Little Sarah

Tuesday, March 15, 1955

Dean held his daughter, entranced by her delicate face with rosebud lips and the tiniest of birthmarks on her right cheek. Where Danny and Betty had both come into the world nearly bald, this tiny child’s head was covered with a mass of thick blond hair. As it dried, he could see ringlets forming.

“Oh Maggie, she is absolutely beautiful.” Dean didn’t care who saw the tears on his cheeks as he looked down at his wife, her face worn, pale, and exhausted from hours of childbirth. An IV dripped fluids into her left arm and she held the baby with her right, lips brushing her newborn daughter’s tiny forehead.

The nurse had come out first, their daughter in her arms, wrapped in a pink blanket and tiny pink knit cap.

“It will be a few minutes until you can see your wife, Mr. Edmonds, but here is your pretty little girl.”

It had been a rush to get to the hospital in time. They had thought they had another two weeks, but the puddle on the floor of the kitchen right before dinner had changed everything.

The plate crashing to the ground had been Dean’s first warning. It was accompanied by a pained cry from Maggie. “Dean!”

He had arrived to see her bent over, gripping her rounded belly, pain contorting her face.

“Mommy?” Teddy had looked terrified.

“It’s okay, son,” Dean said, his voice calm, at odds with his racing heart. He put an arm around his wife.

“Oh, Dean, we need to go to the hospital. The baby is coming quickly!” Her face held a fair amount of panic, and Dean held her close, feeling the twisting contraction run through her.

“Son,” he said, turning to Teddy, “Get our coats and your mother’s purse, quick now.”

“I knew the baby had dropped, but I didn’t expect this. I was overdue with Teddy by nearly a week.” Maggie said, desperate to keep her mind off of the pain.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll get you to the hospital,” Dean reassured his wife, easing her into a chair so he could help Teddy with the coats. He could hear the boy scrambling in the closet.

A moment later they returned, a mess of coats and hats, as Maggie let out a muted groan of pain, her teeth grinding. “It came on so quick, Dean. I felt nothing and now...” She let out a full scream, her body convulsing, her stomach rippling.

Dean slipped her coat on, tossed one arm into his own coat, and picked up his wife up. Teddy followed, mute, terrified, and struggling to pull on his coat. They opened the front door to a whirl of snow. What had begun as a quiet, soft snowfall had intensified in the past few minutes. Fat, thick flakes of snow fell, obscuring anything more than fifteen feet away in an opaque white curtain.

“Quick, Son,” Dean said to Teddy, “Climb in the back, while I get your mother into her side.”

Teddy skittered over the seat, snow flying from his shoes. His face was pale and pinched, tears forming in his eyes. The plan had been for him to stay with a neighbor, but there was no time, not even to run him across the street.

“What about the neighbor?” Maggie asked, doing her best to recover from another contraction.

“No time. I’ll call them from the hospital,” Dean answered and kissed her. “Hang on, we’re just ten minutes away, fifteen minutes tops."

“We will be telling this story for years to come,” Maggie said, her face contorting with another contraction.

“Just as long as it isn’t a story about our baby being born in a car,” Dean said.

“Get us there soon, or I’ll make no promises! Oh!” Maggie wailed.

The trip there had been terrifying. There was enough snow on the ground to ensure that the tires of the car could find no traction. In the last leg of the trip, Maggie’s contractions were coming one after the other, and Teddy was huddled in a corner, his fingers stuck in his ears.

Once there, the staff had whisked Maggie away and Dean had called the neighbors across the street to come and get Teddy. As the hours ticked by he was thankful he hadn’t asked them to stay. Just before midnight a thin wail had issued from the room. It had been another half hour before the nurse had emerged with the tiny pink bundle.

The doctor had come out next, looking exhausted.

“Mr. Edmonds, if I could have a moment to speak with you. Let’s give the little mother a chance to hold her baby.”

Dean nodded, handing the newborn to the waiting nurse and walked down the hall, out of hearing range. “Spill it, Doc, you are making me a little nervous here.”

The doctor slipped off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Your wife had an extremely difficult labor and delivery, Mr. Edmonds. Your daughter was in the breech position.”

“What position?”

“It is where a child comes out feet first instead of head first. Getting her out was quite tricky and unfortunately very damaging to your wife.” The doctor looked away, down at the ground, “What I’m trying to say Mr. Edmonds is that I don’t believe it will be possible or recommended for the two of you to have any more children after this.”

Dean closed his eyes. She had wanted more, and so had he. They had lay in bed at night talking. Especially since she had realized she was pregnant. They had both been only children and wanted something different for their family. How would she take this news? Would two children be enough?

“Mr. Edmonds?”

Dean nodded, “I understand.”

“I am sorry, Mr. Edmonds.”

“Is Maggie all right, I mean, will she be all right?”

“Yes, yes. She will take a little extra time to recover, and I would advise against any, ahem, close relations for the next few months. But yes, she should be fine. We did give her a blood transfusion and she will need to stay in the hospital for a full two weeks to make sure there are no complications. Just to be safe, you understand.”

“Yes, of course.”

The doctor had shook his hand and left. Dean watched him leave, turned on his heel, and made a beeline for Maggie’s room.

Sitting there next to her in the hospital room, and seeing how pale and exhausted she was, Dean was overwhelmed with a rush of emotion. What if he had lost her? What if the baby hadn’t made it?

Dean remembered the first book Maggie had lent him there in the hospital, nearly two years earlier. “For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.”

Maggie turned her head up and he leaned down and kissed her.

“I think that is one of my favorite lines,” she said, turning her eyes back to the baby.

“What shall we call her, my dear?” Dean asked, his eyes tearing up again.

“My mother had a younger sister,” Maggie answered, eyes never leaving the baby, “Her name was Sarah Magdalene.” I was named after her, but my mother never liked the name Sarah. She always called her sister Maggie.”

She turned and looked then at Dean, “What do you think about Sarah? I’ve always found it a very pretty name.”

“It means princess, if I remember right.” He said, running a finger along the baby’s delicate cheek. The tiny creature made a sound that was not unlike a kitten’s delicate meow and then yawned.

“What about naming her Sarah Magdalene, just like your aunt?”

Her smile spoke volumes.