The fist was crunching into his face before he knew what was happening. He felt the bones of his nose cracking under its weight, a dreadful crushing feeling he remembered well and a gout of blood spurted onto the fist that was coming in a second time. Sigurd’s fingers curled around the neck of his tunic pulling him upright as his fist collided with Radomir’s exposed belly.
“You bastard!”, Sigurd was snarling, his teeth bared, “You dare touch her!”.
Varda stumbled into the room pulling the heavy door shut behind with an echoing thud. The pain in her nose was intense, a heavy throbbing that flooded across her cheeks and pooled in her sockets.
Radomir thrust open the door to his wife’s room. The rusty hinges squealed at such rough treatment, the warped wood of the door bending beneath his forceful hand.
“I do be believin’ she is truly getting a damnsite better if yew be excusin’ my language yer Lordship”, Hepsie’s dark skin blushed prettily as she checked herself for swearing.
“I’ve got to be thankin’ yew that much fer comin’ to see us Hepsie, we’ve been that worried over this I’ve been barely sleepin’”, Darina’s voice grated like the spinning wheel clicking rapidly between her legs.
Engin was well and truly sick of the creaking sound that damned contraption made. Lord knows Darina was at day and night, the wheel endlessly turning, her nimble fingers pulling the thread through with an soft, dusty dragging sound that made the hairs on the back of Engin’s neck stand on end. He was actually glad to get outside collecting the meager harvest they managed to get planted before it turned cold last year. Anything to get away from that confounded noise.
“Alright lads… I’ll be countin’ to three and then yew all got to be pushin’”, Noah’s voice rang out.
Steen braced his back in preparation, glad to have a distraction. It was Hepsie’s time and each moment his mind strayed over that thought he panicked and forgot how to breath. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation and so he was happy to focus his breathing on moving the heavy stones into position.
“Alright then… one… two… three… PUSH!”
“Yew need to be movin’ it a bit to the left there Sermak”, Engin’s voice whined from behind Steen, “And Arran, yer not pushin’ hard enough… put yer back into it lad”.
Steen was once again glad that he was distracted, otherwise he would have been unable to fight the strong compulsion that was growing in him. He wanted nothing more than to plant his fist right in the middle of Engin’s over-sized nose.
“Okay… now be lettin’ go… well done lads”.
“It be lookin’ a bit crooked from over here Noah… yew might need to be doin’ it again”, Engin said pompously.
Now that Steen’s hands were free he thought perhaps he would just give in to the urge. Just a little bop on the nose couldn’t do Engin that much harm and it would do Steen the world of good.
But as he turned he saw Juzzine standing a little away, gazing at them nervously, waiting till they had finished what they were doing.
His heart was in his mouth, so that he was choking on it, his tongue bouncing around as it thumped and thumped so that he couldn’t manage to say anything at all.
“Er… Steen dear… I think yew better be comin’ with me”, Juzzine said delicately.
Steen managed to untangle his tongue from the wet-meaty lump and blurted out, “Hepsie… she.. I… we… Hepsie…”
Juzzine looked shocked when she realised what he had thought, “Oh no… oh no… she’s bein’ just fine… it’s just well… yew really best be comin’ then”.
“I… the baby… the baby… what about the wee baby?!”, Steen heard his voice growing more and more high pitched until he thought he was shrieking in a rather womanly fashion and tried to compensate with a deep growl.
“The baby”, he finally settled on.
“Oh… it’s not here just yet love… it’s just… well really… yew gotta go there I be thinkin’. We sorta be needin’ yer help”.
In an instant Steen was running through the courtyard, leaving Juzzine and the men behind, scattering chickens in his haste. He ran towards the small room in the west wing where he and Hepsie were staying until their cottage was finished.
The door began to open and he skidded to an abrupt halt, and a chicken that had been desperately running before him gave a relieved squawk and toddled off to the side.
It was Hepsie, her swollen belly swaying beneath her flimsy underclothes as she waddled hurriedly through the door. Gena was following behind, feeling her way along the door frame as quickly as she could manage.
“Please Hepsie love… yew got to be comin’ back inside. Babies comin’ it is”, Gena trembled, reaching her hand around trying to find where Hepsie was standing.
Hepsie looked up and saw Steen standing rooted to the spot, unable to think straight. Wasn’t she supposed to be lying down. Steen didn’t really understand how the process worked nor did he really want to as it terrified the pickles out of him, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to happen here in the courtyard in front of anyone who walked past.
Hepsie’s face suddenly changed, her brows coming together in a ferocious frown, her lips curling down as she glared directly at him. He almost looked behind him to check it wasn’t aimed at someone else, but he felt fairly sure the only living creatures around were the chickens and he did not know what they could have done to provoke such a face.
“Yew!”, she shrieked, and rushed up to him, pounding at his chest ineffectually with her tiny fists.
“Look a what’ve yew done to me yew big ruddy fool!!”
Steen looked around in a panic, but he couldn’t see anything that was different, nor imagine how he could have been responsible.
