“Pressure right here, with me, as hard as you can manage,” Ruth said to Nora.
“Supra pubic pressure,” she said reflexively. She’d used it often enough, but never holding a patient like Ruth was.
“Make it stop,” Mrs. Roland pleaded, her face red and swollen.
“It will stop. And you’ll be holding a beautiful babe,” Ruth promised. “Sit down on me. I won’t break.”
Nora would have. She didn’t know how Ruth bore up the weight of a straining pregnant woman.
Mrs. Roland writhed through several more pains before she closed her eyes and announced, “It’s coming.”
“Almost,” Nora said, panic fraying her voice. Last she’d checked, the cervix hadn’t expanded enough. The pressure of pushing could damage it permanently. After taking her hook from her bag, she massaged the top of the baby’s head, finding a safe spot…
Mrs. Roland screamed as the amniotic fluid burst from the ruptured membrane, dropping the baby’s head and eliciting an immediate contraction. Nora was ready with a towel. After this, they wouldn’t have much time. “Get her on the bed,” she commanded. “She’ll be ready to push in one or two more pains.”
“No. No. No,” Mrs. Roland repeated, shaking her head. Instead of staggering onto the bed, she dropped to the floor on her hands and knees.
“Mrs. Roland—” Nora hooked an arm under her shoulders. They must get her off the floor. She heaved upward, but Mrs. Franklin stopped her with a firm hand.
“She’s in a good place right where she is. She can deliver like this.”
“But she—”
Mrs. Roland moaned through clenched lips. Her bodyshook, her face bright red with the effort of pushing. The baby’s black hair slid into view and then vanished again.
They couldn’t let her birth on the floor. Nora bit her lip, then told herself there was no point in considering her patient’s dignity. Nothing was going to move Mrs. Roland now. She’d been in such pain, but as soon as she’d dropped to all fours, her screaming had stopped.
With the child already crowning, it wouldn’t be long.
Ruth bent low and pressed her fist into Mrs. Roland’s aching back with such strength her arms quivered. “You bring out the baby; I’ll help her through the pains.”
Mrs. Roland leaned onto her forearms, her bottom thrust up as the baby’s face emerged, bloated and purple. Out of arguments and time, Nora supported the stretching tissues and watched the slick body turn on the next contraction, expelling more fluid and blood. Mrs. Rowland had stopped screaming and was pushing silently, no strength left for sound. The shoulders emerged and Nora took hold of the infant, who blinked, fingers splayed wide, then squalled indignantly.
“I need another towel.”
Ruth was already beside her, taking the baby and swabbing her off. “Do you see how easy that was?”
Easyseemed hardly the appropriate word.
“What is it?” Mrs. Roland asked, voice muffled against her arms.
“A girl,” Ruth said, and carried the baby to her mother’s side. Mrs. Roland laughed shakily, dissolving into tears.
“Let’s get you and your mama up to the bed now,” Ruth said, setting the baby in the middle of the mattress. The infantstopped crying and scrunched into a tight ball, eyes refusing to let in the offending light of day. Nora helped Mrs. Roland to her feet.
“I thought I was going to die,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes.
“No, no, love,” Ruth said. “There was never any danger, but those kinds of pains might make you think so. But you’re finished now, with a beautiful daughter.”
“Not even a tiny tear. No stitches,” Nora said, smiling.
“Most of mine never do,” Ruth said, busy arranging the bedcovers. “My aunt was a great midwife. She taught me the hands and knees.”
Nora chewed on the inside of her cheek, replaying the birth. Unconventional. Visually disturbing, but effective.
***
Lady Woodbine sent them home in Mrs. Roland’s coach, their ears full of praises.
