When I met Harriet’s gaze, I saw tears shining in her eyes. “And, it would mean you could come home someday. Char, you would really do that for me?”
“I’d be doing it for us. And you’ve cared for and protected me for so long. It’s my turn.”
Hari looked truly happy for the first time in a very long time. “You and your husband could settle on an estate nearby. We would have such fun together, just like the old days.”
We basked for a few moments in the rosy glow of a perfectly planned future, full of optimism for a change. I imagined myself living close to Hari, sharing the joy of rearing my children. My husband would be a kind and loving father. I tried to conjure an image of him in my mind but he was a shadowy figure, beyond my imagination.
We were interrupted by a soft knock at the door, and I went to answer it. A cabin boy I recognized from belowdecks stood outside with a note, which he handed to me. I opened it.
Come at once. Sarah needs you.
Carson.
She must be in labour. I felt my heart surge with adrenaline.
“Who is it?” Harriet called.
I quickly crushed the paper and shoved it into my pocket, then turned to her. “Just a cabin boy letting us know that there’s a knitting group starting up in the tearoom.” I smiled. “I think I’ll go.”
Hari gave me an odd look. “You’re interested in knitting?”
“Perhaps if I’m to be a mother one day I should learn.”
“I can’t imagine a more boring prospect, but be my guest.”
I told Harriet I would see her later, then said goodbye. Outside, the boy was waiting for me, and I followed him to the lowest deck and through the dark, narrow hallway at the rear. I felt the roll of the ship much more keenly here, and I had to hold the rope handrail to keep my balance. There were no portholes or windows of any kind this low in the water. The air was humid and foul. We were deep in the bowels of the boat, and the sounds of a ship at sea were all around us. Like the old woman she was, the ship groaned and creaked with every gust of wind or ocean swell.
Florence, Emma, and Alice were standing outside Sarah’s cabin.
“We wanted to give her some privacy,” Florence said, pressing my arm. “She’s in a lot of pain. Please, help her.”
I nodded and entered the dim, hot cabin, which smelled musty, like tobacco and beeswax. Inside, there was barely enough space for one person to stand upright with the low ceiling and the four sets of wooden bunk beds. Dr. Carson was attending to Sarah, who was leaning back, knees bent, on the left lower bunk, naked except for a coverlet across her chest. Her wet hair was tied in a knot to the top of her head and perspiration dripped from every feature of her face.
I reached for her hand and leaned in close. “I’m here, Sarah. I’m going to help any way I can.”
“Is that you, Miss Charlotte?” she whispered. “I’m so very grateful, truly I am. This little one is taking its time.”
I turned to Dr. Carson. “How long has she been in labour?”
“Since last night.” He frowned. “The Burks didn’t tell me until this morning.”
I suspected the Burks felt Sarah deserved to suffer for what they perceived as the sin of unwed motherhood. I took a cloth and patted Sarah’s brow. “You must be exhausted.”
She didn’t reply, just squeezed my hand tightly and let out a slow moan that built in intensity. She curled her body forward as if wanting to bear down.
“Hold on,” Dr. Carson said. “This contraction’s almost done. They’re coming faster now. It’ll be time to push soon, but not yet. When you feel the urge to push, start panting until it passes.”
Sarah fell back on the cot, breathless. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”
“You’re doing so well, Sarah,” I said. “You’re almost there. Soon, you’ll be holding your baby in your arms, won’t she, Dr. Carson?”
But he was bent over her belly with his stethoscope and listening intently.
“What can you hear?”
He pulled the device from his ears and straightened up. “The baby’s heartbeat.”
“Did you hear that, Sarah? Your baby’s heart is beating.” But she had dozed off. I turned to Dr. Carson, who had a grim look on his face.
“She’s been in hard labour for over five hours,” he said, pulling out his pocket watch and taking Sarah’s pulse. “She needs to deliver the baby soon.”
Sarah began to moan again as another contraction swept over her. I mopped her brow with a damp cloth and murmured encouragement. When it passed, she collapsed back on her pillows and drifted off again.
“She’s ready to push, but the contractions are not forcing the baby into the birth canal,” Dr. Carson said after an hour more had passed with no change. He scrubbed his unshaven jaw with both hands. “I know how to fix broken bones, but not this. She’s very weak. The baby’s heart rate is slowing as well. There’s not much time.”
I had heard those same words before, in another place and time. My mind flashed to an image of Dr. Boyd, the veterinary surgeon, as he struggled to help one of our mares give birth on our farm. The mother was ready, but the foal wouldn’t come. But Dr. Boyd knew what to do and he had shown me. I didn’t know if it would work for Sarah, but I had to ask.
“When that same thing happened to mares on our farm, the problem was the position of the foal, but our veterinary surgeon was able to change it. Would we be able to feel the baby through Sarah’s stomach, to check its position?”
“We can try.”
Dr. Carson started with Sarah’s stomach, gently prodding, feeling for the outline of the baby, its limbs, back, head, and bottom. It looked
