November 1942
Someone grabbed Jonathon's shoulder and began shaking it vigorously.
"Johnny!"
It was Helen's voice. He rolled over, and opened his eyes, but the lamp by the bedside table was on, making the room too bright and he squeezed them shut.
"Johnny, you have to wake up. It's the baby!"
He sat up straight and squinted at her. She was standing next to the bed in her nightgown. "What about the baby?" he asked loudly.
"It's time! The baby is coming."
He jumped out of the bed. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"How soon?" he said, going to find clothes.
"I don't know. Probably not for a while, but you need to get the doctor."
He put on a pair of pants and threw a sweater on over his pajama shirt. Once he was dressed, he was about to leave the room, but he stopped when he saw Helen's face. She looked frightened. "Are you alright?" he said, going to her.
She gave him a trembling smile. "I'll feel better when the doctor gets here."
He put his arms around her and held her tight. "I'll get him here as soon as I can," he said, wanting to reassure her as much as himself. "And I'll send Annie up here."
"Okay," she said, her voice muffled in his sweater.
He rubbed her back, until he felt her relax. "Why don't you get in bed," he said, letting go. She climbed in and he covered her with the blankets. "Annie will be here soon," he said, and leaned down to kiss her. When he straightened, she smiled up at him with a mixture of gratitude and worry. She was still scared. He needed to hurry and get the doctor.
In the hallway, he decided to go through the back bedroom since it had a staircase leading directly to the kitchen. Since Billy had left the week before to join his unit, Annie had been sleeping in Ingrid's old bedroom off the kitchen.
It was a decision she and Helen had made together so she could be there to help in case the baby came in the middle of the night, and in that moment, Jonathon was grateful. If there was ever a time when he didn't want to face something alone, it was now.
Outside Annie's bedroom door, he knocked. When he didn't hear anything, he knocked harder. "Annie, wake up!"
He heard a mattress squeak through the door. "What is it?"
"The baby is on the way," he said loudly. The door opened, and Annie appeared, clutching her robe tight to her neck. "Go wake James and send him to get the doctor. I'm going to call to tell him it's time."
"I'll go right away," she said, and he headed to the phone.
Listening to it ring over and over, his anxiety rose. Why wasn't he answering? Doctors were called in the middle of the night all the time, weren't they? Surely he'd have his phone set someplace where the ringing would wake him.
"Hello," he heard a male voice say groggily.
"It's Jonathon Blackwell, Dr. Williams. My wife says the baby is on the way."
"Very well," he said, already sounding more alert.
Annie came through the front door and the Duesenberg's engine roared to life as she closed it.
"My man is leaving now. He should be at your house before too long."
"I'll be ready."
"What about the nurse?" Jonathon said, hating that he sounded panicky.
"I'll call her to let her know. We can pick her up on the way back to your house. I'll see you soon, Mr. Blackwell," he said firmly, letting Jonathon know the conversation was over.
Jonathon hung up the phone, and ran his fingers through his hair. Now all they could do was wait. Then he noticed Annie studying him with concern. "Will you go to Helen? She needs you."
"Of course I will. Don't worry about her," she said gently, putting her hand on his arm. "Helen's had a very easy time so far and I expect this part will be easy too."
"I hope you're right."
"Why don't you make a drink to calm your nerves.? The doctor will be here before you know it."
He sighed. "Alright." She gave him a reassuring smile before climbing the stairs, and he went into the grand parlor.
He'd just started his second whiskey when he heard a car engine and went to the window. The headlights of the Duesenberg emerged from behind the trees, and he went to open the front door.
As soon as James stopped the car, the elderly Dr. Williams climbed out, not waiting for him. "Dr. Williams," Jonathon said, going to him with his hand out while a middle-aged nurse got out behind him. "My wife – she's – she's–"
"Don't worry about a thing," the doctor said, shaking his hand briefly as he strode to the front steps. "I've delivered plenty of babies. There shouldn't be any trouble tonight."
"Yes, sir," Jonathon said, following him into the house. "She's up here," he said, beginning to go up the stairs.
"Mr. Blackwell," Dr. Williams said with a kind smile, stopping him. "You don't need to show me. I can take it from here."
"Oh, well, it's the door on the right hand side – at the front of the house," Jonathon said uncertainly, stepping off the landing.
"I'm sure I'll be able to find her. It's going to be a very long night. I suggest you find a comfortable chair or perhaps a couch where you can sleep. We'll let you know when it's over."
"Alright," Jonathon said, even though he didn't want to. There was so much more that needed to be said, explanations given, information he was desperate to know, but he kept quiet. The doctor must know what he's doing.
