Mr. Hawthorne, I need hot water and clean linens. Mrs. Miller, help me get her more comfortable. And someone send those children outside, or at least far enough away that they won't hear their mother screaming.
They're in the loft, Silas said, already moving to heat water. And they're staying there. Fair enough. Now get me those linens. The next hours blurred together in a haze of pain and fear and desperate prayer.
Mara labored through the night while the storm howled outside, and the children huddled together above, trying not to listen to their mother's cries. Silas stayed by her side the entire time, holding her hand, wiping sweat from her face, murmuring encouragement, even when his own heart was hammering with terror. "You're doing so well," he whispered during a brief lull. "So strong! I'm so proud of you." "I'm not strong," Mara gasped.
"I'm terrified." "Being terrified and doing it anyway, that's the definition of strong." She managed a weak laugh. "Where'd you hear that from? you the day I found you on that road. He kissed her forehead. You were terrified then too, but you kept going and you'll keep going now. Promise me something.
Anything. If something happens to me, if I don't make it, you take care of them. All of them. The baby, too. Mara, don't promise me, Silus.
He looked into her eyes, saw the fear there, and knew she needed this. Needed to know her children would be safe no matter what. I promise, he said. horsely. But you're going to be fine. You're going to hold this baby and watch it grow up and drive us all crazy.
You hear me? I hear you. Another contraction hit and she screamed, the sound tearing through the cabin like a physical thing. Mrs. Henderson examined her quickly, efficiently.
Almost there, Mrs. Hawthorne. Just a little longer. You're doing beautifully. But her expression when she looked at Sarah Miller was worried.
Silas saw it. His stomach dropped. "What's wrong?" he demanded. "Nothing's wrong." "Don't lie to me. What's wrong?" Mrs.
Henderson hesitated, then sighed. "The baby's breach." Feet first instead of head. "It's going to be harder, take longer, but I've delivered breach babies before. She just needs to keep her strength up." Mara's face went white. Breach babies die.
I've heard the stories. Not on my watch. They don't. Mrs. Henderson's voice was firm.
You listen to me, Mrs. Hawthorne. You're young and healthy and strong. This baby is coming and it's coming out alive, but I need you to trust me and do exactly what I say. Can you do that?