“Yew put this thing inside me yew big damn oaf and now I got to be bloody well gettin’ it out again now don’t I!!”
Steen didn’t think he had ever heard his good-natured little wife swear before and now she had the mouth of a common fishwife.
She poked him again hard in the chest and was about to do it again when she crumpled over in pain.
“Oooooh… “, she clutched at her heaving belly as Steen hovered before her unsure of what to do.
When the contraction passed she looked up at him, the anger gone leaving behind only the face of a frightened girl.
“I don’t want to be doin’ it Steen… it be hurtin’ that much and I don’t think I got the strength to do it. I don’t want to anymore… can yew just be takin’ me home now and we forget this whole baby thing? Please Steen… can’t we just be goin’ home to our little cottage? I don’t care that it’s only bein’ half built. Please?”.
Her lower lip was trembling as she looked at him, tears forming at the corners of her eyes and threatening to spill down her flushed cheeks.
“Well I dunno love, but I be guessin’ there ain’t much in this here world that’s gonna be stoppin’ that wee baby from comin’ whether yew or I be likin’ it or not”.
“And if I ever knew any woman that was bein’ strong enough it’s bein yew Hepsie… yer just about the strongest woman I ever been meetin’”.
“And surely since yew been bringin’ that many littl’uns into this world yew can be doin’ it fer our own. Just think love… soon we’ll be havin’ our own little son or daughter. Our very own and we can take the wee thing back to our cottage and be startin’ our own little family”.
Hepsie was gazing sadly at the ground, all the anger gone out of her, her shoulders drooping wearily.
“Yew just got to be doin’ this one thing now and yew got to be bein’ brave fer yer old Steen and that littl’un who’s bein’ so desperate to be comin’ out an meetin’ his Ma. And I know yew can Hepsie… yer just about the bravest woman I ever knowed”.
And then she flung herself into his arms, clinging to him like she never had before.
“I’m bein’ that scared Steen”, she whispered in his ear.
“I know love, but yew’ll be alright. Yer strong and brave and from all that kickin’ I been feelin’ these last months so’s the littl’un”.
“Now give yer old Steen a kiss and be off with yew”.
He pulled her gently to him, kissing her soft lips and tried not to let in the thought that perhaps this would be the last time he ever would. He ran his fingers through her long black hair and felt her warm body pressing against his. She was strong. She was brave. They would be alright.
“Ooooh… damn… bloody hell!”, she drew away, shouting obscenities as another wave of pain rushed through her body.
Steen rubbed her arm until it passed.
“I guess you gotte be goin’ real soon then love. Seems like it won’t be too much longer”.
She nodded and allowed herself to be led away by Gena.
Darina was waiting at the door, coaxing in an uncharacteristically gentle voice, “Come on then dearie… best to get it over with. Won’t be too much longer then”.
“I love yew Hepsie”, Steen called after her.
“I love yew too Steen… ooooh”.
And then the door shut and as Steen thought of the room beyond he realised he was “bein’ that scared” too, but he was glad he had not told her.
Hepsie walked towards the cottage, her arm tucked neatly in the crook of Arran’s, listening to him prattle on about the farm and what Noah had managed to do last Sunday. Hepsie was glad to see such admiration in the boy. Noah was a good man, and he had a good little wife. They had done a very fine thing taking in this lonely, grief stricken soul. Their tiny cottage was almost bursting at the seams, what with the new baby and Arran, not to mention Dog. And yet they had not hesitated.
“Well here we are then Goodwife Cade”, Arran said politely as they reached the house. It had been a rough journey for Hepsie in the wagon, and she could feel the weight of the baby throbbing in her bad ankle. But she was not one to doubt the word of a solemn man like Noah. She knew he would not have sent for her unless he was sure there was something wrong.
She had a dreadfully tough time convincing Steen to let her go, especially when she told him her plans to stay for a week or so to help her friend with the baby. He had grown more sullen as the weeks went by and she hobbled around after everyone. She understood his concern, but if there was anyone who knew about childbearing it was Hepsie. It didn’t matter that this was her first time, she knew she was healthy and in good condition. Maybe she was a little tired, but who wasn’t after all?
And so he had finally grudgingly agreed, sending her off on the proviso that she was wrapped in her thick woollen coat. The scratchy thing was hanging limply over her shoulders, the humidity of the day permeated the thick fibres so that her arms were sticking unpleasantly to the fabric.
“Thankin’ yew kindly Arran… and aren’t yew remeberin’. I’ve been tellin’ yew to be callin’ me Hepsie for these last weeks gone”.
He smiled cheerfully at her, a pleasant boyish grin, peeking from beneath his tousled hair.
“I be knowin’ that Good.. Hepsie”, he corrected himself, “because yew are bein’ very good after all. But I always be forgettin’. I’m bein’ ever so sorry”.
“Now then Arran… what did I be tellin’ yew ’bout goin’ round apologising to folks all day long… yew always say sorry an’ folks will think it’s bein’ yer fault and start blamin’ yew fer things”.
