“That’s it, blow out,” Lucas instructed. “You’re doing just fine.”
Sweat poured down the sides of his face and neck as he tried to keep his pounding heart from exploding. Everything’s normal, going as expected, he kept reassuring himself. He’d only attended one woman in labor, and that disastrous occasion clouded his thinking. He knew well that women experienced a great deal more pain than animals did; the Good Book said a woman’s birth pangs would be greatly multiplied. Seeing how much Lynette seemed to be suffering made him glad he’d been born a man. It took mighty courage and inner strength not to buckle under such a trial. He doubted few men—himself included—could weather the ordeal of labor without going out of their mind.
He looked over at Emma, who watched Lynette intently, attending to her every need. Lynette’s screams and volatile temper just seemed to roll off her; Lucas was proud and impressed with how Emma was holding up. He’d lost track of the hours, but behind all the snow and clouds he could sense the shift of day into night.
Another contraction gripped Lynette, and she seethed in agony, her face scrunched tight. They were coming back-to-back now. It was time to check her dilation again. So far, to keep Lynette from too much discomfort, he’d had Emma check for him, explaining what to look for. There was no need yet for Lynette to expose her body to him. Although, the way she was feeling, she cared for nothing at all but getting her baby out.
Emma had helped Lynette out of her clothes and into a big old nightshirt she had found in the dresser while Lucas had taken a quick break to get some more cold water and clear his head. When he’d passed Emma’s parents, who were sitting in a foyer at the front of the house, they lifted their heads and inquired how Lynette was doing. He reassured them all was well.
All is well, he reminded himself. So far, normal. The baby’s head was engaged in the birth canal, Lynette’s water had broken about an hour ago. There were no signs of eclampsia, no bleeding. He kept praying for a steady hand and heart, knowing he needed divine help to get him through this.
Fear crouched on his shoulder like a grizzly eager to devour him. He felt it there, breathing on his neck, whispering in his ear as he stood to the side and waited for Emma to check how much further along Lynette was. Sarah’s words replayed in his head. “Fear slumbers beneath the rocks, like a bear in hibernation. And when disturbed, it roars. Don’t be afraid to face your fear. For if you stare down the bear, it will turn and lumber away, never to bother you again. Only then will you be free of it.”
He so wanted to be free of this fear. It had lassoed him and kept him tightly bound, and he knew Sarah was right. He would never truly be free to love Emma with all his heart, to be the man she needed him to be, until he loosed that fear. It would forever stalk him, steal his peace, rattle him in the late hours of night. No one wanted to stare down their fear—there was nothing more terrifying. But he understood now something he never had before—that going through the fear and coming out the other side was worth every bit of agony. In a strange way Lynette’s pain mirrored his own. She would, as well, come out on the other side, victorious—with a baby to show for all her hard work. He blew hard through his nostrils and willed his hands to stop trembling.
And with the Lord’s help, I’ll be victorious too.
“Lucas, I see the head!” Emma moved aside and gestured him to come over. Lynette’s legs were spread wide, and she threw her head back once more, writhing and moaning. Emma held the lantern that she’d brought into the room, and Lucas took a look. To his relief, he saw Lynette was almost fully dilated, and the head was beginning to bulge out of the cervix. A head full of dark hair. The sight made his heart skip.
“I see your baby. You’re in transition now, Lynette,” he told her, brushing wet hair back off her forehead. “Not much longer. You’re almost there.”
Her eyes darted until she found his face , and she nodded furiously. “I . . . I have to push . . .”
“Not yet!” he said, laying a gentle hand on her arm.
Lynette threw it off. “I. Have. To. Push!”
“Emma,” Lucas said, “help prop her up better.” While Emma did that, Lynette panted hard in bursts, like a steam engine chugging up a hill. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and used a towel to dry his stinging eyes.
“I . . . can’t . . . hold back . . .” Lynette snorted. Emma kept talking to her in a soothing tone while Lucas went to the wash basin and scrubbed up again. He closed his eyes and swallowed. Almost there. Hang in there, cowboy.
He turned back to Lynette and sat on the end of the bed, between Lynette’s open legs. He nodded, and tears pushed out the corners of his eyes.
“All right, you’re ready. Start pushing when you feel the urge—”
Lynette said through her clenched teeth, “About time . . .”
She gave out another loud roar, which was more like a grunt, her face straining so hard the cords in her neck tightened like ropes.
“That’s it . . . that’s it . . . ,” he said.
Lucas choked back a sob as the slippery wet head began to emerge, face up, the color good—not like the sickly blue-gray color of his son’s skin, with his wife listless, almost incoherent and unable to push. He’d had to pull his unresponsive son from his wife’s weak body, the horror of it now rippling through his body, the memories mercilessly assailing him.
He shook his head hard, flinging them away. Flinging away his fear and terror and guilt and shame. He heard Lynette give another sharp long cry, and the warm, wiggly body of a healthy baby boy practically fell into his waiting hands. Tears streamed down his face as he beheld this gift from God. A gift in more ways than one.
He looked at Emma, whose face awaited anxiously for his news.
His smile stretched his face so wide, it hurt. “You’ve delivered a fine baby boy, Miz Bradshaw.”
Lynette and Emma burst out in joyful noise.
Emma came rushing over to him with towels. “Oh, he’s beautiful. Lynette, wait till you see him.”
Lucas looked at Lynette. She looked fine. Tired, happy, but as fine as could be. Lynette met his gaze, her gratitude spilling from her heart. “Just hang on there a minute, and we’ll get your baby to you.” She nodded and closed her eyes.
