16
The sound of moaning brought Olivia halfway out of sleep, her heart thudding. Was one of the prison inmates sick? Or had Dr. Guest subjected another poor soul to her torments? If so, Olivia could only be glad it wasn’t her. This time.
She shifted in the bed, becoming aware of the lavender-scented pillowcase beneath her head. She wasn’t in prison. She was safe at Ruth’s. Slowly, her heart rate began to return to normal and her muscles relaxed. She must have been dreaming of the reformatory again.
Another loud moan sounded.
Olivia shot up from the mattress and grabbed her robe. This was not a dream. One of the girls could be in labor. She needed to determine who it was and see if the midwife was needed.
In the dark hallway, Olivia encountered Ruth tying the belt on her robe, her gray hair in a long braid over her shoulder.
“I think it’s coming from Darla’s room.” Ruth pointed to the door.
With no name for the stranger, they’d decided to call the battered woman Darla. They both waited outside for some indication to enter. At another, louder moan, Ruth knocked on the door. “Are you all right, dear? Can we come in?”
Ruth shook her head and slowly eased the door open. “It’s Mrs. Bennington. Are you ill?” She snapped on a lamp.
Under the covers, the woman rocked back and forth, clutching her belly.
Ruth hurried to her side. “Are you having contractions?”
Darla’s eyes shot open, terror leaping out. She grabbed Ruth’s arm. “Don’t . . . let . . . him . . . have . . . my . . . baby.” Then her eyes rolled back in her head, and she went limp.
Olivia’s hand flew to her mouth. “I’ll call Mrs. Dinglemire.”
Ruth turned, her expression grim. “Better call Dr. Henshaw as well. I don’t think this will be an easy birth.”
Ruth’s prediction came true with unfortunate accuracy.
Mrs. Dinglemire did one brief examination of the woman and shook her head, silently allowing Dr. Henshaw, who’d arrived at almost the same time, to take over.
“It’s in God’s hands now,” Mrs. Dinglemire said as she descended the stairs.
Olivia went to pay the woman, but she waved her off.
“I can’t accept it. I couldn’t do anything for that poor woman.”
“But you came in the middle of the night,” Olivia protested. “We need to pay you for your time.”
A sad smile appeared, and Mrs. Dinglemire patted her arm. “Never you mind, dear. I was about to head out on another call anyway. I promised to go there once this situation had been resolved. My services will be of much better use there.” She glanced back toward the stairs. “You should go back up in case the doctor needs your help. I can see myself out.”
Olivia did as the woman suggested, waiting with Ruth outside the bedroom door while the doctor worked on Darla. A few minutes later, he emerged, looking haggard already.
“Should I call for an ambulance?” Olivia asked.
“There’s no time. This baby is coming now. I’ll need clean sheets, towels, boiling water, sterilized scissors, and some string. And I’ll need one of you to help me with her. We have to rouse her enough so she can push. It’s too late at this point for surgery.”
A cold chill slid down Olivia’s back. “I’ll help you.”
“Are you sure?” Dr. Henshaw gave her a skeptical look.
She stiffened her spine. “Other than one kind nurse, I didn’t have anyone with me when I was in labor. I’d like to be there for her.”
Ruth nodded. “I’ll get the supplies.”
Olivia followed the doctor into the room, which was already overly warm and ripe with body odor. He’d draped the bedsheet over the lower part of Darla’s body, exposing her large belly. Purple and blue bruises marred the pale skin on one side.
Dr. Henshaw’s jaw muscle ticked. “I hope the baby’s all right. For now, the heartbeat is within normal range.”
Suddenly, the skin over Darla’s stomach grew taut, and a moan came from the weakened woman.
“Go sit with her.” Dr. Henshaw moved to the foot of the bed. “Hold her hand. Talk to her and try to get her to wake up more.” He pulled a chair over to sit on.
Olivia’s legs shook as she went to the head of the bed and shoved the pillows behind Darla to keep her propped up.
Beads of sweat dotted the woman’s forehead as she thrashed back and forth. Once the contraction ended, she went limp.
“Come on, honey. You need to help your baby. You can do this.” With a corner of the bedsheet, Olivia wiped Darla’s face, murmuring encouragement.
Ruth arrived with an armful of items. She set them on the dresser, then went back out, returning moments later with two pots. She set one on the nightstand. “This one is cool water to bathe her face,” she told Olivia.
Ruth then set the steaming pot on the dresser. “Just let me know what you need me to do next.”
Olivia wrung out a cloth and gently wiped the woman’s face, careful to avoid the bruises. The coolness had Darla’s eyes blinking open.
“It’s all right. We’re here with you. Dr. Henshaw is going to help you deliver your baby.” Olivia prayed that everything would be all right. “What’s your name?”
“Mary.” The strangled word was so low only Olivia could have heard it.
Mary’s face twisted as her whole body tensed.
“Another contraction,” Dr. Henshaw said. “I can see the head. You need to push now.”
Mary gave a weak attempt, then lay back, panting.
