“I apologize,” he whispered, but Hettie shook her head.
“Do not fret—”
A groan, sharp and strong, drew their attention, and Hettie pushed open the door to find Charity grimacing and reaching for her leg as Mrs. Johnson began to massage the lady’s calf.
“Just a little cramp,” said the midwife. “It’s bound to happen from time to time. It might be good to get you up again.”
But Charity groaned and tears gathered in her eyes. Hurrying to her bedside, Hettie and Mrs. Johnson worked together to help her to her feet. The lady’s breaths shuddered, and she limped along as the others carried the majority of her weight.
With the curtains pulled open, warm morning light now poured through the window, and though the brightness helped to lighten everyone’s spirits, the long and weary night had left them with little energy to spare. Hettie prayed (not for the first time) that this would soon be over.
“That’s better,” said Mrs. Johnson as the muscles began to release, though Charity’s tears didn’t ebb.
“I want Thomas. I want to be home. I want to be done.” She held fast to Hettie, her chin trembling, and shook her head. “I cannot do this any longer. Please…”
“You are so strong, Charity. So very, very strong. I know you can do this,” whispered Hettie. “In just a little bit, you will have your dear little baby. Sweet Charmas or Thomity.”
The silly names earned Hettie a faint and watery chuckle. With a heavy sigh, Charity stepped to the birthing cot and leaned over it, resting her elbows against the mattress, and Hettie stood beside her, rubbing small circles along her lower back.
“Please tell me it will be over soon,” said Charity, turning to look at Mrs. Johnson, but the poor midwife had no happy answers for her. Nature took its time, and there was no rushing it along.
“What is going on here?” cried Mrs. Baxter as she swept into the chamber. Her eyes were wide as she gaped at the room. “Are you trying to harm our dear Charity?”
Striding to her sister-in-law’s side, Mrs. Baxter elbowed past Hettie to take Charity by the arm and guide her into bed.
“Please, I do not wish to sit right now,” said Charity. “My legs are cramping.”
“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Baxter. “Mrs. Flemming, a dear friend of mine, insisted on standing and walking about, and she lost her child. To this day, she swears that a woman shouldn’t stir from her bed before, during, or after the ordeal. Or do you wish to risk your babe?”
“Of course not!” Charity’s eyes widened as new tears began to gather. With a pleading gaze, she looked to Hettie, but before she could say a word, Mrs. Johnson came to the rescue.
“Mrs. Baxter, we require new bed linens. Perhaps you can help us refresh them—”
“No!” Having deposited Charity back in bed, Mrs. Baxter turned around, her hands on her hips as she glared at the two of them. “I am not leaving again on some fool’s errand. I was only supposed to close my eyes for a quarter of an hour, and you let me sleep through most of the night and half the morning. If you wish for something, do it yourself. I shan’t stir from Charity’s side.”
Stalking toward the window, Mrs. Baxter tugged at the curtains, ensuring that the heavy drapery was closed tight against even the slightest shred of light, all while making a string of dire predictions about what would happen should they not listen to her sage advice. With each wretched story, Charity grew paler, her eyes pleading with Hettie to do something.
Yet what could she do in her position? The family detested her enough already. To confront Mrs. Baxter would be the death knell for her and Baxter. If they had any chance to win his children over, she mustn’t cause a stir. She mustn’t.
Coming back to Charity’s bedside, Mrs. Baxter took Hettie’s now vacant seat. “Now, if you two would call for a maid to stoke the fire, we can set this place to rights. Hopefully, Charity and her child will not be made to suffer for the damage you’ve done.”
The lady in question turned wild eyes to Hettie, and Charity’s chin trembled anew. At that moment, Hettie knew she had no choice—or rather, she knew what her choice needed to be, and no amount of fear on her own behalf could keep her from making it. What would come, would come, and Hettie only hoped and prayed that it would not destroy her and Baxter’s joy in the process.
“Thank you for your concern, Mrs. Baxter, but we have everything well in hand,” said Hettie, moving toward the door and opening it. “Perhaps you should join the others in the library.”
“I have no intention of leaving,” came the cold reply. “Whatever you are to my father-in-law, I assure you, you have no right to order me about.”
Hettie held up her hands in placation and sought words that were both firm and gentle. “You have done so much already, but all Charity requires now is peace and quiet.”
“Charity?” Mrs. Baxter said, her voice and brows rising at that. “Are you so ill-mannered that you would take such a liberty?”
“As I took the first liberty in asking her to be here, I think it’s fitting that she should do so,” said Charity, but it was as though Mrs. Baxter didn’t hear the words at all.
Patting her sister-in-law’s hand, she shook her head. “Do not distress yourself, my dear. I will ensure you are not bothered any longer by this harpy.” Mrs. Baxter rose to her feet and motioned for the door. “It is time for you to leave, Miss Stillwell. You are not wanted here.”
“Yes, she is,” said Charity, her voice rising to match the other’s. Lifting herself in her bed, she glanced between the other ladies, and Mrs. Johnson moved to her side to assist.
“Hush, my dear. You do not know what you are saying. You are so exhausted, it is little wonder,” said Mrs. Baxter.
