He gazed back down at her face, studying her at last—finding her hair plastered to her brow, at her temples, soaking at the back of her neck where she had tied it back with a ribbon upon returning to this room after their walk down to the cottonwood grove by the river.
“L-love you? Of course I do,” Seamus answered. He slipped one of his hands free, brushing her cheek with his rough fingertips as she smiled up at him through glistening eyes. “I’ll always love you, Samantha.”
He watched her eyes widen with the coming contraction, her tongue darting out to flick over her lips with a little moisture, sweeping over the droplets of salty sweat that poured from her flesh. Again he daubed her brow and cheeks as she squeezed his hand through the coming and leaving of that circle of pain.
“Do … do you really love me?” she panted as she collapsed against the pillows. “Love me even tonight?”
He shifted beside the bed, leaning his face more closely over hers as he whispered, “I love you more tonight than I have ever loved you.”
Sensing his eyes filling, Seamus drew back a little, blinked, and swiped at them with that damp towel. When he looked back down at her, he could see that Sam was weeping.
“Are you all right?” he begged, worried and anxious.
She forced a smile with the coming of the next contraction, tears suddenly gushing from the corners of her eyes. “I’ve n-never been b-better—”
The last word rushed out in a shriek as she clamped down on his hand and doubled up with the pain—panting, grunting, low and feral. The three midwives squeezed in around Samantha.
“That’s it!” Elizabeth cried. “It’s, here! Your baby’s here!”
With a jerk he looked down at Mrs. Burt, hoping for some sign of the child. Dear Mither of God—he prayed—protect them both at this moment!
“I see its head,” Elizabeth went on. “Such hair. So much hair!”
Sam fell back, her legs—indeed, her whole body—quaking with great, volcanic shudders. Back and forth he looked, his eyes moving between Samantha and Elizabeth Burt.
“The head is here,” the woman cried out, shifting her position between Sam’s legs now, climbing up on the bed herself to kneel between the knees and shoving the sheet out of the way so that it tumbled down upon Samantha’s great, round tummy. She glanced at Seamus quickly—as if to explain that duty must now dispense with propriety.
He nodded and looked away obediently, though he wanted so much to watch this child come forth. So much to watch its entrance into this world. Instead he turned back to kiss Sam on the forehead quickly at the moment she began to quiver with a new contraction, then began to growl as she hadn’t before.
“Yes, Sam!” Martha Luhn prodded. “Give it all you’ve got now!
Nettie Capron urged, “Push, Sam! Push!”
She had her fingernails digging into the palm of his hand so deeply, he didn’t know if the dampness he felt was sweat or blood. It didn’t matter. And then he glanced at Elizabeth Burt, saw her hovering close above Sam’s belly.
“Again!” Elizabeth ordered. “Push harder now, Sam. It’s here! Dear God—your beautiful baby’s here!”
At Samantha’s other shoulder Nettie Capron coaxed, “One more good push and the baby will be out. Come, now. Give us one more good push.”
“P-p-push!” Sam gasped, straining, her face flush.
“That’s it!” Martha Luhn cheered.
Then Seamus turned quickly, saw the head already cradled in Mrs. Burt’s hands. At that very moment the child burst into a hair-raising squall. With the child’s cry Sam suddenly released the pressure she had on his hand and let out a great sigh. Seamus looked down as she collapsed back against the pillows, panting openmouthed like never before, her eyes clenched shut, tears streaming from their corners. It seemed everything had suddenly gone out of her. He felt queasy in that moment, afraid like never before that she might not have the strength to see this through. All these hours of labor. And now it must surely be early morning … after all that work.
“It’s a boy!”
He jerked around, wide-eyed as a mule on a narrow trail, staring at what Elizabeth Burt cradled in her arms. Seeing that dark glob of hair plastered against the strange little creature’s head, its face all pinched and red, streaked with white lather and gobbed with blood. Mrs. Burt shifted the child in her forearms there between Sam’s knees as Nettie Capron came to the side of the bed with a small blanket draped over her arms to receive the child.
“A b-boy?” Sam asked, trying to lift herself up to see, then tearing her eyes from the child for but a moment as they flicked into Seamus’s—as if asking for his approval.
“Boy?” he repeated, his lips barely moving, practically no sound escaping from his lips.
“You’re a father, Mr. Donegan!” Elizabeth Burt congratulated as she laid the newborn across Mrs. Capron’s arms, then went back to work between Sam’s legs, milking the umbilical cord toward the child. That done, the women tied a wrap of sewing thread around and around the cord two inches from the infant’s body, then knotted it off.
In amazement at it all, Seamus watched Martha Luhn snip the purple cord with a pair of scissors.
Only then did Nettie Capron straighten, shuffle back the tiny blanket from the face, and scoot down the side of the bed to lay the bundle within Sam’s arms.
“Is he …,” Samantha started to ask.
“Is he all right?” Elizabeth Burt repeated, still at work there between the knees. “Of course he is, Sam. He’s just fine. Got all the right equipment, if that’s what you mean. All his fingers and toes. Everything else. Just one thing.”
“W-what?” Seamus asked in a gasp, twisting about suddenly, frightened at the sound of that.
The child began to squall, high-pitched and rhythmic, like nothing he had ever heard before. Now he was worried. Truly worried.
“Don’t know what his folks are going to do,” Elizabeth said gravely, but a smile betrayed her face, eyes twinkling, “seeing how he’s come out about as homely as his father.”
With a reassuring gush all three midwives chuckled at that and went back to their duties at the foot of the bed as Seamus bent low, helping Sam tug the blanket back from the child’s face all the more.
“Lemme have a look, Sam,” he whispered as he planted another kiss on her lips glistening with her tears.
He straightened slightly and began to slowly peel back the folds of the blanket. Beneath it lay the red, squealing, wriggling child—all arms and legs and mouth. The child clenched his eyes in that crimson face as he bellowed in protest.
“It’s a boy, Sam,” he cried, sensing his own tears begin to sting his eyes.
“Yes!” Elizabeth Burt exclaimed with genuine joy as she gathered more of the bloody sheets into her arms and passed them on to Nettie Capron. “Just listen to the set of lungs this’un has! My, my—never have I ever heard such caterwauling!”
Seamus repeated over and over, almost unbelieving how beautiful such a tiny creature could be, “A boy, Sam. A b-boy!”
Tears welled from his eyes now, his lower lip quivering as it never had before, even as it had in those last few minutes of bachelorhood before he stepped beneath that sheltering oak tree in Sharp Grover’s yard near the Texas panhandle country, prepared to take this woman to his side forevermore.
She asked him, “You approve, Seamus?”
“Oh, yes—yes! A girl, a boy,” he answered in a rush, leaning over to kiss the tiny infant’s wrinkled forehead, gently brushing that thick crop of hair with his lips. “Anything—long as you both made it through, Sam.”
“We made it through,” she whimpered wearily beneath him, her eyes thickly pooling with tears, her lips smiling as she cried in joy. “We both made it through just fine.”