My Name is Rapunzel(8)

Mother turned her back as though she could not look me in the eye with what she was about to tell me. “Your father and I…we are having a baby.”

The earth fell out from beneath my feet. What was she saying? How could she be saying this? Did she mean… “I don't understand.” I reached forward, grabbed her shoulders, and turned her to face me. I had to see her eyes. “Are you saying…?”

“Yes.” Mother let out a heavy sigh. “Listen, my dear daughter. Your father and I know you. We love you. We would do anything to protect you. And to save you from this life to which you've been sentenced…” She looked away and heaved a heavy sigh. “We will give birth to a baby. It will be a girl, or we’ll try again. We will never look upon it, we will never know it, and we will never love it. That witch can come and take it away and use it as she would have used you. It will have the same benefit to her that you do. Whatever that is.”

I leaned against the wall, my legs no longer able to hold up my body. I slid to a heap on the floor. “How could it have come to this? How could it be that we'd even be talking about such a thing?” I shook my head. “There's no way I can allow this.”

“It's too late. I’m already with child.”

***

I watched as mother bent her body to do the wash, her form heavy. How must she feel? The baby moved within her just as I once had. It was a life created by her and Father…and God. If there actually was a God.

Did she dread the baby’s birth every day? Was she having second thoughts? She should be. I wished she would end this madness.

I wandered outside and around the house to the garden where Father bent over his tulips with his shears. “Father, may I speak with you?”

He rocked back on his haunches and looked up at me, his whiskered face breaking into a grin. “Of course you can, my daughter. Sit with me.” He patted the grassy space beside him.

I gathered my skirts around my knees and lowered myself to ground.

“Now, what would you like to speak with me about?” Father's kind eyes twinkled.

Surely he knew. He must feel it, too. “You must stop Mother from doing this.” I had to convince him, no matter what.

His eyes opened in surprise. “Surely you realize what we are trying to do. What we must do.”

“Yes. I know your motivation. I know what you hope to accomplish. But we don't know that it will work. And really, Father, you are both risking your eternal souls to save my physical life—actually to end it, if we look at the situation truthfully.” I shook my head. “It's not a suitable trade. I'm not okay with this.” I stared into his eyes. “Father, that baby that Mother is carrying? That's my brother or my sister. I love that baby already. Just as I know you and Mother do. I would sooner sacrifice myself than have that baby sacrificed for me. Don't you understand?”

Father's eyes filled with tears. “I do understand. I would give anything—my life, even your mother’s life—if we could save the two of you.” He looked down at his work-worn palms. Big tears fell into their emptiness. “Here we sit, helpless.” Those calloused hands had seen their share of hard work. But no amount of strength would save him from what he was about to endure.

I took his hands in mine and squeezed them. “Can you stop her, Father? Can we stop this?”

“It would take an act of God to deter her from her course.” He hung his head.

“Then I hope you don't mind if I pray for an act of God.”

***

“What was that?” My eyes flew open and searched the dark room. There it was again. A woman’s scream. I scrambled across my bed, untangling my legs from the covers, and reached to the floor for my robe. I slipped my arms into the sleeves and felt the floor with my feet for my slippers.

There it was again. Who was screaming? Mother? The baby!

“Magdalena. My love!” That was Father’s voice. He sounded frantic. I raced across my bedroom and pulled open my door. I scurried down the hall as fast as my slippered feet would take me. I practically slid into their bedroom and stopped short.

The scene resembled that of a cow slaughter. Blood was everywhere. Doc Johnson stood beside the bed, bent over Mother’s panting form. “Magdalena, I need you to open your eyes and look at me. I want to help you.”

Mother struggled to keep all local and focused. “I just need to sleep.”

“No. Sleep is the last thing you need right now. Stay with us.”

I searched the room for signs of a birth. Where was the baby?

Molly, the midwife, huddled in the corner in the rocking chair. She held a tiny bundle. The baby? But the rocker, why was it still? I looked into Molly’s hollow eyes. The baby was gone. I turned my gaze immediately back to mother. She cried softly, her body heaving with blood loss.