“I know it’s hard,” Olivia said in a soothing voice. “But your baby will be worth it. Come on, we’ll do it together.” She put an arm around the woman’s shoulders, willing her strength to pass on to Mary.
After another attempt, Mary crumpled.
Olivia moistened the cloth again and ran it over the woman’s forehead and neck, hoping to revive her. Her efforts were rewarded when the woman blinked and inhaled sharply.
When the next contraction came, she helped Mary sit up more. Olivia’s arms strained under the woman’s weight as she labored. “Push, Mary. You’re almost there.”
Was she? Olivia had no idea. She only knew that she had to give this woman hope.
After several more attempts, Mary panted with exhaustion. Another pain hit and she pushed again.
Concentrating on bathing Mary’s face, Olivia was only vaguely aware of the flurry of activity at the end of the bed until a loud cry sounded. She raised her head to see the doctor lifting a red-faced infant onto the sheet Ruth handed him.
“It’s a girl,” he announced. “Looks to be about six pounds or so. Congratulations.”
The relief that spread over his face allowed Olivia to relax. She eased Mary back against the pillows, her own muscles loosening.
The doctor tended to the baby, then handed the sheet-clad bundle to Ruth. Instantly, the child quieted.
Ruth smiled down at the infant as she walked toward the mother. “Would you like to see your baby?”
Mary nodded, barely able to keep her eyes open. As Ruth moved the sheet aside, Mary’s whole face softened. “My daughter,” she whispered. But the woman didn’t seem to have the strength to take the baby. Instead, her eyes rolled back in her head.
Ruth’s expression changed from joy to alarm. “Doctor!”
Olivia looked at Mary, only then registering the strange gurgling sounds coming from the woman’s throat.
Dr. Henshaw whipped the pillows from behind Mary’s head. “Olivia, hold her shoulders. I need to—”
Olivia jerked off the bed, knocking the basin of water to the floor. The air whooshed from her lungs, her heart thumping a loud beat in her ears. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”
Then she turned and bolted from the room.
Several hours later, Olivia sat on the back step, staring out at the sunbathed yard. How could the day be so calm, the birds so cheery, when inside a tragedy had barely been averted?
They’d confronted life and death before the sun had even risen.
Dr. Henshaw had managed to bring Mary around and, after cleaning her up and giving her a shot of some kind, said she should recover. Ruth had asked if she needed to go to the hospital, but he’d said no. Mary’s blood pressure had come back up, and her heart rate seemed steady. Given a few weeks of bed rest, she should be back to normal. He’d given Ruth instructions on how to make formula for the baby in case Mary wasn’t strong enough to breastfeed right away, and Ruth had promised to pass the information on to Mrs. Neale.
All of this Ruth had relayed to Olivia when she’d found her in the office, working on the books in an attempt to take her mind off the whole affair, especially the sight of that precious baby, who reminded Olivia far too much of her own infant son. Though Ruth tried to convince Olivia to join her for a bite of breakfast, Olivia had declined, knowing she wouldn’t be able to keep anything down.
Soon after, she’d come out to the yard, seeking fresh air and the solace of prayer. Yet nothing could banish the horrible memories that haunted her. Mary’s labor had brought back unrelenting flashbacks of the day Olivia had delivered her own child. The bleak beige walls. The bare lightbulb above the bed. The hard metal handrails she’d clutched during her contractions. Only the compassion of one nurse made the experience at all bearable. The woman had kindly wrapped the baby in the blanket Olivia had knitted before she handed Matteo to her.
Even then, Olivia hadn’t understood that she wouldn’t be allowed to keep her son. Holding Matteo in her arms for that brief time had been the most joyous moment of her life. Until Mrs. Linder arrived to tell her that she was taking him away.
Tears dripped down Olivia’s cheeks. Oh, Matteo. Where are you now? Are you being well cared for? Loved unconditionally? Will your new family ever tell you about me?
For the first time since they’d opened Bennington Place, real doubts set in to plague her.
What if she couldn’t handle being around newborns? What if she had an emotional breakdown every time a woman went into labor or whenever difficulties arose during childbirth? How would that help anyone?
With no easy answers to be found, she got up and crossed the lawn to the rosebushes that lined the property. She fingered the silky petals and vibrant leaves and focused on the healing power of nature. Inhaling deeply, she allowed the soothing floral scent to fill her, forcing away grotesque images of blood and sweat. And instruments of torture.
Here, in Ruth’s garden, there existed only sunshine, lush greenery, and the welcoming stone birdbath where the sparrows played.
Here, she’d found sanctuary from the harshness of the world. A roof over her head, a soft mattress to lie on, and food to fill her belly. Here, no matter what the other residents went through, Olivia would be safe and protected. No monsters would find her.
Perhaps if she told herself this often enough, she could really start to believe it.
The wind lifted the ends of her hair, making the tresses dance freely around her shoulders. She plucked a delicate pink blossom and held it to her nose, inhaling its gentle scent, then raised her face to the sky.
Lord, if you want me to continue ministering to these women, I’ll need your help. Please allow me to conquer my fears by putting my complete trust in you.