He watched the two of them go up the stairs, and when the bedroom door closed, he went in the grand parlor. Picking up his whiskey glass, he sighed deeply. What was going to happen that night was completely out of his control, and he hated how powerless it made him feel.
He slumped in a chair, wishing more than anything he could be with Helen. But even if they did let him be with her during the delivery, what could he do to help? He'd just be in the way. At least she had Annie. Annie would help keep her calm.
The bedroom door opened and closed, and there were footsteps. Annie spoke and the nurse replied, but their voices were too low for him to hear what they were saying. There were more footsteps, doors opening and closing and then it was quiet again.
An hour later, sleep was creeping up on him, and he wondered if he should take the doctor's advice. He stretched out on the couch and waited to drift off, but his mind wouldn't allow it. Instead, he thought about Helen. Was the delivery going smoothly? How was Helen doing at that moment? He remembered how worried she was, and hoped she wasn't still scared.
A sound came from upstairs, a loud groan, and he bolted upright. It had to be Helen. He went to the staircase and looked up as Helen cried out again, this time more sharply. Was she in trouble? Then there was a long wrenching scream, and he rushed up the stairs.
When he burst into the bedroom, he saw Helen, her face red and sweaty while she writhed on the bed. Annie was holding her hand with the nurse standing next to her.
Then the nurse looked over at him, and her eyes widened. "Mr. Blackwell, you can't be in here!" she said, going to him.
"What's wrong with her? Helen!" he cried while she pushed him backwards.
"There's nothing wrong with her," she said firmly, closing the door behind her so the two of them were alone in the hallway.
"Why is she screaming like that?" he demanded.
"It's completely normal."
There was no way that could be normal, and Jonathon opened his mouth to argue with her, but stopped when Helen screamed again. "She sounds like she's dying!"
"This is why fathers should not be allowed–" she started with exasperation, and then stopped. "I know it's hard to hear," she said in a slightly softer tone, but it was still patronizing. "But this is what women go through when they have a baby. After it's over, she'll barely remember any of it. Now please! Try to find someplace to rest, preferably where you won't hear her, and let us concentrate on getting this baby delivered."
Helen screamed again, and he slumped, feeling helpless. "If you – alright," he said, giving in. She turned to leave, but he couldn't help begging, "Please don't let anything happen to her!"
"We won't," she said firmly, and closed the door.
He stayed where he was, not knowing what to do. Maybe he should take the nurse's suggestion. But where could he go where he couldn't hear Helen's screams? The parlor and living room were too close. Then he remembered the cabin.
Back downstairs, he opened the front door and just as he was stepping out into the chilly air, Helen screamed again. He hesitated. Was he really going to leave when she was in so much distress? It seemed the act of a cowardly man.
He went back in the house and wandered though the rooms. Each time he'd decided on a place to sit, Helen would scream, and he'd stand, unable to remain still. Eventually he found himself at the bottom of the stairs.
If something did happen to Helen, if they decided they needed him, he didn't want to be far. He climbed the stairs and went to his old bedroom. Helen had turned it into a nursery for the baby, and a rocking chair that had been in his family for decades was next to the crib he and Billy had slept in. As Helen screamed again, he sat in the rocking chair and leaned forward, grabbing fistfuls of his hair. When would this nightmare end?
As time passed and Helen interrupted long minutes of silence with her screaming, he began to curse Walt Dwyer for what he'd done to her. He knew it was childish to blame the man. Walt was long dead after all, and if it were his and Helen's child, she'd most likely be in the same amount of distress, but he couldn't help it. Each time he heard her, it felt like he was being tortured.
Eventually exhaustion set in, and he was starting to drift off during the quiet moments when he heard another sound, distinctly different from before. He jumped out of the rocking chair and went to the closed door. It was a baby's cries, high pitched and sharp as it wailed. He put his hand on the knob, intending to go in, but didn't turn it. The nurse had made it clear he wasn't supposed to go in there. They were going to get him when it was over.
There were murmurings, the doctor's deeper voice mixed with female ones, the baby's loud cries drowning them out. He dropped his hand and went back to the nursery, feeling miserable. He should be with Helen now, not be kept from her. At least the worst of it was over, he thought, falling back into the rocking chair.
"Johnny."
He opened his eyes, realizing he'd fallen asleep. Outside, the sky was lightening as the sun began to rise and standing in front of him, Annie was holding a tightly wrapped bundle.
"How is Helen?" he demanded, jumping up.
"She's fine. The doctor said it took a little longer since it was her first, but she's fine."