“Oh… sorry Good… I mean… oh blast!”, Arran chuckled, his cheeks turning pink with embarrassment, “Well… I best be off to be helpin’ Noah with them there pigs”.
He scuttled off round the corner, as Hepsie wearily limped up the stairs. How could five steps be so difficult to conquer.
“It’s bein’ yer fault yew fat littl’ thing yew”, she whispered to her belly.
The door was ajar, letting the heavy breeze circulate around the tiny room. Hepsie shrugged off her coat with relief, despite the fact that her exposed sticky skin cooled only slightly at the touch of the moist air.
“Gena”, she called out gently in case the baby were sleeping. Perhaps Gena was asleep too, Noah had told her the young woman was exhausted. She turned the corner to look for a place to neatly fold her coat and was surprised to see Gena sitting at the small table in the corner. Her eyes were half closed, her head drooping listlessly on her shoulders.
Hepsie could not help but be shocked at her appearance. Gena was a neat woman, always conscious of the state of her clothes, perhaps fearing the enhanced judgemental nature of those looking upon her. Now her dress was covered with stains, some at least days old, while there was a large new patch of what looked like baby spittle drying on her shoulder.
And Gena usually tied her hair back as carefully as she could without being able to see her reflection. Even though wisps often softly found there wat down around her face, it was always apparent that she had made an effort. But today Gena piled her hair messily on top of her head, tying it haphazardly with a scarf, sweaty strands hanging down around her flushed face.
“Gena”, she repeated again, this time her tone firmer.
The other woman was started out of her reverie, her head slowly rising up, a smile forcing its way across her resisting face.
“Oh…Hepsie… how lovely”, Gena’s voice sounded dull and hollow, the faint echoing rebound in the depths of a canyon.
“Aren’t yew goin’ to ask yer old friend to have a sit down then?”, Hepsie asked jovially, “my feet are just about killin’ me. And me back too…”.
“Oh… yes.. of course”, Gena replied listlessly.
Hepsie lowered herself heavily into the chair, “Well I got lots of grace left in me as yew can tell. If I have to be curtseyin’ one more time for that ruddy Radomir I’m thinkin’ I’ll just be floppin’ on the floor at his feet like a turtle on me back, wavin’ me poor swollen ankles in the air”.
“Now dear”, she smiled broadly while closely watching her friend’s face, “How is that dear young Derrin of ours then?”.
She had been warned by Noah that Gena’s reaction to the boy was not exactly normal, but she hadn’t been expecting this.
Gena’s head sank slowly, the corners of her mouth drooping, her shoulders slumping as though her whole body were dragging downwards by some force pulling from below.
“What’s wrong love?”, Hepsie asked gently, “Is that baby not lettin’ yew get enough sleep at night?”.
A great sob choked Gena’s throat and she buried her face in her hands her shoulders shaking softly.
Hepsie had definitely not been prepared for this. She had heard of mother’s who didn’t take to their babies the way that was normal, but she had never seen it herself and certainly had not expected it of Gena. The young woman had been so looking forward to having her baby.
“Oh love… there now, yew let it out and talk to yer old Hepsie. What’s troublin’ yew dearheart”.
She waited patiently while Gena sniffled, wiping her eyes on an already grimy sleeve.
“He doesn’ love me Hepsie… my son doesn’ love me”, she sighed deeply, her body sinking lower in the chair, “He knows I’m not bein’ a good mother and he doesn’ want me”.
Hepsie opened her mouth to say something but shut it again when Gena continued.
“An’ they’re all goin’ to be knowin’ an’ then they’ll come here an’ they’ll say… “Gena Ulcar… yer not fit to be a mother. God musta made a mistake givin’ yew that baby because yew don’t love him as yew should an yew aren’t the mother fer him”. And then they’ll be takin’ him”.
“An’ Hepsie”, she said in a tiny voice, “I don’t know if I would mind just to stop hearin’ him cryin’ all the time… the poor littl’ soul knowin’ who his mother is an’ cryin’ his littl’ heart out in grief of his misfortune in this life”.
“Gena Ulcar”, Hepsie scolded, “Now yew just stop right there feelin’ miserable fer yerself. Yer baby isn’ cryin’ fer any reason other than the littl’ mites are always weepin’ an’ wailen’. It’s what babies do love. Doesn’ matter who his mother was he’d still be wailin’ his littl’ lungs out cause he’s knowin’ its the best way to get his Ma to come and be holdin’ him the way he likes”.
“An’ no one’s goin’ to be takin’ him from yew. Yer just as fit as the rest of us are bein’ to have a baby, as God as surely shown yew… better than most fer that matter, all the squalling whores my Ma helped with the birthin’”.
“Yew need to be pullin’ yerself together and stoppin’ with this nonsense. Littl’ Derrin loves yew in a way he’ll never love noone else and that’s bein’ somethin’ special”.
“But Hepsie”, she whimpered, “I don’t like him sometimes when he’s cryin’. Sometimes I don’t like him an awful lot”.
