Love's Last Gift (on hold)

Chapter 1

Boston, October 22, 1881

"Open the windows, Martha, and let some air in here."

The trusted house servant did as she was told, raising the heavy paned windows of the stuffy room. The fire in the fireplace had been built much hotter than was necessary, even though the autumns in Boston were quite chilly. But the hot fire had been necessary to boil water. The boiling water had been necessary to sterilize everything that might be needed.

"I can't do this," she gasped out between labored breaths. "I can't. I'm going to die. It hurts too much. Is it supposed to hurt this bad?" she asked, squeezing tightly the hand of the woman who was not only one of her only remaining relatives, but who she also now thought of as her best friend.

"How should I know? I've never done this before either. But you're wrong. You can do this. Women have been doing it for thousands of years. Most of them survived." She looked down into the face of the woman she had come to love so dearly and she brushed the damp hair from her forehead. "And so will you." She locked concerned eyes with the equally concerned servant who was laying out clean towels and a sterilized needle and thread.

"Here it comes again," she said, panting. "Oh, sweet Lord. I feel like I'm being ripped in half!"

"Hold my hand. Squeeze it hard."

Martha rushed to stand between the naked, bent knees of the woman she loved like a daughter. "I can see the head. It's time to start pushing."

"Oh, God, I can't do this!"

"Yes, you can. Martha and I are not going to let you give up. Now squeeze my hand and push!"

She bore down with everything she had. She wanted it to be over. She let out a scream as the pain became unbearable. Then the pain passed and she fell back again against the pillows.

"The head is out!" Martha announced with a smile on her face.

"Good, girl. Just a little more and it will be over."

"One more good push is all it's going to take," Martha said with confidence, having been witness to this miracle several times before.

"You hear that? One more good push and you can rest. Now come on. Push!!"

The push came with an earsplitting scream of agony. Then there was silence, a thick, heavy silence, as a pair of blue eyes and a pair of green ones locked in a fearful gaze.

The new mother collapsed back onto the pillows of the bed, exhausted and spent. She had never been this tired in her life. She lay there fighting the sleep that was pulling her into its welcome embrace. She couldn't sleep yet, not until she heard the cry. When long moments passed and still there was only silence, she raised herself on shaky elbows to see what was going on. The other two women in the room were standing with their backs to her in front of the wash basin. What was going on? Panic started to grow inside of her. Why wasn't he crying? Shouldn't he be crying. She had never known the kind of fear she knew in this moment. She was silently begging God to spare the tiny miracle she had just worked so hard to bring into the world when a high pitched quivering wail split the air. "Thank you," she mumbled as she fell back again against the pillows.

"Here you are, mama," Martha said lovingly as she placed the tiny wrapped bundle in her arms. She pushed the covering back to reveal the tiny head, full of hair. Then the tiny slits of the baby's eyes opened and looked at her. She couldn't control the tears that began to stream down her face. The tears were a mixture of joy and sorrow. The joy came from holding her child that had been joyfully conceived and whom she had carried in her womb for nine months. The sorrow came from looking into a mirror image of the baby's father. The same hair and eyes that were the exact same color as her child's father. The father her child would never know.