The mare was in the foaling stall at the rear of the barn. Rachel had moved her there two nights earlier after noticing the animal becoming restless. She had expected another week, maybe more. The mare had apparently made other arrangements.
Rachel entered the barn carrying a lantern. The animal paced the stall, sides wet with sweat despite the cold. Her tail lifted. She turned, lay down, then struggled back to her feet.
Rachel hung the lantern from a nail. "Easy, girl."
Lillian appeared behind her, wrapped in George's old coat. "Is it happening?"
"Looks that way."
"Tonight?"
Rachel glanced at her. "No, Lillian. Next Thursday. She's practicing."
Lillian pressed her lips together. Rachel immediately regretted it. "Sorry."
"I know."
Rachel stepped into the stall. She ran a hand along the mare's side. Too tense. Too much time between efforts.
Something was wrong. She waited, then checked carefully. Her stomach tightened.
"What?" Lillian saw her face.
Rachel stood. "The foal's turned."
"Can you fix it?"
"I don't know yet."
That answer frightened Lillian more than anything else could have. Rachel was usually the person who knew.
"Should I ride for the doctor?"
"Doctor won't know horses any better than I do."
"The blacksmith?"
"He's in town."
"Pa's still in town."
Lillian stared toward the barn door. "We need somebody."
Rachel looked at the mare. "We need hands."
Lillian stepped forward. "I have hands."
Rachel almost told her no. Then stopped. "Bring the clean towels from the kitchen and boil water."
"For what?"
"Because I'll need it and because it'll keep you from asking me questions for five minutes."
Lillian hurried out. Rachel took off her coat. The mare groaned softly. Rachel rested her forehead against the animal's neck.
"All right. You and me."
Another contraction came. Rachel worked slowly, trying to understand the position. One foreleg. No second.
Head wrong. She withdrew and breathed through her nose. The foal was alive for now. But the position would not allow a safe delivery.
Rachel had helped with difficult births before. Never one quite like this. And never alone. Lillian returned carrying towels and nearly slipping on the packed dirt floor.
"Water's heating."
"Good."
"What do I do?"
"Hold the lantern lower."
Lillian did. Rachel tried again. The mare kicked weakly. Rachel moved back.
"Easy."
Snow hissed against the roof. Twenty minutes passed. Then 30. Rachel's sleeves were rolled above her elbows.
Her hair had come loose from its pins. Lillian stood pale beside the wall.