolyn commanded. “Open your eyes and look at me.”
Clarinda regarded her dully. “Forgive me, Gwendolyn.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Gwendolyn told her sternly. “You are doing a wonderful job, and you are not about to give up now, do you hear? Now look at me—summon every shred of strength you have left and push, do you hear? Push!”
Clarinda closed her eyes. “I can’t.”
“You can, and you will,” Gwendolyn informed her, using the same implacable tone she had heard Alex use when training his warriors.
“We’ve come this far, and in another minute you’ll see your bairn, but you have to work a little longer.
Now take a deep breath—that’s good—you’re strong, Clarinda, stronger than the mighty Torvald, do you hear?
Now push, and scream as loud as you can! ”
Clarinda obediently pushed. And screamed. And screamed some more.
“That’s it!” shouted Marjorie, elated. “Here it comes! Oh, my, Clarinda, it’s a girl! Oh, she’s just beautiful!”
A tiny, mewling cry filled the air as the door crashed open and Cameron burst into the chamber, his expression wild with terror.