Chapter Thirty-Three

Words filtered through as Rebekka’s unconscious mind fought its way back to lucidity. “It’s grown as big as a grapefruit now . . . only partially burst . . . torsion . . . causing the additional pain . . . drug ought to help . . . must have surgery . . . important not to wait any longer.”

Rebekka knew the words didn’t come from a nightmare, but from the doctor.

Not now! she thought. Oh please not now!

She’d believed with her whole heart that the cyst would go away on its own, or if it didn’t that at least there would be no danger to her or the baby. Then came that terrible, blinding explosion of pain at her apartment.

The memory of the agony she’d experienced brought her fully awake.

“She’s coming around.” It was André speaking, but when she opened her eyes, she saw Raoul’s face.

“What time is it?” she asked groggily.

“It’s near noon on Thursday,” Raoul supplied. “I was here last night with Mom and Dad, but you were sleeping.”

Rebekka looked around and saw that she was in a hospital bed, hooked up to several different monitors. She could feel the baby inside, so she was still pregnant. She rolled from her side to her back, trying to sit up.

“Here, let me help you,” André said from her other side. “Take it slowly. It might not be good.”

For the cyst. Rebekka heard the words he didn’t say and the reality came rushing back. “What are we going to do?” she moaned. “It’s too soon.”

André took her hand, hesitating as if choosing his words carefully. “I don’t feel we really have a choice. We’ve waited this long because the baby could have too many complications being born so early, but that risk is gone, pretty much. He still could have some complications if the surgery caused him to come, but you can’t go through this pain anymore. I think we should agree to the surgery.”

Knowing André as she did, and how much he loved both her and the baby, she had no doubts that he was right. Besides, whatever medication they had given her must have been strong because Rebekka wasn’t feeling much of anything now.

How good is that for my baby? she wondered. A tear squeezed out of her eye. “When?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

Rebekka gave a short sob, and Raoul stepped closer, rubbing her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’re all here for you.”

“Thanks.”

André smiled at him. “Would you go tell your parents and my own that she’s awake? I think they’re wearing out the carpet in the waiting room.”

“Sure.” Raoul gave Rebekka’s shoulder one last pat. “I’ll see you later.”

After he left, André sat on the edge of the bed and put an arm around her. He kissed her forehead gently.

“Is he going to be okay?” she asked, desperately wanting reassurance.

André pointed to a monitor. “They turned the sound down, but that’s his heartbeat. It’s coming from the belt they put around your waist. Looks strong to me. I think we have every chance to get that cyst out and finish your pregnancy without a hitch. Or that if there is a complication, he’ll come through just fine.”

“Good,” Rebekka said tearfully. “Because I’m so afraid.”

“I’ll be right there when you wake up,” he promised. “I’ll be the one holding your hand.”

* * *

Waiting held an agony all its own. André paced in the entire length of the room. I should be there for her, he thought. The doctor hadn’t allowed his presence, though because of her pregnancy Rebekka would receive only a local anesthetic and would be awake during the procedure. André had to be content with giving her a blessing and kissing her for courage.

A hand massaged his shoulder, and he looked up to see Raoul. “She’s going to be okay,” he said. “My sister’s tough.”

André smiled but knew the gesture lacked conviction. He’d felt so strongly when he had prayed that surgery was the only choice, but when he’d given Rebekka a blessing earlier that morning, the reassurance he had been expecting about the baby’s safety hadn’t come.

“There’s no use in torturing yourself. They’ll be out soon.” His mother motioned for him to sit. André was glad his family was there and even happier that he had married Rebekka when he had. She’d needed him this past month, and he wouldn’t trade one moment of their time together. He shuddered to think of the loneliness and despair she would have felt if she had not opened her heart to him.

We won, Marc, he thought to his brother. Now if only we can get through this last month.

“Monsieur Perrault?” A nurse stood in the doorway.

He leapt to his feet. “Is she all right?”

“The cyst is out, but there’s been a complication.”

André heart plunged as he listened in dread for the next words. How many times had he read stories in the newspapers about people dying from relatively simply surgeries? No! his mind screamed, I can’t live without her.

“The baby’s coming,” the nurse continued. “We’re not sure what caused the labor. The doctor has tried to stop it, but . . .” She shrugged delicately.

“My wife?” As much as André loved and looked forward to the birth of her child, Rebekka was his primary concern. She made him complete. He’d spent many weeks carefully tending and courting her, waiting for the time when she would be healed from grief enough to give herself to him fully. There was so much promise in their love. He couldn’t lose her now.

“She’s asking for you.”

He sighed with relief, but his heart still pounded in his ears.

“Can I come too?” Danielle asked. “I’m her mother.”

“Yes, come along, both of you.”

Over his shoulder, André saw his parents and Rebekka’s father Philippe staring after them. Danielle touched his elbow. “Babies are stronger than they appear. Yours will be fine.”

