“Your father told me. I’m going to help her deliver the baby. Let me in.”
“How? You’re not a doctor, Rosy. I know you’re smarter than any girl I’ve ever met, and you sure are beautiful, but?—”
“Let me in,” I demand. I can’t believe he’s trying to make me blush rather than letting me inside. That might have worked once, back when I had a small school-girl crush on him, but I don’t have time for romance right now.
Antoni scoffs and backs away from the door, waving an arm out in front of him to not quite invite me in on his own terms. He pokes his head out the door, searches both directions, then locks back up.
“Follow me.”
“Thank you.”
“People talk about you, you know…” he says, moving toward the back of the shop. “Calling you ‘the girl who saves babies.’ Do you truly know what you’re doing?”
“More than I can explain,” I say. People know that my mother passed away in childbirth when I was young, but don’t always know how much time I’ve spent studying the skill of midwifery over the years. They also don’t know I’m the one to blame for the death of Mama and my baby sister.
Antoni pulls back a draped curtain, hung from the ceiling, revealing a narrow wooden door that looks like it hasn’t budged in a century. He digs a hand into his pocket, retrieves a key and unlocks a small lock at the top and then at the bottom, before twisting the doorknob.
A dark opening awaits on the other side.
Another three days come and go before Elena Rozenfeld’s waters break in the middle of the night, which leads to a dozen hours of active labor before she’s ready to push. Everything is going as well as could be with no troubling signs of strain for mother or baby. The father-to-be, on the other hand, is as good as a heap of laundry in the corner of the room, pale, and faint. Not unusual.
Just before noon, a baby boy enters the world—blue-lipped, limp, and silent. The cord is wound tightly around his neck. Once. Twice.
My hands move before I can think. Unwinding the cord. Two fingers under the arm, checking for a pulse. Brisk, circular rubbing along his spine, just as I’d read to do in Mama’s books. Then down his chest with firmer pressure. Come on, little one. Come on.
No cry.
I place him down on the blanket and bend low, pressing my mouth to his tiny one, giving him a slow, shallow puff of air.
Another rub.
Another breath.
“What’s happening?” Elena cries out, weak and distraught.
The father is suddenly at my side, as if someone had breathed life into him too. He cradles his newborn’s head in the palm of his hand, eyes welling, lips quivering.
I rub down his chest once more…
Then a cough.
A wet rusty sound. The most beautiful sound.
Elena sobs.
I clamp the umbilical cord and wrap him in the blanket. The father scoops him up and carefully brings him to Elena, where a family takes its first breath together.
That’s my favorite part. Standing in the corner, out of sight, watching love blossom as if magic drapes the three of them. Instant love, a forever bond, never to be broken.
Antonio pokes his head around the corner from the narrow stairwell. I’m not sure listening to the events is much easier than watching, and the paleness of his complexion confirms this. “You saved the baby’s life, Rosy,” Antoni says, his words a whisper. “I shouldn’t have doubted you. You truly are something else. You’re incredible.”
My cheeks redden, but only for a moment. “I appreciate the compliment, but I must go. My father’s waiting.”
“How about I walk you home?” Antoni insists.
“I can walk across the street just fine, thank you.” I smile so my refusal won’t sting and slip out of the cobbler’s shop.
Antoni talks. And people listen. That’s reason enough for why I’ve never accepted one of his many offers to dinner or the theater. He’s always the one scolded for chatting too much in class. The cobbler hears all the gossip in the village, and his son keeps it moving. The only secret Antoni can keep is the whereabouts of Elena Rozenfeld’s little family.
