Married At Midnight (2 page)

was weeping, but it seemed awkward to touch her now. He'd never touched her before except in the most formal way.

"Would it help if I held you?" he asked.

She looked startled, and even might have blushed, but she nodded. He moved the bench a little so that they could both lean against the wall, then wrapped an arm around her. After a moment, she rested her head heavily on his shoulder.

"I was mad to come here, wasn't I? It just seemed so unfair ..."

"It doubtless is unfair. If Fallowfield were still alive, I'd make him take his vows."

"I'm miserable because I can't seem to care that he's dead. He didn't deserve to die."

He rubbed her arm. "Perhaps no one does. Despite everything, he was a good soldier and died well." He wasn't sure

if that was any consolation, but she was swallowed up in another ocean wave of labor and made no response.

Was there anything they could do for her? Back home as a lad he'd watched animals being born—

horses, cats, dogs. He couldn't recall anything from that experience that might help here.

Trying to whisper, he asked, "Any of you men know anything about this?"

It was damned stupid to whisper when her ear was only inches from his lips.

The men shook their heads, and he saw genuine regret on many faces. They all knew Kate, and they knew her as cheerful and kind. It didn't hurt that she was so bloody beautiful, with clear skin, big blue eyes, and that mass of

heavy golden hair, but the beauty went far deeper than that.

They'd missed her these past weeks since Fallowfield had sent her back to England. They'd missed her smiles, her joyousness, and her singing as she worked.

Even if the only flaw she possessed was to sing off-key.

"Then I suppose I must help."

Charles stared at Mr. Rightwell, still hunched in his corner. "You know about childbirth?"

The clergyman shrugged, and he did now look a little less morose and peevish. "I must make it clear that I have no professional qualification. I know nothing, really. But I have been at a few births in the course of my duties. Some

devout women like to pray .. ."

Charles had hoped for more, but this was better than nothing. "What do we do, then?"

"As far as I can tell, very little. It is mainly a matter of waiting. The midwife generally comforts and encourages the woman, who is frightened and distressed ..." He cast a dubious look at Kate, who was in the throes of labor again.

She was a dead weight against Charles, looking more stunned than distressed.

Her hearing must have been working, however, for when it was over she said, "Some comfort and encouragement

would be nice, you know."

Charles burst out laughing.

When he got a grip on himself, he took refuge in organization. He passed the duties of comfort and encouragement to Rightwell and went back to setting up a bed using the rag mattress. The best they could do for a pillow was to stuff a flour sack with odd bits of clothing, but soon they had a cozy corner shielded off from the rest of the room by blankets hung from a rope.

Charles then invited Kate to take up residence.

She moved to obey, but Rightwell held her back. "If you wish to take to your bed, madam, you must do so. But in my experience, the midwives encouraged the woman to stay sitting, or even walking, as long as possible."

"Walking!" Charles exclaimed. "Well then, why don't we march her back to the baggage carts!

Damnation, Rightwell—"

"Language, sir!" snapped the clergyman. "You say you know nothing. I merely tell what I have observed.

In fact, I questioned one midwife about these practices. She said that as babies have to come down, it generally helped for

down to, so to speak, be down."

One of the men cleared his throat. "When me mam were birthin' young 'uns, Captain, she always seemed to be

stamping around the place until near her time. Then she took to the bed."

The only pictures Charles had ever seen of women in childbirth had shown them in bed. But now he came to think

of it, they seemed to also show the babe already born. Though his instinct was to make Kate lie down, perhaps with someone to gently wipe her brow, he said, "Right, then!" and seized her hands. "Up you come."

When she was on her feet, he put his arm around her and steered her up and down the small room.

She walked willingly enough, but said, "I never knew you were such a bully, Captain."

"When called for, Kate. I've no mind to be shot for desertion or dereliction of duty. I've even less mind to leave you

here in distress. So let's get this child safely into the world."

The men were hastily scooting into corners, trying to give as much walking space as possible, but it was still only about ten paces each way to the turn. They halted when labor hit her, then settled back to walking again. Though she clutched at him and her breathing spoke of pain, she denied any great distress.

She seemed to enjoy talking as they walked, and so he dredged his mind for light chatter. This was hard since he doubted she'd want to talk about Fal-lowfield and army life, or the time before she'd been seduced away from home

and family.

At some point Private Chase pulled out his whistle and began to play a lively march. Charles wondered if a drummer might come in useful, too.

He looked over at Mr. Rightwell, who merely said, "As far as I can tell, Captain, it is going as it should."

He wanted to ask the man if any of these births he'd attended had resulted in death. Women did die in childbirth. He couldn't even say the words. Surely someone as strong and vital as Kate Fallowfield couldn't be dead before morning?

Soon they were stopping more than walking, and at last she groaned, "Ah, now it hurts."

He held her tighter, not minding the way she bruised him with her grip. He'd shed his jacket and waistcoat a while

back, and now only his shirt protected his arms from her viselike fingers.

When she relaxed her grip and looked up at him, he saw fear, and this he understood. She was like a new recruit

facing enemy fire. He said what he would say to such a terrified lad. "There's no turning back, Kate. The only way

out is through it."

She blew out a breath, pushing hair away from her eyes. "That's easy enough for you to say!"