Her words calmed his heart and put things into perspective. He especially liked the way she had called the baby his. “Yeah, what’s a month?” he said, trying to make his voice light.

After they scrubbed and donned on white paper gowns, the nurse led them to the operating room where Rebekka lay on a sheet-covered table, looking small in comparison to all the surrounding equipment. Dr. Samain and two nurses stood by her side.

“The baby’s heart rate is rising again,” a nurse was saying as they walked in the room.

Dr. Samain looked over at André. “We have to do an emergency caesarean. The labor is going fast, but the baby’s under too much stress. We need him out now.”

André made a sound in his throat. “I understand,” he said mechanically.

The doctor gave him a compassionate smile before going to work. “Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of them.”

André walked to the front of the bed where Rebekka gazed at him mutely with frightened eyes. He stooped and kissed her cheek. “It’s going to be all right,” he told her with as much assurance as he could muster.

Everything seemed to happen simultaneously. More hospital personnel entered the room, including a doctor to take care of the premature baby. The incision Dr. Samain made in Rebekka’s lower abdomen fascinated and repelled André at once. Then, almost abruptly, the baby was out, scrawny, with a shock of wet, dark hair, and not yet breathing.

No one said anything, but the baby doctor took over, while Dr. Samain stitched the gash in Rebekka’s uterus and belly. André felt torn between being with his wife and seeing what was going on with their son. His decision was made for him.

“Is he all right?” Rebekka begged to know. She pushed André away from the bed with surprising strength. “Go be with him!”

“I’ll stay with her,” Danielle said.

André crossed to the corner of the room where the doctor was working on the baby with gentle hands.

“He’s moving a lot,” André called to Rebekka. “And breathing. Don’t worry.”

She began to cry.

André stared in amazement as the baby’s doctor checked out seemingly every aspect of the newborn. “Is he okay?”

The doctor smiled. “He had a little trouble at first, but he’s breathing fine now. He’s a big little guy for coming a month early. He’s got to weigh about two and a half kilos. If he’d gone full term he’d have probably been at least four.”

André was pleased. Two and a half kilos was small, but many full term babies were only three. He remembered that one of his sisters had given birth to a baby nearly that same size, and it had been perfectly healthy.

“We’ll have to keep a close eye on him for a few days, but you can hold him now.” The doctor wrapped the newborn in a heated blanket and handed him to André.

He was so tiny and utterly precious. An emotion swelled in his heart that equalled the feelings he’d experienced at his daughters’ births. This was his brother’s son, as well as his and Rebekka’s, and he felt privileged to be the one to love and raise him.

“Welcome, son,” he whispered, blinking back tears. The baby nestled contentedly against his chest. Carefully, he crossed the short space to where Rebekka lay anxiously waiting.

“We have a son,” he said, lowering the baby into her arms, “just like they promised. And he’s doing great.”

With a sigh of relief, she put her lips to the baby’s forehead, leaving them there for a long time. Tears squeezed from under her closed lids. André knew she was praying, and he too began to silently thank his Heavenly Father.

There were more tests, but aside from a mild case of jaundice, the newest addition to the Perrault and Massoni families was healthy on nearly every account. The doctor warned them to keep the baby home and isolated for the first few months until he gained more weight, but that was perfectly okay with them.

“He’s blessed with his mother’s endurance and both his fathers’ stubbornness,” André announced to their families.

“So what are we going to name him?” Rebekka asked when they were finally alone. “We’ve never really discussed it.”

André took her hand and kissed each finger slowly. “I didn’t think there was any choice. He’s Marc, of course. Don’t you agree?”

Her eyes glistened. “Yes. That’s exactly right.”

Rebekka began humming a soft tune while gazing into their newborn’s eyes. André wondered if she felt the same compelling feeling he did when looking at their son. Or was her bond even stronger? Perhaps. What mattered was that the baby was safe and that she was his wife. A rush of happiness filled his soul.

Rebekka lifted her eyes to his. “He’s such a miracle.” Her long dark hair spilled about her shoulders and stuck to the pillow, contrasting with the stark white of her face. Her gray eyes were languid and content, and André had never seen her more beautiful. He leaned down and kissed her cheek tenderly, trailing over to kiss his favorite freckle above her top lip.

“Didn’t I tell you we’d get through it?” He snuggled up to her on the bed, the baby nestling where their bodies touched.

She smiled. “I think I could survive anything as long as you’re here.” Her face sobered. “I’m just glad I didn’t have the surgery months ago. If he’d come then . . .”

Gratitude filled André’s heart. “The doctor was right. Miracles do seem to follow our family.”

“You’re my miracle,” she answered. “Thank you for not giving up on me when I did nothing but push you away.”

“I’d never give up. I love you.” He trailed his fingertips along her cheek and across her soft lips.

She lifted her face for his kiss, her free arm sliding around his neck, pulling him closer. “And I love you.”