Without any help on his part, the baby was already breathing, moving his little arms and legs, reacting to the changed environment. Emma laughed and kissed Lucas on the cheek while he carefully wiped the baby down, then tied off the umbilical cord close to the baby’s naval when it stopped pulsating. He looked at Emma, drinking in her joy and longing for the day when he’d see their firstborn child come into the world. He hoped that day wouldn’t be too far off.
He snipped the cord with the sterilized scissors and handed the baby to Emma. Her eyes reflected her amazement as she leaned in close to the baby’s face.
“He looks like you, Lynette,” she said, taking the baby over to the mother’s waiting arms.
“Oh. Oh!” Lynette shook her head, flinging tears on Emma, who was crying as well. “My baby, my baby.”
While the women cooed over the new arrival into the world, Lucas kept a careful eye on Lynette, waiting for the afterbirth. The cord looked healthy, now shriveling up, so he gave a tiny tug, knowing it could help the placenta release, but too hard a tug could rip it from the uterine wall and cause hemorrhaging. They’d come this far; he couldn’t bear for anything to go wrong now.
He let out a long breath in relief as the placenta moved. Lynette stiffened and looked at him. “Just need a little push,” he told her, then gave her a smile. “Nothing like before.”
She bore down and pushed, and the placenta slipped out all in one piece. More fluid followed, but no blood.
It’s over. He looked down at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. They had brought life into the world a thousand times over. But not one instance compared to the deep joy and satisfaction he felt now, with this birth, in this moment. He could almost feel Alice’s smile on him, and instead of breaking his heart, it healed it. He felt reborn on this day of birth.
“Is everything all right?”
Lucas turned to the closed door when he heard Emma’s mother yelling and knocking.
“It’s gotten quiet in there.”
Lucas chuckled, picturing Emma’s mother with her ear up against the door. He looked at Lynette and covered her up so she was decent. “You ready for visitors? I can usher them out once they see the baby.”
Lynette nodded, eagerly watching the door, no doubt looking for Walter. But only Emma’s parents came in.
“Where’s Walter?” Lynette asked, frowning.
Her father and mother hurried over to Lynette’s side. She had the baby in her arms, and they ogled him excitedly. Walter was nowhere in sight.
“Father, where’s Walter?” Emma asked.
Her father turned to her, distracted by the sight of his first grandchild. He made a sour face. “Upstairs. With Hilton.”
Lucas wondered what was going on. Why wasn’t Walter eager to see his son?
Emma said, “I’ll go get him.” Lucas nodded. Maybe Walter didn’t want to face him after those harsh words he’d spoken. Hopefully once Walter saw his son, though, his anger would melt away. Maybe he’d even feel some gratitude . . . but Lucas wasn’t going to hold his breath for that. But he didn’t really care what Walter thought of him—as much as it might help to smooth things between him and Emma’s family. All that mattered right now was that mother and baby were healthy and strong. Funny, for a woman who always seemed weak and sickly, Lynette sure displayed some inner strength. She looked hale now, although understandably tired. But, really none the worse for wear.
After a few minutes of the Bradshaws admiring their grandson and cooing over him, Lucas suggested they step out so Emma could help Lynette wash up when she came back into the room, and then allow the new mother some rest. They said a few more words, Emma’s mother gushing with praise for a job well done, then turned to Lucas.
Emma’s mother gripped both his hands and shook them up and down. “Oh, Mr. Rawlings, we are soooo thankful. Oh, thank the Lord for sending you to aid us. You’re an angel, Mr. Rawlings. We’re forever in your debt.” To Lucas’s surprise, she threw her arms around him and wept. Her husband carefully extricated his wife from her tight embrace. He threw Lucas an apologetic look, then escorted her out the door. A moment later he came back in alone and faced Lucas.
“I’m greatly indebted to you,” he told Lucas.
“No sir. I’m just glad I could help and that everything went well.”
Bradshaw shook his head. “I’m . . . sorry for the way I’ve treated you. I . . . didn’t know if you were an honorable man, and Emma—”
Lucas held up his hand, then glanced over at Lynette, who was touching her baby’s face, so enamored with her son she paid no attention to their conversation. Lucas whispered, “We can talk later, Mr. Bradshaw.”
Bradshaw nodded and smiled. He looked over at Lynette, and Lucas saw his face radiant with pride and relief. Maybe this whole ordeal had been a gift from God. Lucas couldn’t think up a better way to get Emma’s family to think highly of him. Although, he thought with a stab of despair, there was Randall Turnbull to consider. And Emma’s engagement to him—which Lucas doubted Emma’s parents would forget about. But he couldn’t be bothered with that now.
Just then the door blew open, and Emma rushed in. His heart jolted when he saw the upset expression on her face.
“What is it?” her father demanded. “Where’s Walter?”
“Upstairs,” she said, her tone seething and agitated.
“He’s been drinking,” her father said gloomily, as if it was no surprise.
“Yes, but . . . that’s not the problem.” She threw a frightened look at Lucas. “Lucas, you have to talk to him. He’s a mess, terribly upset. He said something about having to warn you. I kept asking him what he meant, and it finally came out.” She grabbed his arm and looked at the window. Even in the dark he could see the snow still steadily falling.
His gut soured with dread. “Tell me, Emma.”
“Those ranchers you told me about? They’re planning to kill Sarah and her sons.” She could barely get the next word out.
“Tonight.”