“Push,” the woman screamed at the young girl.
“I can’t. I’m too tired,” the young girl cried and moaned.
“You have to. Now PUSH!” the older woman ordered.
The young girl pushed with her last bit of energy.
“It’s a boy.” Cries echoed in the room. The woman placed the child, wrapped in warm receiving blankets, in the young girl’s arms.
Dreamily, she looked at her baby boy. With a sigh, she closed her eyes. “My boy…” Her voice drifted off, and her head rolled back. A seizure followed, and then stillness.
With the woman’s shrieks, the group in the room realized the young girl was dead. “Get the Major!” the woman cried out, panicked.
The Major walked into the room. “What’s wrong?”
“She’s dead. Amber’s dead,” the woman cried.
“What happened?” The Major glared at her midwife.
“The labor was hard on her. It could have been a stroke,” the woman said.
The Major pressed her lips together. “George, get in here,” she called.
A large man dressed in fatigues lumbered in. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Dear Amber has left this world. Please take care of her.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The midwife rocked the newborn. “Welcome to the world, little angel. Your momma gave it all for you.”
* * *
Eleanor leaned against the pillows while Wes went downstairs to make her a cup of tea. The dream was not a nightmare; it was a memory. Worse was the fact she almost told him who she was. Eleanor Drake died tied to a post soon after she turned fourteen.
A shudder ran down her spine. Was this an accident, or was she found again? And by whom? Her parents or the traffickers who still held her sister? Her brain was playing tricks on her. Were they the same people?
“Please, let this be real. What should I do? Am I safe?” she whispered to herself.
“Hey, Curly. I’ve got a nice mug of tea and some ginger snaps. If you’re nauseated, they might settle your belly,” Wes called from the top of the stairwell.
Eleanor swallowed hard.Did he hear what I said?she worried.