"Can I see her?" he asked, heading towards the doorway.
"You can't go in there yet. The doctor is getting ready to put in a few stitches."
"Stitches!" he said, going back to her.
"She tore a little, but she's okay," she said quickly.
"Oh." He rubbed his face as disappointment overwhelmed him. He wanted to see her so badly.
"It's a boy. You have a little boy," Annie said, smiling and then blinked back sudden tears. "The doctor said he's real healthy."
"That's – good," Jonathon said glumly, avoiding looking at it.
"Will you hold him?"
"What? No," he said, taking a step and shaking his head. "I don't – I've never–"
"Please, Johnny!"
"I don't know how to hold a baby!"
"The nurse told me to take him out of the room, but I don't want to leave Helen alone. Please hold him so I can be with her."
He continued to shake his head. "I don't – I can't–"
"Sit in the rocking chair," Annie said, interrupting him. "It'll be easier if you hold him sitting down."
Jonathon tried to think of an excuse, but he knew there was no choice, not if he didn't want Helen to be alone while the doctor was sewing her up. He went to the rocking chair.
"Make sure you support his head," Annie said, resting the bundle in the crook of his arm. "I'll be back to get you as soon as I can." She rushed out of the room, leaving him alone.
He looked down at the baby for the first time. It was wrapped so tightly that all he could see was its face.
This is Walt's son, he thought grimly. His son, not mine.
He searched the features, trying to see a resemblance to Walt, but he couldn't find any. He tried to see Helen in its face, but the baby didn't look like her either. It just looked like a baby with a sort of scrunched up face.
He lifted the bundle up, amazed that it was so light. It was like he wasn't holding anything at all. How could this baby be so small when Helen's stomach had gotten so big?
The baby scrunched his face more, and began moving as he let out a high pitched squall.
Oh, God, Jonathon thought, his heart starting to race. What was wrong with him?
The baby cried out more loudly and began kicking in the blanket.
Was he in pain? What do I do, Jonathon wondered desperately. Why had Annie made him do this? He didn't know how to handle crying babies.
He stood and headed in the direction of the bedroom, determined to get someone else to take him, but by time he reached the door, the baby had quieted. He looked down at his face. It was still red and he was breathing hard, but he wasn't crying. Whatever the crisis was, it seemed to have passed.
Jonathon went back to the rocking chair, and when he sat, he began rocking the chair. Perhaps the motion would help keep him quiet.
During all the movement, one of the baby's hands had worked itself out of the blanket, and Jonathon examined it with wonder. The closed fist was so small, barely bigger than the end of Jonathon's thumb. The fingers were tiny yet perfectly shaped, each one with a miniature fingernail. Jonathon touched the baby's hand with his finger, and as he felt the delicate skin – a profound revelation came over him.
This little baby – Helen's son – was completely helpless.
In a world that was cold and cruel, with a terrible war raging across it's oceans and over most of its continents, the only person this baby had to protect him was Jonathon. "You don't ever have to worry," he said quietly as he stroked the baby's hand with his finger. "I'll take care of you, and your mother. No one will ever hurt you."
The baby opened his fingers, and Jonathon touched the inside of his hand. To his astonishment, the baby gripped his finger tightly and didn't let go.
He couldn't help laughing. "You're a lot stronger than you look. Do you know that?"
He continued to rock the chair while he grinned, marveling at the tight grip with which his finger was being held. "You're strong like your Uncle Billy –like the Blackwell men. I'm your father, in case you were wondering. And your mother is over there in the other room. She's been waiting to see you for a very long time. I bet when she does, she's going to be over the moon. She loves you very much."
He heard the bedroom door open and he eased himself out of the rocker. The doctor had his black bag, and the nurse was with him when Jonathon entered the hallway. His heart leapt. This must mean the doctor was finished and he could finally see Helen.
"Mr. Blackwell!" the nurse said with outrage when she saw him. "I thought your girl had put the baby in a crib, I didn't know she'd given him to you!"
She held her hands out to take him, but Jonathon didn't move. "I'm alright holding him."
"It's – highly irregular – for fathers–" she sputtered, clearly distressed he wasn't willing to hand her his son.
"How is my wife?" Jonathon asked the doctor, ignoring her.
"She's fine, fine," Dr. Williams said in an amused voice as he watched the nurse open and close her mouth. "Her blood pressure was a little low earlier."
"Is that serious?" Jonathon asked with concern.
