Mara nodded, tears streaming down her face. Good. Now, on the next contraction, I need you to push hard as you can. What followed was the longest hour of Silus's life. Mara pushed and screamed and bled while Mrs.
Henderson worked with steady, practiced hands. Sarah Miller held Mara's other hand, murmuring encouragement, and Silas prayed harder than he'd ever prayed in his life. "Please, please don't take her from me. I can't lose another family. I can't." Then, just when he thought he couldn't bear another second, Mrs.
Henderson shouted in triumph, "There, I've got the feet. One more push, Mrs. Hawthorne. Just one more." Mara screamed one final time, her voice raw and broken. And suddenly there was a new sound in the cabin.
A baby crying, thin and rey, but unmistakably alive. "It's a girl," Mrs. Henderson announced, holding up a tiny squirming bundle covered in blood and fluid. "A perfect little girl." "Silus's knees buckled. He caught himself on the edge of the bed, staring at the tiny creature in the midwife's hands, unable to process that this was real, that they'd made it, that Mara was alive and the baby was alive and his family was whole.
Mrs. Henderson quickly cleaned the baby and wrapped her in a soft blanket, then placed her in Mara's arms. Mara looked down at her daughter, their daughter, and burst into tears. "She's so small," she whispered. So perfect.
Silas leaned over, touched one tiny hand with his finger. The baby's fist closed around it reflexively, gripping tight, and something in his chest broke open. "She's beautiful," he said, his voice thick. Just like her mother. "What should we name her?" Mara asked, looking up at him with exhausted, joy-filled eyes.
Silas was quiet for a moment. Then, "Grace! For the grace that brought us together. for the grace that kept us alive. Mara smiled through her tears. Grace Hawthorne, I love it.
Above them, the loft had gone suspiciously silent. Silas looked up to find seven faces peering down through the gap in the floorboards. "Can we see her?" Jonah called down, trying to keep his voice quiet and failing. "Can we hold her?" the twins chorused. "Is she really ours?" Thomas asked.
Mara laughed, the sound tired but real. "Come down. Come meet your sister." They tumbled down the ladder in a controlled chaos, crowding around the bed to stare at the tiny bundle in their mother's arms. Grace had stopped crying and was looking around with unfocused eyes, making small snuffling sounds. "She's so little," Eliza breathed.
"Like a doll." "Can I touch her?" Abigail asked, reaching out one tentative finger. "Gently," Mara said, guiding her hand to stroke the baby's soft cheek. very gently. One by one, each child got to touch their new sister, to marvel at her tiny fingers and toes, her wisps of dark hair, the way she yawned and stretched and made small noises like a kitten. Jonah hung back, watching, but not reaching out. Silas caught his eye, saw something complicated there.
After a while, when the younger children had been shued back to bed by Sarah Miller, and Mrs. Henderson had cleaned up and left with promises to check back tomorrow. Silas found Jonah sitting on the porch despite the cold. "What are you doing out here, son? You'll freeze." Jonah shrugged, not looking up.