Chapter Twenty-Two

 

With the birth of her child only two months way, Emily invited the midwife to tea to discuss arrangements. As the elderly woman sat across the table from her stirring her tea, Emily said, “I’ve asked you to stop by, Mary, because I’m pregnant and I want to—”

The old woman’s eyes widened. “Oh, no missus. You must not be pregnant.”

“Well, I am, and I’ll need your help—”

The old woman shook her head. “Do you remember the terrible time you had with your delivery?”

“Yes, but everything’s all right, isn’t it?”

“I’m not a doctor, missus, but I’ve been a midwife for over forty years and I’ve seen a thing or two. It’s my belief that you cannot, you should not, have this baby.”

Emily felt a wave of dizziness overcome her. Not have the baby? What was her alternative, abortion? She couldn’t even think of that possibility. “Mary, why won’t you help me?”

The old woman’s eyes focused on her teacup and both her gnarled hands grasped it tightly. “Things are changing in midwifery,” she began slowly. “For as long as I can remember, male doctors wanted no part of the duties of a midwife. It was considered work fit only for a woman. Still, to protect our livelihood, we midwives take an oath that we will not reveal—” she cocked her head trying to remember the exact wording— “… any matter appertaining to your office in the presence of any man.” She nodded firmly, pleased that she gotten it right.

“What does this have to do with my having a baby?”

“The doctors have invented a device—forceps, they call it. Now they’re assisting us midwifes with difficult births. That was welcome help, but lately, they’ve been trying to take over entirely the work of the midwife.”

Emily shook her head. “I still don’t understand …”

“Don’t you see, missus, they’re watching us carefully. If I make a mistake and a baby or the mother dies, they’ll hound me out of the business. They’ve done it before to others, I can tell you.”

Emily was incredulous. “Are you saying you won’t take the chance with my birth?”

The old woman’s eyes teared up. “I can’t take the chance, missus. It’s the only work I know. I’m too old to work in a factory.”

 

Sunday night dinner at the Ranahans had without premeditation become a tradition. It began with inviting Gaylord, then Letta, then Henrietta and Cully. It was so ingrained in everyone that they just showed up without the need of an invitation.

Half-way through dinner, a blushing Letta said in a soft voice, “I have an announcement to make.”

“What is it, child?” Henrietta asked.

“I’m engaged.”

Emily jumped up and embraced her young friend. “Oh, Letta, that’s wonderful. Who is the lucky man?”

“His name is Otto Schmidt and he owns a beer garden in Kleindeutschland.”

“We must meet this lucky man,” Michael said.

Henrietta clapped her hands. “Yes, you must bring him to dinner next Sunday.”

“I will.”

Shortly after dinner, Letta left to meet her Otto. Emily pulled Henrietta into the parlor, away from the men. “Isn’t that wonderful news about Letta?”

“It is. I was beginning to wonder when she would meet a suitable young man. I’m very happy for her.”

Emily sat down. “Henrietta, I need your advice.”

Seeing the concerned expression on her friend’s face, Henrietta said, “Whatever is the matter, Emily?”

After Emily told her what the midwife had told her, Henrietta took Emily’s hands in hers.

“You poor dear. Have you told Michael?”

“Yes, and he agrees with me. I can’t—I won’t—have an abortion. But what am I to do?”

“What about another midwife?”

Emily shook her head. “Mary said that the way things are, no midwife will risk taking on a difficult birth.”

Henrietta thought for a moment and then snapped her fingers. “Elizabeth Blackwell.”

“Who’s she?”

“She’s the first woman to receive a medical degree in the United States. In fact, Gaylord wrote an article about her in the New York Tribune.”

Emily jumped up. “Let’s talk to him.”

Emily barged into the dining room, breaking up a heated conversation between Cully and Michael over the need to buy a new wagon.

“Gaylord, what do you know about Elizabeth Blackwell?”

The newspaperman nodded at the mention of her name. “Ah, yes, quite an extraordinary woman. I wrote a story about her in the Tribune. She’s originally from England. She came here and applied to over twenty medical colleges in New York and Philadelphia and they all turned her down. Finally, she was accepted at Geneva Medical College in upstate New York. It was a highly unusual process to say the least. The faculty couldn’t decide whether to admit her, so they put it to the vote of the one hundred and fifty male students with the proviso that if one student objected, she would be rejected. It was an amazing outcome, considering the hostility men have toward women in the medical profession. Every male student voted for acceptance. She graduated first in class.”

Henrietta clapped her hands. “That’s marvelous. Where does she practice in the city?”

“Ah, there’s the rub. Even though she’s a certified medical doctor, the male doctors in the city have barred her from all hospitals and dispensaries.”

Emily felt her hopes of finding a sympathetic doctor fading. “So, she has no practice?” she asked dully.