Hepsie chuckled heartily over the worries in her heart, “Don’t yew think everyone sometimes is feelin’ like that. I know the Queen herself tells me sometimes the baby is cryin’ so much she feels like screamin’ and cryin’ too till she’s blotchy and red in the face like the littl’ prince”.
“The Queen”, Gena whispered.
“Not just the Queen but the rest too… them babies of Lady Hwratar’s. Sometimes there bein’ so noisy I want to wring their dear littl’ necks. There’s a reason it’s bein’ such a terrible sound an’ that’s to be makin’ the Ma be sittin’ up and takin’ notice because it’s bein’ feedin’ time”.
“It isn’ bein’ cause he doesn’ love yew dear, it’s cause he does an’ he knows yer the one who takes care of him an’ loves him”, she said it with conviction, knowing that these were the ideas that frightened Gena.
Gena sighed weakly, “Maybe yer bein’ right”.
Hepsie laboriously rose to her feet and waddled over, pulling Gena to her feet and then into a very pregnant embrace.
“Of course I’m bein’ right yew silly goose. When have yew ever know’d me not to be bein’ right?”
“Now then”, she said, taking Gena by the hands, “what on earth have yew been doin’ to that dress of yers… an’ yer poor hair, bein’ messed up in that great knot sittin’ atop yer head”.
Gena giggled self-consciously and Hepsie was pleased to see a slight smile creeping shamefully back to her face.
“First of all let’s be fixin’ that hair of yers. Then we’ll see if there isn’ bein’ something clean we can be puttin’ on yew while we wash that there dress o’ yers”.
“Come an be sittin’ over here fer me that’s a good girl”.
Gena sank wearily into the chair and Hepsie began to unwind the scarf from around her knotty hair.
She started to brush out the knots with her fingers.
“What were yer thinkin’ love… these are bein’ dreadful tangles. Looks like yew haven’ brushed yer hair for days”.
“I haven’”, Gena softly admitted, “I was just bein’ so tired and it’s bein’ so hard to make it sit nice”.
“Well then, it’s a good thing yer Hepsie’s been sittin’ around by the poor Countess’ bedside fer these last days. Yew know me, can’t sit still so I been makin’ somethin’ fer yew”.
“Yew have”, Gena asked in surprise.
“I have”, she replied, “Now just let me be findin’ it in my coat”
She rummaged around for a moment, retrieving the item which she laid on the table while she began to braid Gena’s hair.
“It’s bein a hair net… pretty too with yellow thread and littl’ white daisies woven through it”, she carefully fixed it over Gena’s braid.
“There now, that ought to be holdin’ most of them stray hairs in their place”, she exclaimed, satisfied with the finished result.
Gena stood up carefully stroking her head with trembling hands.
“It’s bein’ so neat”, she said in a hushed voice, “an’ so fine. Oh Hepsie, yew shouln’ have”.
“Of course I should silly… an’ yew know what else. I’m goin’ to be stayin’ with yew for a bit to help with the baby while those silly men yew got hangin’ around here run around after them pigs”.
“Thank you Hepsie”, she said softly.
“Well then, yer bein that welcome!”
“Now let’s be seein’ what’s happenin’ with that boy o’ yers. I guess it’s probably about feedin’ time eh?”.
She watched Gena’s face closely as she mentioned the baby, waiting for some reaction, hoping for some sign of happiness, fearing some return of Gena’s earlier misery. She did not get either.
Noah listened politely while Arran chattered incessantly about the coming spring, the new work planned for the church and the castle and anything else he could think of.
Noah understood that he was trying to distract him from the dreadful cries of agony coming from the next room intermittently. And he appreciated what the young man was trying to do, but he thought if he mentioned foundations or ploughing one more time he too would begin to scream through his clenched teeth and once he started he would not be able to stop.
“Yew see… I figure… if we bein’ puttin’ in these wooden latts in a manner like this ‘ere”, he demonstrated enthusiastically with his arms, “then we’d be all set”.
“I mean, if we was to… “, he trailed off with a grimace as another anguished screech echoed around the small room, amplified by the stone walls surrounding them.
Had Noah known the effect those walls would produce he would never have built them. Right at this moment he wanted to tear them down with his bare hands, anything to stop that terrible sound. If something happened to her he would anyway, breaking apart all his careful work, smashing the rocks to pieces, his axe slicing through the wooden fence she had stroked, digging up the trees he had planted dirt pushing beneath his fingernails, the grainy brown material scraping along the fibres of his heart.
“Sorry lad… “, he mumbled, “don’t think I’m really bein’ in a talkin’ mood anymore. Thanks all the same”.
Arran nodded mutely, with a distraught look, his next sentence dying on his lips. Noah knew that the poor boy, eager to please as he was, was probably scolding himself inwardly for talking too much, perhaps for saying the wrong things. Right at that moment Noah could not even bring himself to care.