"It's stabile now, so nothing to worry about. She'll need to stay in bed during the next week. She's had stitches and we don't want her doing anything strenuous until they're healed. She'll need to have a special diet during that time. I gave your housekeeper instructions for what she'll need. I'd like to come back in a few days to check on her and the baby."
"Of course. Call my secretary and she'll arrange to have my car sent for you."
"This little fellow is as healthy as can be!" the doctor said, leaning over to peer at him. "You've got a fine son there, Mr. Blackwell."
"Thank you," Jonathon said, smiling down at him.
"Once you decide on a name, let me know and I'll sign the birth certificate."
"I'll have my housekeeper get the driver for you," Jonathon said, opening the door to his bedroom. Annie was sitting on the bed next to Helen who looked like she was sleeping, and he motioned for her. "Can you get James for the doctor?" he whispered when she reached him, and she nodded.
Relieved he was now finally able to be with Helen, he went in the bedroom and closed the door, not even willing to wait long enough to see the doctor out.
Helen's face was pale in the early morning light coming through the window as Jonathon approached the bed. He sat slowly, not wanting to wake her, but her eyes opened anyway.
"Johnny," she said, looking at him with surprise.
"How are you feeling?"
"Like I've gone a few rounds in the ring with Joe Louis," she said with a weak laugh. "How is he?" she asked, starting to lift herself up.
"Don't move," he said quickly to stop her. He leaned forward so she could see the baby's face. "He's fine. He's been sleeping."
She reached to stroke his cheek. "I can't believe how beautiful he is," she said, tears coming to her eyes.
"He's already got a grip like you wouldn't believe," Jonathon said with a grin. "He may not look like it, but he's a strong little tyke."
"You – you – think so?" she said, and wiped away more tears as they came.
"I think he's going to grow up to be a fine man."
Helen covered her face with her hands as she cried harder.
"What's wrong?" he asked with alarm.
She took a deep breath in an attempt to stop, and wiped her face. "I didn't know if you would love him," she said shakily.
Jonathon dropped his head to hide his shame. "He's our son," he said quietly, not wanting to admit the truth. Helen didn't reply, and in the silence he gazed at the child in his arms. How could he not care about him? He was so small and helpless, and he was Helen's son. If Jonathon had rejected him, it would be the same as rejecting her. "I do love him," he said, meeting her eyes.
She broke down again, but quickly recovered. "I don't know why I'm crying so much," she said with a laugh while she wiped her tears away. "It must be because I'm tired."
"What should we call him?" Jonathon asked.
"What do you think?"
"I don't know," Jonathon said, studying him.
"I've always liked the name Douglas," Helen suggested.
"Douglas Blackwell," Jonathon said slowly, and then he smiled at her. "I like it!"
"I like it too."
"Douglas," he repeated, looking down at him. "I think it suits him. What about a middle name?"
Helen's smile fell, and she reached out to touch Douglas's blanket. "I've been thinking about this for a long time," she said quietly, and Jonathon's stomach sank. "I'd like Douglas's middle name to be Walter."
No! Jonathon thought, but he clenched his jaw to keep from saying it out loud.
"Walt died for our country. He died for you and me, and for Douglas. It just doesn't feel like it would be the right thing to do – to have his name disappear as if he never existed."
Jonathon didn't want to, but he immediately thought of Billy. If it was his brother who had fathered a child, he wouldn't like it if Kitty didn't make sure his child carried his name, even if he was going to be raised by another man.
"You said the records would be sealed, so no one would even know he had a middle name if we didn't tell them," she pleaded.
He knew he should agree, it was the moral thing to do, but he couldn't help his feelings. He didn't want Walt's name attached to Douglas.
"He'll always be our son, Johnny," she said gently. "Yours and mine. Honoring the man who made him possible won't take that away from us."
"How – how about – Dwyer." he muttered, finally forcing his warring sides to come to a truce.
Helen blinked. "Douglas Dwyer Blackwell. I think it's a strong name, Johnny."
"Well, he's a strong little boy."
She took his hand, her eyes shiny with tears again. "You'll never know how much I love you."
"You can't love me more than I love you," he said, and leaned over to kiss her.
****
Well, if you're crying right now, I can understand why. I cried buckets while I worked on this chapter. I really hope you enjoyed seeing how Jonathon finally came around and fell in love with Douglas. This chapter has a lot of meaning to me since Doug is such a huge part of The Boy in the Woods. He was the one character who took over his role in that story and demanded I write him the way he wanted to be written. He deserved to have a fitting and emotional entry into the world, and I hope I delivered it for him (no pun intended).
Thank you for reading and please let me know what you thought! Your continued support means the world to me!
Cheers!