“She’s not affiliated with any hospitals in the city, but she has opened a one-room dispensary on Seventh Street near Tompkins Square Park.”

Emily took a deep breath. “Then I must go see her. She’s my only hope.”

 

The next day, Emily took the omnibus to Avenue A and Seventh Street. She knew immediately where the dispensary was by the long line of women patiently waiting to get in. Judging from the way these women were dressed, it was apparent that they were the poor from the Five Points and surrounding areas.

Emily waited in line for almost an hour before she was admitted to the one-room clinic. The room, sparsely furnished, contained only a couple of old battered benches, a desk that had seen better days, and a cabinet containing medical supplies and equipment.

A young woman with large, kindly eyes came around the desk and offered her hand.

“Hello, I’m Doctor Blackwell,” she said with a soft English accent. “And you are?”

“Emily Ranahan,” Emily answered, slightly taken aback. She expected the doctor to be older and someone with the stern visage of a medical doctor. Instead, this woman was around her own age and was almost shy in her demeanor.

“What can I do for you, Mrs. Ranahan?”

“I’m pregnant,” she blurted out.

The doctor smiled, looking at Emily’s protruding stomach. “I surmised as much.”

“I’m sorry, that was stupid. I mean I’m pregnant and I’m told I should not have this baby.”

“Do you wish to have an abortion?”

Emily blanched. “No, no, nothing like that.”

“Of course, it’s your choice. But you should know that abortion is often safer than childbirth. The abortion rate in this city is about twenty percent. For some women, it’s the only form of birth control available to them. Do you object on religious grounds?”

“No. I just want to have this baby.”

“Very well. May I examine you?”

“Yes, of course.”

When the doctor was finished with her examination, she said “Mrs. Ranahan, who said you should not have this baby?”

When Emily finished telling her about her conversation with Mary the midwife, Dr. Blackwell’s soft brown eyes turned hard. “Your midwife is correct about one thing; doctors are encroaching on the occupations of midwives and I can understand her reluctance to take you on. On the other hand, she’s wrong about your ability to have this baby. As you described your first birth, and my examination of you, there is no reason to believe you cannot deliver a healthy baby. Excessive bleeding is not uncommon, especially with the first child.”

A wave of relief swept over Emily. “Oh, thank you, Doctor. Would you be willing to take me on as a patient?”

The doctor frowned. “It’s not my usual business practice, Mrs. Ranahan. In this dispensary, I offer a wide variety of medical help to my patients, all of whom are desperately poor.”

Emily was acutely aware that she did not fit the mold of the women with whom she had waited in line. It almost seemed selfish of her to take up the time of this doctor who had apparently decided to devote her life to the poor, but she was desperate. “Dr. Blackwell, I have no one else to turn to. I need you. I would be willing to pay whatever your fee is.”

“It’s not about the money, Mrs. Ranahan, it’s about the time. I have only twenty-four hours a day to devote to my practice. I try to avoid anything that takes me away from that.” When she saw the stricken look on Emily’s face, she softened her tone. “I will, however, make an exception in your case. The birth will be at your home for, as you can see, I have no birthing facilities here. But you will come here for your prenatal care and checkups.”

“Oh, thank you, Dr. Blackwell. Thank you.”

 

The following Sunday, Letta brought her fiancé to dinner. Michael took one look at the heavy-set man with an enormous handlebar mustache and said, “You look very familiar … Oh ... now I remember. Weren’t you a bartender at the Volksgarten Beer Garden?”

“I was. Now I own it,” Otto said proudly.

“I came into the beer garden with a co-worker named Flynn.”

“Flynn. Yes, of course. Do you still see my good friend?”

“Yes, he works for me.”

Otto frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. We both used to talk about owning our own businesses.”

“Don’t feel sorry for him, Otto. Since I made him a foreman he’s sworn that he would never want to own his own business.”

Otto shook his head in agreement. “It is a lot of headaches, but I manage.”

A smiling Emily took Otto’s arm. “Come with me, Otto. It’s time for dinner.”

January 15, 1854 was the third day of a vicious cold wave that gripped the city. The ominous gun-metal clouds rolling in low and fast from the northeast promised snow. Around noon, as Emily placed a bowl of soup in front of Dermot, she felt a sharp pain in her side. It wasn’t all that unusual. For a month now, she’d been experiencing sharp pains and cramps. She sat down at the kitchen table to catch her breath. Letta poured her a cup of tea.

Suddenly, without warning, Dermot swept his bowl of soup off the table. “I no want,” he screeched.

Emily gripped the table to control her temper. “Dermot, you do not throw your food on the floor.”

In response to her reprimand, he began screaming uncontrollably and banging his spoon on the table.