He slowly rose from his chair and went over to the window, gazing at the snow-covered fields, distorted by his hot breath panting onto the frosty glass. The world outside was muted pink, the last stars winking out over the horizon. It was dawn and his wife had lain in that tiny room he had built for them for almost a day.
He suddenly had a desperate urge to be outside, where there was no sound but the infinitely soft thud, as tiny snowflakes spiralled down to the ground, and the hollow sound of the wind through the deadened trees.
He fled the closeness of the tiny room with its carefully packed walls, its merrily crackling fire and the awkward conversation of a sad young man, a gust of frigid wind hitting his face as he opened the door.
He cautiously picked his way down the slippery embankment of snow, shivering slightly as the tang of the cold breeze caressed his body. He stood gazing out to sea, under a roof of cypress trees that creaked in dismay under the weight of the countless tiny flakes that had never made it to the ground.
The water gleamed blue in the early light, chill tongues of ice reaching out from the shoreline towards the darker water where sluggish currents still stirred.
He could venture out on that ice, painstakingly making his way over the frozen path. The grating sound in his ears as the ice below his feet began to deform, the tiny crystals kinking and bending until the strain became too much, brittle fractures rampaging through like fast growing roots. Then there would be the dreadful roar as the seemingly solid ground cracked below his feet, the dark, cold water rushing up to meet him as he scrabbled uselessly with numbing fingers on the edges. The first breath taken, the burning of icy water rushing into his resisting lungs, a struggle and then quiet, spiralling towards the depths.
He heard a gentle padding sound behind him, and turned slightly to see Dog gingerly picking his way over the snow, lifting his paws high in a futile attempt to keep them warm.
He came and sat silently at Noah’s feet without the usual whining and begging. It seemed that he understood the solemnity of the morning and for once Noah was glad for the company.
They stayed there for a long time as the sun began to peek her rosy face over the sparkling white fields and the icy blue sea.
He heard an awkward crunching behind him but he dared not turn around for fear of who it might be and what they might have to say to him.
Hepsie came to stand silently beside him. Still he dared not look at her, desperately afraid of what he might find in her face.
“Ooh… now then yew big ruddy baby… I know it’s bein’ that cold out here an yew’ve had a hard day but that’s not bein’ a good reason to start kickin’ at yer poor old Ma”, she rubbed her moving belly painfully until the baby began to calm.
With a burst of courage he turned towards Hepsie, gazing at the soft lines of her face. She was not paying attention to him, her concentration centred on soothing the small being inside her.
She looked exhausted, dark circles around her eyes, her head drooping wearily. Her hair had escaped it’s usual tight bun and hung in sweaty curls around her shoulders.
“Now good sir”, she said turning to Noah with a broad grin, “I am bein’ that pleased to announce that yew are the father of a healthy son… that big he’s bein’ though… and he was so turned around… gave yer poor wife a dreadful time he did”.
“My wife”, he croaked, unable to bring himself to speak properly
“Oh the poor lamb… she’ll be just fine. She’s a bit tired is all. So I’m bein’ as well fer that matter. And I think yew too”.
His heart was suddenly filled with an overwhelming joy and he scooped Hepsie into his arms planting a large kiss on her flushed, cold little cheek.
“Thank yew”, he murmured unable to say anything else, choking slightly on these simple words.
“Yer bein’ welcome Noah love”, she replied, smiling wearily at him, “it was my pleasure to be bringin’ another bonnie wee lad like him into this world. And God’s own pleasure to let me be the one to do it”.
She whistled softly, “He’s bein’ the fifth boy bein’ born this month. Better be gettin’ some girls soon or there be bein’ an awful lot of fightin’ over poor wee Aisling when they grow up”.
Suddenly her smile fell and all that was left was the sagging features of exhaustion pulling heavily at her face.
“Yew be gentle with that wife of yer’s then Noah. She’s had a real rough time of it and she’s goin’ to need both yew and Arran to take good care of her”.
He nodded mutely and they walked back to the house together, Dog trotting along beside them, his eager footsteps squeaking softly in the newly fallen snow.
He accepted Arran’s congratulations as quickly as he could without seeming cruel and then opened the door and walked into the room.
Gena inclined her head towards him as she always did when she heard his footsteps. However her usual radiant smile was missing, her lips slack, her face drawn and weary. Her hair was plastered around her flushed expressionless face.
He bent down and gently kissed her clammy forward, stroking her hot cheeks with his chilled hand. She did not reach out to feel his features as she usually did when he was close, her hands resting wearily on her still swollen belly.
“He’s bein’ over in that there cradle if yew want to be seein’ him”, she murmured, her voice soft as though speaking were a great effort, “yer son”.
Something about what she said disturbed him, though he could not work out what it was and so he crept over to the cradle to peer in.
He gazed down at the baby in wonder. He was indeed a robust little thing with rosy skin, and strong kicking legs. His face was turned towards the wall and suddenly Noah desperately wanted him to turn and look at him.
He reached down a tentative hand, his big rough fingers gently hovering above the chubby body lying restlessly in the crib. His courage faltered, his fingers almost brushing the tiny creature but then retracting to hide shamefully curled inwards to the palm of his hand at the last minute.
