“But if . . . I don’t.”
Hot tears pricked. “Then yes. Of course.”
Alice smiled, her eyes closing as she rested back on the pillow for a moment. Then she grimaced, curling forward with a guttural groan.
“Doctor?” Lilac called out. “I think she’s trying to push.”
Dr. Brownsville appeared, shoving back the wagon flap. Gray light filtered in as dawn approached. He assessed the situation with a glance.
“Miss—Forsythia, was it? Sit behind her, please. We need to prop her up a bit. Miss Lilac, would you help hold her legs?”
They shifted into position. Alice groaned long and shrill.
“We’re right here with you, Mrs. Durham.” The doctor’s voice came reassuring and steady. “We’re going to help you deliver your baby, all right?”
A faint nod.
Please, Lord. Please help her. Forsythia pressed her cheek against Alice’s sweaty hair.
A moment, and then Alice arched forward with a scream, pushing hard. Fluid gushed.
“That’s good, Mrs. Durham. Very good. Let me just check to see if I can feel your baby.”
Forsythia stroked Alice’s arm, murmuring prayers and hymns, whatever might be comforting.
“Your baby is on its way, Mrs. Durham.” The doctor sat back on his heels. “And quickly too. But he or she is coming feet first. I’m going to need to help you deliver, all right?”
Alice sobbed a nod, her head lolling weakly on Forsythia’s shoulder.
“On this next contraction, I need you to push with all your strength and then some, you hear me? You can do this, Mrs. Durham. We’re all right here with you.”
He’d barely finished speaking when Alice’s body tensed again. She arched away from Forsythia, clawing her knees as she pushed from strength beyond herself.
“Good, that’s good. We’ve almost got a baby here. Once more.”
A keening cry from Alice, and a baby girl slid into the doctor’s hands, tiny and still.
In a quick motion, Dr. Brownsville cut the cord and wiped the infant’s mouth and nose. He flipped her over and slapped her bottom. Nothing.
“Doctor.” Forsythia’s voice caught. “She’s bleeding.” In the dawning light filtering through the canvas, dark red spread through the bedding beneath Alice’s legs.
“Try to get her breathing.” The doctor pushed the tiny form into Lilac’s hands. “Mrs. Durham—Alice—I need you to stay with me. We need to get your afterbirth delivered.” He kneaded her flaccid abdomen firmly. “Help me, Miss Nielsen.”
“Alice, sweetheart, see if you can push once more,” Forsythia urged into the mother’s ear. Alice sagged against Forsythia’s shoulder, unable even to lift her head.
“Come on, little one.” Lilac worked over the baby, pressing the tiny chest and patting the little bluish cheeks. “Breathe. Please breathe.”
Dr. Brownsville caught the afterbirth in a gush of blood. “Forsythia! Help me. Her womb needs to contract to stop the hemorrhaging.”
Forsythia scooted from beneath Alice’s limp form to help massage her belly, almost pounding. Please, God. Please, God. The prayer moved in rhythm with their hands.
“My . . . baby?” Alice’s eyelids fluttered.
Forsythia glanced at Lilac. Eyes filled with tears, her little sister shook her head.
“Stay with us, sweetheart.” Forsythia squeezed Alice’s hand. “Your family needs you.”
“Robbie . . . Thomas.”
The doctor’s mouth set in a grim line as he tried to stanch the bleeding with linen. “Get her husband.”
Tear-blinded, Forsythia scrambled down from the wagon and almost crashed into Thomas Durham.
“What’s happening? The baby?”
“She’s asking for you.” Forsythia dashed the tears from her eyes as he clambered up. Oh, Lord. She peered back inside the wagon.
Mr. Durham knelt by his wife, clasping her hand. “Alice, no. Don’t leave me.”
“Love . . . you.” Alice blinked long and slow, then glanced at Forsythia, standing at the back of the wagon. “Take care of . . . my Robbie.”
She nodded hard. “I will.”
A sigh and a smile, and Alice closed her eyes.
Lilac, holding the tiny, still bundle, choked on a sob.
The doctor checked Alice’s pulse, then sat back, shoulders sagging in defeat. “She’s gone.”
15
It rained again the morning they buried Alice and her baby, a soft mist that dampened the sheet wrapped around the mother and infant and mingled with the tears on the mourners’ cheeks.
Rev. Green, who held church services for the wagon train, spoke comfort from Scripture. The twenty-third psalm and the part in Revelation about God wiping all tears from all eyes. But nothing covered the broken sound of Thomas Durham’s sobs.
Robbie clung to Lilac, his face pressed into her shoulder against the rain. He’d hardly let the sisters out of his sight since losing his ma. Forsythia held Del’s arm close to hers. Would Thomas even be able to care for his son?
When the reverend nodded to them, Forsythia, Del, and Lark stepped up with guitar, fiddle, and harmonica. Softly Forsythia picked out the melody.
“Jesus, lover of my soul,
Let me to thy bosom fly,
While the nearer waters roll,
While the tempest still is high:
Hide me, O my Savior, hide,
Till the storm of life is past;
Safe into the haven guide;
O receive my soul at last.”
She closed her eyes as she played, words rising from memory and her heart. “Safe into the haven guide . . .” Alice was there now. But oh, the grief left behind.
Several men shoveled damp earth over the body, and the crowd dispersed.
Forsythia stopped by Dr. Brownsville and Jesse. “Thank you, Doctor, for all you did for Alice and her child.”
“It seems I’m not much good at saving lives of late.” Lines of grief etched his face, though he smiled sadly. “Thank you also, Miss Nielsen. You did all you could for her.” His arm around Jesse’s shoulders, he headed back toward his wagon.
Forsythia watched him go through the rain, her heart aching for him.
She woke two nights later from another dream of her knife in the back of the man she’d killed, that image mingled with nightmares of Alice’s blood spreading, of the tiny babe buried with her mother without ever drawing breath. She sat up shivering and rested her head on her knees.
Lord, it seems like there’s death everywhere I go. But no, this thought is not from you. I reject it in the name of Jesus. I know you have