As Letta tried to calm him down, Emily bent down to clean up the mess. As she was getting up, she felt a wetness on her legs. “Oh, Letta, I think my water just broke.” She pulled the screaming Dermot out of his chair. “Go to your room. Right now!”

Dermot knew from her tone of voice that she meant business. Sulking, he stomped upstairs.

A frightened Letta helped Emily sit down. “Is it time?”

“I think so. Michael must be told.”

As had been previously arranged, Letta sent the boy next door to the job site to tell Michael what was happening.

 

By the time the boy found Michael it had begun to snow. “Mr. Ranahan, I’m to tell you your wife is going to have a baby.”

Michael rushed over to a wagon being unloaded. “I need this wagon. Get everything cleared off, now!”

The men began tossing bricks and lumber into the street with reckless abandon. Almost before they finished, Michael was in the box with the reins in his hands and had turned the horse south, toward Seventh Street.

By the time he got to Dr. Blackwell’s dispensary, the snow was sticking to the ground and the swirling wind and snow had reduced visibility to almost zero.

He rushed past the line of patiently-waiting women and into the dispensary. “Dr. Blackwell, my wife is going to have the baby.”

Calmly, the doctor pulled her assistant aside. “Mary, tell those waiting that I’ve been called away on an emergency. We will resume tomorrow.” Grabbing her medical bag, she said, “All right, Mr. Ranahan, let’s go.”

Ignoring the poor visibility and the stumbling horse and sliding wagon, Michael pushed the horse as fast as he could go. He drove north on Avenue A to Fourteenth Street, then turned west. At Sixth Avenue, he turned north and urged the horse forward. The visibility had grown so bad that at one point he almost ran into the back of a stalled wagon.

“Mr. Ranahan,” Dr. Blackwell said coolly, “I won’t be able to help your wife if I die before I get there.”

“You’re right, Doctor, I’m sorry.” Michael reined in the horse and proceeded up the avenue with greater caution. By the time they got to the house there was six inches of snow on the ground.

Emily was already in bed. Following Dr. Blackwell’s instructions, Letta had on hand plenty of clean towels and a kettle full of hot water. More water was being heated on the stove downstairs.

The doctor took Michael’s arm and led him to the door. “It looks like everything is under control, Mr. Ranahan. We’ll call you if you’re needed.”

Michael went to Dermot’s room, where his son was playing with two wooden locomotives.

Michael knelt beside his son and ruffled his hair. “Well, my little man, it looks like very soon you are going to have a little brother or sister.”

“I don’t want a brother or sister,” he hissed.

Michael was shaken at the vehemence in his son’s tone. “That’s no way to talk, Dermot. It’ll be fun having another little person around.”

“No, it won’t. No, it won’t.” As he repeated the phrase, he started to pound one locomotive into the other.

Michael pulled the toys out of his hand. “Stop that, Dermot, you’ll break your toys.”

“I don’t care.”

Michael got up and sat on the bed, unhappily studying his son. Emily had been saying for some time that Dermot was out of control and was given to sudden tantrums. Being at work all day he’d missed most of those episodes. He’d almost convinced himself that his wife was exaggerating. Perhaps the strain of the pregnancy had made her more irritable and less tolerant of a little boy. But seeing his son’s behavior now convinced him that his wife had been right. Michael felt a chill. His son was acting just as his brother Dermot had acted as a little boy. He prayed that his son would not have the kind of short, tragic life his brother had.

After he put Dermot to bed, he went downstairs and made himself a cup of tea. For the next couple of hours, he heard moaning coming from the bedroom and the soft murmur of voices.

Around five o’clock, Dr. Blackwell came into the kitchen. “The birth went well, Mr. Ranahan. Your wife is resting comfortably. You can go see her.”

Michael pumped the woman’s hand. “Oh, thank you, Dr. Blackwell. Thank you.”

Just as he was rushing out of the kitchen, he turned. “Oh, is it a boy or a girl?”

“You have a daughter, sir.”

Letta was sitting next to Emily, wiping her forehead with a damp cloth.

Michael kissed his wife’s clammy cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“Better than last time,” she said in weak voice. “Dr. Blackwell was wonderful.”

“You’re wonderful, too,” he said, brushing her damp hair away from her cheeks. Gently, he pulled back the blanket to view his new daughter “She’s beautiful,” he whispered.

Emily smiled and nodded.

“What will we name her?”

“Eleanor.”

“Eleanor?”

“It was my mother’s name.”

Michael was only a child at the time, but he vaguely remembered her mother, a beautiful and graceful woman, but he never knew her Christian name. He recalled that her mother died in 1835. Emily would have been ten at the time.

“Eleanor, that’s a nice name.”

“Yes, isn’t it …” she whispered, and slowly dropped off to sleep.