Then it did not matter because the baby turned his head to stare up at his father, his brown eyes blinking with curiosity at this new face above him.
“Gena love…”, he breathed, “He’s being the most amazin’ thing I’ve ever been seein’”.
He heard her sigh deeply from across the room, the sound hissing from her exhausted lungs and through her drooping lips.
“I wouldn’ be knowin’ cause I can’t be seein him”, she said dully.
And then he realised what was bothering him. She had said his son, not theirs.
Garrick stood gazing at the closed door before him. It seemed such an easy thing to reach out with one hand, a gentle flick of the wrist and the application of a minimal amount of pressure and it would swing slowly open to reveal the scene beyond it.
But then again it also seemed like an impenetrable barrier, a gateway to the forbidden. He could not turn the doorknob any more than he could protect his wife from the variety of complications that could assail her. It was beyond his control.
What had he been thinking losing his temper with her like that? What a brute he had been. His stomach swam with steaming red nausea just thinking about it. The clinging fingers of the wine he had drank prying open his brain to test each nerve for an unpleasant response. They poked gingerly at every sensitive part conferring with detachedness, if you touch here he will feel ill, press gently on this tender spot and his eyeballs will throb in their sockets, this is the area that will illicit a strong urge to vomit.
He leant forward, resting his aching head on the wall, the slight dampness of the warped wood soothing his burning forehead.
His wife lay on the other side of this hardwood obstruction. He breathed in deeply the faint scent of salt, worked into the fibres of the wood tanging in his nostrils. She may as well have lain a thousand miles from him so unreachable was she. He only knew she was still there from the occasional soft cries and moans that rang in his ears, echoing through his troubled head.
His wife. His wife he had shouted at, frightened and reduced to tears. And the tiny fragile life of their baby, lying in the warmth of her womb, below a heart that he had caused to pound, lungs he had caused to contract and squeeze as she panted in anger and fear.
He was not fit to be husband. Not fit to be a father. And Isabelle… dearest Isabelle with her smiling eyes… he had not been fit to be a brother either.
His heart contracted painfully in his chest, the part of it that belonged to her still, twitching in torment like a fish on a hook.
A great rolling sob burst from his throat, vibrating into the salt stained walls. It had been so many years, the thought of her still clinging tenuously, but new joys in his life so he thought he could finally live again. He knew now he would never escape the pain, never run fast enough and far enough to outreach the sorrow. She would keep with him forever, pattering behind on soft feet, graceful as a deer, hidden from sight whenever he looked back.
And now his wife dreamt of her too… how could it be, she knew nothing of her. They had all respected him enough for that.
“Isabelle… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… please… not her too. She is just a child”, he whimpered into the empty corridor.
An answer came from within the room, a single cry of agony wrenching from his wife’s throat and then another sound he could not comprehend for a moment. It was the sound of a baby wailing.
He drew back from the wall as though its salty coolness had suddenly grown scorchingly hot.
He waited for long minutes, though in his mind they became torturous hours, the sound of his wife’s agonised cry resounded in his head, bouncing off the sides of his skull.
He closed his eyes tightly to try and rid himself of the dreadful noise, but the voice only continued to ring out until there were two voices, the voice of wife juxtaposed with cry of a long-dead sister.
Suddenly the door clicked open and he leapt back from it startled, the horrible sound his head cutting out instantly.
The figure in the door smiled at him as he tried to refocus his eyes. He realised it was Lisbet and in her arms she held a pink, chubby baby.
“Well then Garrick”, she giggled, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Don’t worry you silly man, it’s just your fat little son”.
He gazed past her through the door and caught a glimpse of his wife lying wanly in the bed, Hepsie fussing with the blankets.
Lisbet catching him looking quickly closed the door with resounding click behind her.
“Now then you naughty man, no peeking in there”, she scolded.
“Cindra…”, he gasped, his voice catching in his throat.
“Oh she’ll be just fine dear, she was a brave little thing. And look at the size of this big boy she had to squeeze out”, she chided, “makes me glad I’m about the same size as Cordell it does”
He stared down at the creature she carried in her arms.
“He looks just like her”, he mused in amazement.
“He sure does… has her chubby cheeks and her little pouty mouth doesn’t he. He’s got her eyes too and looks like he’ll be getting her hair as well. He’s going to be tall like you though, mark my words. Poor thing might be getting your nose too”.
The baby looked up at him, one hand brushing against his mouth with a sweet expression on his face.
He looked up to see Lisbet smiling down at him as he stared in wonder at his son.
“Did you want to hold him?”, she asked.
“Yes…”, he whispered barely able to find his voice.
He lifted the small snuffling bundle to his shoulder, and his son buried his heavy head in the scratchy fold of his mane of hair.
When he looked up he saw Lisbet staring at him accusatorily.
“What did you say to that poor dear in there to make her so upset?”, she asked a hint of anger in her voice, “she was absolutely distraught when I arrived”.
