Ruth then set the steaming pot on the dresser. “Just let me know what you need me to do next.”
Dr. Henshaw nodded.
Olivia wrung out a cloth and gently wiped the woman’s face, careful to avoid the bruises. The coolness had Darla’s eyes blinking open.
“It’s all right. We’re here with you. Dr. Henshaw is going to help you deliver your baby.” Olivia prayed that everything would be all right. “What’s your name?”
“Mary.” The strangled word was so low only Olivia could have heard it.
Mary’s face twisted as her whole body tensed.
“Another contraction,” Dr. Henshaw said. “I can see the head. You need to push now.”
Mary gave a weak attempt, then lay back, panting.
“I know it’s hard,” Olivia said in a soothing voice. “But your baby will be worth it. Come on, we’ll do it together.” She put an arm around the woman’s shoulders, willing her strength to pass on to Mary.
After another attempt, Mary crumpled.
Olivia moistened the cloth again and ran it over the woman’s forehead and neck, hoping to revive her. Her efforts were rewarded when the woman blinked and inhaled sharply.
When the next contraction came, she helped Mary sit up more. Olivia’s arms strained under the woman’s weight as she labored. “Push, Mary. You’re almost there.”
Was she? Olivia had no idea. She only knew that she had to give this woman hope.
After several more attempts, Mary panted with exhaustion. Another pain hit and she pushed again.
Concentrating on bathing Mary’s face, Olivia was only vaguely aware of the flurry of activity at the end of the bed until a loud cry sounded. She raised her head to see the doctor lifting a red-faced infant onto the sheet Ruth handed him.
“It’s a girl,” he announced. “Looks to be about six pounds or so. Congratulations.”
The relief that spread over his face allowed Olivia to relax. She eased Mary back against the pillows, her own muscles loosening.
The doctor tended to the baby, then handed the sheet-clad bundle to Ruth. Instantly, the child quieted.
Ruth smiled down at the infant as she walked toward the mother. “Would you like to see your baby?”
Mary nodded, barely able to keep her eyes open. As Ruth moved the sheet aside, Mary’s whole face softened. “My daughter,” she whispered. But the woman didn’t seem to have the strength to take the baby. Instead, her eyes rolled back in her head.
Ruth’s expression changed from joy to alarm. “Doctor!”
Olivia looked at Mary, only then registering the strange gurgling sounds coming from the woman’s throat.
Dr. Henshaw whipped the pillows from behind Mary’s head. “Olivia, hold her shoulders. I need to—”
Olivia jerked off the bed, knocking the basin of water to the floor. The air whooshed from her lungs, her heart thumping a loud beat in her ears. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”
Then she turned and bolted from the room.
Several hours later, Olivia sat on the back step, staring out at the sunbathed yard. How could the day be so calm, the birds so cheery, when inside a tragedy had barely been averted?
They’d confronted life and death before the sun had even risen.
Dr. Henshaw had managed to bring Mary around and, after cleaning her up and giving her a shot of some kind, said she should recover. Ruth had asked if she needed to go to the hospital, but he’d said no. Mary’s blood pressure had come back up, and her heart rate seemed steady. Given a few weeks of bed rest, she should be back to normal. He’d given Ruth instructions on how to make formula for the baby in case Mary wasn’t strong enough to breastfeed right away, and Ruth had promised to pass the information on to Mrs. Neale.
All of this Ruth had relayed to Olivia when she’d found her in the office, working on the books in an attempt to take her mind off the whole affair, especially the sight of that precious baby, who reminded Olivia far too much of her own infant son. Though Ruth tried to convince Olivia to join her for a bite of breakfast, Olivia had declined, knowing she wouldn’t be able to keep anything down.
Soon after, she’d come out to the yard, seeking fresh air and the solace of prayer. Yet nothing could banish the horrible memories that haunted her. Mary’s labor had brought back unrelenting flashbacks of the day Olivia had delivered her own child. The bleak beige walls. The bare lightbulb above the bed. The hard metal handrails she’d clutched during her contractions. Only the compassion of one nurse made the experience at all bearable. The woman had kindly wrapped the baby in the blanket Olivia had knitted before she handed Matteo to her.
Even then, Olivia hadn’t understood that she wouldn’t be allowed to keep her son. Holding Matteo in her arms for that brief time had been the most joyous moment of her life. Until Mrs. Linder arrived to tell her that she was taking him away.
Tears dripped down Olivia’s cheeks. Oh, Matteo. Where are you now? Are you being well cared for? Loved unconditionally? Will your new family ever tell you about me?
For the first time since they’d opened Bennington Place, real doubts set in to plague her.
What if she couldn’t handle being around newborns? What if she had an emotional breakdown every time a woman went into labor or whenever difficulties arose during childbirth? How would that help anyone?
With no easy answers to be found, she got up and crossed the lawn to the rosebushes that lined the property. She fingered the silky petals and vibrant leaves and focused on the healing power of nature. Inhaling deeply, she allowed the soothing floral scent to fill her, forcing away grotesque images of blood and sweat. And instruments of torture.
Here, in Ruth’s garden, there existed only sunshine, lush greenery, and the welcoming stone birdbath where the sparrows played.
Here, she’d found sanctuary from the harshness of the world. A roof over her head, a soft mattress to lie on, and food to
