Chapter 39
There were hands upon her brow and another pair on her back. No sooner had she cried out for the Virgin to ease her pain, than thumbs kneaded her shoulders and fingers traced a circle on her belly, coaxing the child to be born. Rose tried to massage her feet, but Marthe kicked her hands away.
“Verger?” she moaned. She tried to pull her shift over her head, but another pair of hands soothed her arms back to her sides so that the rough cloth stayed clinging to her chest. She wished Lou would stop singing.
“It’s all right,” Apolline told her. “It’s only us. We sent Verger away.”
Marthe collapsed backwards onto the bed, disappointed. Strange that she would want her husband by her side in her confinement. With his shy smile and encouraging words about summer fruit, she wished that it were he who was rubbing her back and mopping her brow.
She wondered if what she was feeling was love.
A wave of pain cascaded over her. She lowed, the sound resonating around the room, causing a flurry of small hands to stroke her face and back and legs. When the wave crested, she turned and tried to bury her face in the mattress.
What a tragedy, she thought.
She had only just realized that she had married for love, and now she was going to die.