His tongue caught in his throat, unable to answer her but it did not matter since she continued speaking.
“She wants to call him Atholt you know… and I think you should let her”, her tone of voice was challenging him to defy her.
Atholt, Cindra’s beloved father. Of course she could name him that, it wasn’t as though Garrick would name him after his own.
He was about to say as much when a figure flew around the corner almost colliding with them.
“Oi!”, he roared, finding his voice again now that his son was threatened, “What were you’re going you young hooligan!”.
He regretted his words when he realised who it was. It was that young man, Barran wasn’t it, that’s right Arran Barran, unfortunate name that. The poor man had not recovered well from the death of his wife and Garrick thought he deserved a bit of kindness.
“What is it then lad?”, he asked more gently.
“It… it’s Gena… sorry Goodwife Ulcar yer Lordship, she goin’ ta have her baby and Noah… sorry Goodman Ulcar is thinkin’ it’s goin’ to be a hard one. He reckons’ babies got itself a bit turned around if yer know what I’m meanin. I’m here ta’ see if I could be fetchin’ Hepsie… I mean sorry… Goodwife Cade”.
He stopped suddenly as he noticed the squirming baby in Garrick’s arms.
“Oh… a baby”, he said as the air rushed out of his body in a deflated sigh, the urgency of the moment before gone.
His face was suddenly childlike, a little boy who had been told off for some misdemeanour, at the same time his eyes growing wide like a frightened rabbit while his lip trembled.
Garrick felt deeply sorry for the young man, so terrible for him to lose his wife like that. He had heard that he was living at the Ulcar’s farm now, Goodman Ulcar had taken him under his wing. It was just what the poor fellow needed, a bit of family on this godforsaken island.
Lisbet hadn’t seemed to notice, “Well I don’t know Goodman, the Baroness has just given birth you see and it might not be the best time for Goodwife Cade to leave”.
The man’s face fell at her words but then the door beside them clicked open and Hepsie walked through.
“What’s all this commotion bein’ out here then. Yer botherin’ her ladyship with yer howlin’ and caterwaulin’”.
“Oh hello then young Arran”, she said, surprised when she saw him, “What’re yer doin’ here?”.
He quickly explained the situation to her, while she asked some questions about the progress of Gena’s labour.
“Gena… Gena… me love, why’d yew have to be choosin’ now… uer bein’ two weeks earlier than I was thinkin’. I’m never goin’ to get a sit down am I”, she tutted, smiling at Arran comfortingly.
Then she turned to Garrick, “Arright me Lordship… it’s seemin’ that Goodwife Ulcar’s bein’ in sore need of some help. Of course if yew want me to be stayin’ I will but yer wife has done a find job, and there’s bein’ no problems. I ask yew now whether I can be goin’ an’ givin’ some help to the poor girl?”.
Garrick’s first instinct was to forbid it, what if something were to happen to Cindra or the baby while she was gone. Then he thought of Goodman Ulcar and his poor blind wife, struggling in the throes of a difficult childrbirth with no help. He could not do that, what if it had been him in that man’s place. And he trusted Hepsie, if she said Cindra would be fine then she was probably right.
“Yes… yes go”, he managed to croak.
“Thank yew me Lordship”, she replied with an awkward curtsy, the weight of her belly dragging her down slightly, “Yer a good man yew are”.
“Yes… yes… thank yew… yer very kind”, Arran echoed.
Hepsie looked over to Lisbet who seemed less impressed with the idea.
“Yer in charge now love, yew’ll do just fine. She’s bein’ through it now. Yew just need to be makin’ sure she’s eatin’ somethin’ when she feels like and drinkin’ some water. If she’s wantin’ she can nurse this littl’ fella too”.
Lisbet nodded bravely.
“Well then, if you ladies are finished I would like to see my wife”, he opened the door before they could cite any feminine laws barring entrance and walked through.
Lisbet hurriedly opened the door brimming with excitement. She had been present at other births and was beginning to consider herself quite an authority on the matter, but this was different. This was Cindra, her best friend and she was overjoyed that such happiness was about to be bestowed upon her.
Not to mention the running bet she had with her over the gender of the child. Cindra was sure it was going to be a girl, but Lisbet was equally sure it would be a boy. And so they had made a wager, she who was wrong must run three times around the entire ship in her nightdress.
When she peered eagerly into the dimly lit room she was greeted with a sight she had not expected.
Cindra stood in the centre of the room, sobbing noisily into her little hands, her face scrunched into a distraught mess.
Lisbet’s face fell. This was not at all how it was supposed to be as far as she knew. The Queen had been calmly waiting for the ladies when they arrived and of course Morven had not been conscious for most of the ordeal. She had to admit in hindsight that witnessing these two births did not exactly make her an expert but still, she did not Cindra should be so hysterical. And it wasn’t like her friend, she had been so excited about her approaching motherhood.
“Oh… oh Lisbet… oh… Garrick… he… oh oh oh…”, Cindra wept into her outstretched hands, her small shoulders shaking with distress.
