Out in the parlor, Josh awoke with a start. He was cold and stiff and his neck ached from the awkward way he was resting his head against the side of the wingbacked chair. For a moment he could not recall why he was sleeping in the chair, and then he heard it, that horrible, blood-chilling cry of anguish. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and every muscle tensed in response. He wanted to do something, to fight something, to somehow save her from this awful torment. His hands closed into fists as frustration overwhelmed him. The cry came again, slicing into his soul until he could have cried out himself.
Candace had told him to leave, to go off someplace where he couldn't hear what was happening. Every instinct for self-preservation demanded that he follow her advice, that he get on his horse and ride away until the screams faded into silence. But another, stronger instinct kept him here. He had to protect Felicity, to keep her safe. Although he was powerless to protect her in this instance, he could not resist the need to be with her, or at least as nearby as he was allowed. He could no more have left her than he could have left his own body.
Her scream came again, and he covered his face with both hands. Listening was torture, pure and simple, but he would not leave. He had shared the pleasure. Now he would share the pain.
Dawn broke and Felicity's torment ceased again, allowing her to rest once more, only to awaken to new tortures. The cycle repeated itself over and over. Day became night and then became day again. Felicity's world narrowed until it included only moments with pain and moments without. Nothing else mattered. During the moments without, she slipped into some sort of netherworld that could not really be called sleep but which, mercifully, was not consciousness either. People came and went in the room, but she no longer knew or cared who they were er what they did. She even forgot why she was here. All that mattered was when the next pain would come and whether she could live through it.
Josh paced restlessly across the parlor as he waited for the screams to start again. In the past thirty-six hours, he had all but worn a path across the large room as he sought some outlet for his frustration. He did not know which was worse, her screams or the silence. He knew the cycle by now and knew not to trust the quiet. Soon her torment would begin anew, and the sound of it would tear his soul into ragged shreds. More than once he had gone to the bedroom door, ready to fling it open and do battle with the invisible demons that tortured her. Each time he had caught himself at the last moment and forced himself to think rationally about his own helplessness. But still he knew that urge to help, and it kept him pacing anxiously, even after two sleepless nights.
The bedroom door opened and Blanche appeared. Hope soared in him for a moment. Could the silence mean…? "The baby?" he asked.
But Blanche shook her head. "Not yet." She pulled the door closed behind her and came toward him. The expression on her face sent cold chills racing down his spine.
"Felicity?" he asked reluctantly.
"She's resting now," Blanche assured him, seeing his anxiety. "But that won't last long. In a few minutes, the pains will start again."
He nodded, turning away and running a hand over his face in despair. "How much more of this can she take?"
"Not much," Blanche said, verifying his worst fears. "Josh, the baby is close to being born. We can see its head. We've been able to see it for hours, but it just won't come. We think it's because she is so small and the baby is so big."
Josh nodded again, not daring to face her lest she see the tears gathering in his eyes.
"If this keeps up," Blanche continued, "she'll die. They'll both die."
Rage exploded in his chest, fury over the injustice of it and over his own impotence. He whirled on Blanche. "Can't you do something?" he demanded, striding toward her. "Can't you help her?"
Blanche winced as his hands closed over her arms in a bone-crushing grip. "There's one thing," she told him, "but we need your help."
That shocked him so much that his hands went slack and she was able to break free of his grasp. "My help?" he repeated incredulously.
Blanche nodded, rubbing her upper arms where he had bruised them. "I saw it once, when I was a kid," she said, not bothering to add that the event had occurred in the brothel where she'd been raised. "This woman had been in labor for days, but the baby just wouldn't come. The midwife finally just pushed the baby out herself."
"Pushed it out? How?" Josh asked, horrified at the very thought.
Blanche swallowed, knowing how awful the thing she was going to suggest would sound to him. "The midwife straddled the woman, and every time she had a contraction, the midwife pushed on the baby until it finally came out."
Josh covered his face with both hands, unable even to consider such a thing. But Blanche could not let him escape. "It will hurt her, Josh," she said urgently, grabbing him the way he had grabbed her moments ago. "There's no use pretending that it won't, but if we don't do it, she's going to die. We can't pretend about that anymore either."
Josh shuddered at the horror of it. "All right," he said, his voice flat with acceptance of the unacceptable. "Do what you have to do."
Blanche swallowed again. "Josh, you have to help us. You… you have to do the pushing."
"No!"
"Yes, Josh, you have to," Blanche insisted, shaking him slightly as if to dislodge him from his decision. "I have to guide the baby out because I have the smallest hands, and Candace just doesn't have the strength. She's exhausted, and her hand…" She stopped when she realized Josh understood that he had no alternative. Candace's cut hand had healed poorly so that she had little use of it now. No one else could do the job.
Josh gazed down at Blanche's drawn face, absently noting the dark smudges under her eyes from two sleepless nights. If she looked so awful, how much must Felicity be suffering? But how much more would she suffer if he…
Felicity's scream pierced the silence and his heart. He couldn't let this go on. He couldn't just stand by and let her die, not when he had it in his power at last to help her. He closed his eyes over the agony of his decision. "I'll do it," he said at last.
Blanche sighed with one second of relief before pulling him into the bedroom. "Take your boots off and wash your hands. Then I'll show you what to do."
Josh froze in the doorway as he saw Felicity for the first time in two nights. She was lying on the bed, her beautiful hair matted and tangled, her nightdress clinging damply to her sweat-soaked skin. Her whole body was arched as she strained against the contraction. Suddenly she went limp, her breath ragged and uneven as she waited for the next onslaught. How could he…
"Josh, your boots," Blanche urged, guiding him to a chair and forcing him down on it. "Hurry."
Deep in the dark tunnel of her pain, Felicity heard his voice. She was dreaming; she knew she was. She had called for him a hundred times, but he had never come before. With great effort, she lifted her weighted eyelids to find him standing over her. He had come! He was really here! He would help her; she knew he would. "Joshua!" she cried, surprised when her voice came out as little more than a hoarse whisper. He did not reply, and he had such an odd expression on his face that Felicity wondered whether he had even heard her.
He heard her. He saw the trust, the hope in her pain-filled eyes, and he knew that she thought he had come to save her. How could he cause her even more pain? In that one moment, he would gladly have died himself rather than increase her suffering. Unfortunately, he did not have that choice.