Charles laughed and found a string to tie back her straggling hair. "You've convinced me I never want to be a general.

I'd rather be in the thick of it than out here watching."

"Whereas I've always been delighted not to be in the fighting."

"We soldiers value the women who are there to tend to us. Now, it seems, the situation is reversed. Is there anything practical we can do?"

She shook her head, swaying unselfconsciously against his shoulder. "I'm just glad I'm not alone—" But another pain took her, clearly sharper and stronger than before. When it finished, she was almost slumped against him. "I think I

need to lie down. .."

He swept her up and carried her to the bed. The next attack was on her before he put her down and she cried out

with it.

By the time he had her settled, Rightwell had come to the other side of the bed. She was arching up, grimacing.

"Dammit, Rightwell. There must be something we can do!"

"I fear not, Captain. But I think that at last we are near."

"Pray God you're right. She can't go on like this. What time is it?" Even as he asked, Charles realized he had his own watch and pulled it out. Eleven. He'd thought it later. That left plenty of time before dawn and surely this writhing, sweating intensity couldn't last for long.

"I think ..." said Rightwell.

"What?"

"In some cases, perhaps one of the women rubbed the mother's back."

"Then why the devil didn't you say so!" Charles immediately rolled Kate onto her side and started massaging her

rigid shoulders.

"Er .. .lower, Captain."

"Lower? Where lower?" Charles moved his hands down to the center of her back.

"Er .. . just above ..."

Charles looked for a moment at Kate's wonderfully rounded bottom, then put his hands just above it, pushing with

his thumbs.

"Oh, God!" she gasped, so he snatched his hands away. But then she cried. "Yes! Harder! Harder!"

She sounded embarrassingly like a demanding woman in a spicy bed, but Charles pressed harder and harder and she rewarded him—like a woman in a spicy bed—with a groan that seemed almost of pleasure.

Since she wanted pressure, he started to use the heel of his hand, praying he wasn't doing any damage.

At least she'd stopped that tormented arching.

As time went on, however, he began to dread that he was in fact ministering to a death. The baby was surely stuck inside.

Then, suddenly, it all changed.

Kate had almost seemed to be in a trance, but now her eyes opened and she grunted in surprise.

"Kate? What?" Charles looked at Rightwell, who actually smiled.

"This is just as it should be. I believe we are almost there, Captain. She is going to push the baby out."

Kate looked for all the world like a gunner pushing a cannon up hill, but then she relaxed and actually smiled at him, though she looked more drunk than maternal. "It doesn't. . . hurt much any more. Thank

you for . .. for rubbing my back."

"I'm glad it helped." He had the strangest urge to stroke her face and kiss her simply because she was being so brave.

Rightwell cleared his throat. "Madam, are you wearing underwear?"

She turned dazed eyes to the man. "A shift, Mr. Rightwell. No corset. None fit." But then she was grunting and pushing again so that Charles looked down at her voluminous skirts expecting a baby to appear under them at any moment.

"Drawers," mouthed Rightwell. "Some ladies do wear them in the coldest weather. Er. .. at some point you are going

to have to push back her skirts and ... er ... look."

"Me?"

"You, sir. You at least seem to know the lady. I am a complete stranger."

"Perhaps a stranger would be better!"

"You, sir."

"You, Charles," said Kate quite strongly, and he looked up to see that she was even smiling that tip-tilted smile.

"This is all damned irregular," Charles muttered, but he gingerly put his hands under her skirts— wool on top, then flannel, then cotton—and pushed them up to expose her open thighs. He was sure he was blushing and could only

be grateful that the shielding blankets made this corner quite dim.

Then he realized they made it so dim he could hardly see anything. There certainly was no baby there.

He called for one of their precious candles to be lit and brought to him, then set it in the ground near her feet. When

she grunted and arched with the next push, he saw the skin bulge between her legs. But there was no sign of the baby actually coming out.

It was surely stuck.

"Rightwell, come here and look."

"Certainly not, Captain. There would be no point anyway. You don't think I would actually have looked at a woman's private parts if there was no need to do so, do you?"

"It would have been useful if you had," Charles muttered. "How long should this take?"

"I think it can be quite a while."

Since there seemed nothing to be done, Charles lowered the skirts and moved to sit by her head and stroke her hair. "Poor Kate. It won't be long now."

She seemed half conscious, but she said, "Not poor ... as long as the baby's safe ..." But then tears swelled in her

eyes and leaked onto her cheeks. "Poor innocent..."

He brushed them away. "Don't cry. I swear your baby will be safe." He wished he believed it.

"God, are you, Captain?"

He wiped more tears. "No, but a bloody good officer. I keep my men alive." Then he remembered the three burials

that day. "I wish I'd kept Fallowfield alive for you."

"So do I. My child doesn't deserve to be a bastard." And more tears flowed even as she labored under the next push.

Charles knew that belief, faith, was key to many victories. Was Kate's misery over bringing a fatherless child into the world stopping the birth?

He stared at the clergyman, who shook his head. "A little while yet, I think."

"Not that. The question is, can I marry her?"

Rightwell's features set hard. "Are you saying
you
are the wretched father of this child?"

"No, dammit. But I could be, couldn't I? If we marry before it's born, it will legally be my child, and legitimate,

won't it?"