“Oooh…”, she yelped in pain, “oh oh… and the little baby… Isabelle… oh”.
Lisbet rushed into the room and wrapped her comforting arms around her friends shivering body.
“Dear heart… Cin… whatever is wrong?”, she asked gently.
Cindra covered her face and began to cry even louder now that she finally had company, “It’s Garrick… he… oh…”.
She paused to sniffle weakly into her sleeve, “He… oh he was so angry…. and I… I was so frightened. And her face… the fire… I could smell her flesh… oh… she was burning alive”.
The small girl was now trembling so hard Lisbet could feel the vibrations strumming through her own body.
She could not imagine what Garrick had done. From everything Cindra had ever told her he was a very good husband, kind and loving. In fact, Lisbet sometimes found herself wondering despite her own love of this young woman, how Garrick could bear to be the brunt of so many of Cindra’s pranks. But he never seemed to mind and Lisbet thought he must love her deeply.
She found herself frightened by Cindra’s hysterical rambling. What did she mean, the fire? Who was burning alive?
She quickly pulled herself together, pushing her own fears back into the recess of her mind they had managed to fight their way out of. She would deal with them later. Right now Cindra needed her and it was not good for her or the baby for her to be upset.
“There now Cin, it will be all right. I’m here now and I won’t let anything bad happen to you. And Hepsie will be along any minute now and she’s just about the most reliable person I know”, Lisbet kept her voice level and soothing as she felt the other girl’s trembling begin to subside.
She withdrew her arms as Cindra stood up straight and began to wipe her face with her sleeves.
“Are you feeling better now my girl?”, she asked.
Cindra sniffled softly and then without warning threw herself into Lisbet’s arms.
“Oof”, she exhaled, as the sudden impact of the other girl’s swollen belly caused the air to rush out of her lungs, “you better be careful now or our babies will be meeting each other that much sooner and I was hoping mine would stay in there for a little bit longer. It seems like your’s is ready to meet the world though”.
They parted and she rubbed her slightly swollen abdomen gently. She looked up to see Cindra grinning at her despite her puffy red eyes and tear-stained face.
“Sorry about that”, she smiled.
“That’s more like the girl I know!”, Lisbet exclaimed, “I was worried she had been spirited away by the fairies and replaced with some sad weepy changeling”.
“No… no… I was just”, suddenly Cindra’s face contorted into a grimace of pain as a contraction hit her.
“Oooooh!!”, she wailed, puffing frantically through pursed lips until it finally subsided.
Lisbet lent down to carefully feel Cindra’s belly.
“Well I think it might not be too soon till we get to meet this son of your’s”, she looked up at her friend with a sly wink.
“Oh no… I think you meant daughter my dear Lizzy”, she retorted cheerfully, flopping herself onto the bed and fussily adjusting the pillows.
“Oh I think I’m pretty sure I know what I meant love”, she taunted back glad to see that Cindra seemed to have brightened up.
Cindra gracelessly arranged herself on the bed, folding her arms over her stomach. Then she looked up at Lisbet with a pleading expression.
“Lisbet”, she said in her sweetest voice, “won’t you please come lie here next to me until Hepsie comes. I would dearly like the company”.
She fluttered her eyelashes winningly, “And you look like you need to get off those feet of yours too”.
“Of course dear”, Lisbet smiled back and walked around to the other side of the bed and carefully laid down beside her friend.
Cindra turned to her with a wistful expression playing across her face.
“Do you really think it will be a boy?”, she asked, a dreamy smile softening her lips.
“Well now, I see you’re starting to come round to my way of thinking are you”, Lisbet teased.
“Don’t worry dear… it will be spring by the time you are back on your feet enough to be running around, so it won’t be so cold up there on the deck in your nightdress”, she waited for her friend to laugh but she didn’t seem to be paying attention.
“Ooooh… “, Cindra breathed through her teeth, her eyes blurred, totally focused on what was going on inside her body.
Lisbet was beginning to worry that Hepsie wouldn’t arrive in time, Cindra’s pains seemed to be coming fairly close together. And she definitely was starting to realise she was not as confident with the whole procedure as she had thought. It was one thing to watch from the side, bringing water every so often. Actually getting the baby out was a whole other thing.
As though the mere thought of her made her suddenly materialise, Hepsie appeared at the door and Lisbet gave a silent prayer to the Lord for not choosing to test her in this manner.
“Well then… I wasn’ realisn’ there was bein’ two of yew havin’ a baby this fine night then”, she quipped with her eyebrow raised.
“With both of yer lyin’ around on that there bed how’s a poor girl goin’ to know what she’s supposed to be doin’ eh?”, she smiled at them slyly.
They looked at each other with naughty grins.
“Well… which one of yew is it to be or do I need to be choosin’ myself?”.
Cindra squeaked, “It’s me!”, as Lisbet scrambled off the bed to help Hepsie. There was only the two of them to attend Cindra. It was going to be a long hard night.
