“This is not like most labors,” I said to Martha. “But sometimes the gossips can be as much a hindrance as a help. Help me get them under control. Let’s start with this one.” I indicated the sleeping woman on the bed. She had rolled onto her side and thrown one arm over Elizabeth’s chest.
“What niceties must we observe?” Martha asked warily.
“I can rely on my rank, but if you want anyone to obey you, you will have to make them,” I said. “So long as it’s for the benefit of the mother, none will complain.”
Martha nodded and without another word reached down and seized the sleeping woman by her ears. As Martha hauled to her feet, the woman let out a squeal loud enough to shake the windows. “Time for you to be on your way, madam,” Martha announced, as much for the other gossips as for the woman whose ears she held tight. Martha dragged her hapless victim across the room, opened the door, and fairly hurled her out. I was relieved not to hear a body tumbling downstairs; few mothers wanted a midwife to kill her gossips, however unruly they became.
Martha turned to the rest of the group and announced loudly, “Now, if you are here to assist Mrs. Wood in her travail, and are sober enough to do so, you may stay. If not, please be on your way. Now.”
The women looked dumbly at the maid who had just taken over their gathering. When none moved, Martha marched around the room, snatching glasses from the women’s hands and emptying them into the chamber pot. One woman tried to protect her glass, but Martha was having none of it. She wrestled it away none too gently, saying, “Now, now, give it to me, madam. You’ve had your fun. It’s time to leave poor Mrs. Wood. She must have her baby in peace.” Once she’d confiscated the glasses, Martha herded the women toward the door and shooed them down the stairs. She later told me that Elizabeth’s husband had the misfortune to return as the women were leaving. “They plundered him of his new-bought wine, and left him quivering in their wake,” she said. Watching Martha take over the delivery room, I felt a certain amount of pride—it took a strong woman to handle a gaggle such as this.
With the gossips taken care of, I began my examination of Elizabeth. I could feel the child’s head. “It won’t be long now,” I told her, but after six children she already knew that. In the quiet of the room, I gossiped with Elizabeth about the news of the town, carefully avoiding the topic of Stephen Cooper’s murder. Martha asked a few questions about childbirth and how a woman’s first travail differed from her second and her sixth. She was a quick study and asked good questions. Soon it was time for the child to be born, and since it promised to be an easy delivery, I let Martha receive the child. She gently cradled the infant as he was born, and the look on her face reminded me of the first time I’d delivered a child. A midwife’s work was never easy, but few things brought more joy than welcoming a new soul into the world.
I turned my attention to the child, and my heart sank. His complexion was pallid and his cries weak. “The child is sickly,” I said quietly. “We must help him.”
While Martha held the child, I put my hand into Elizabeth to deliver the placenta. I usually preferred to let it fall naturally, but we had no time. Once I had the placenta out, I put the dull edge of my knife to the cord and used it to force what blood was still in it back into him—a sickly child needed every drop. After I cut his cord and tied it tight, Martha and I gave him a bath of warm wine, being sure to rub his limbs to give them strength. “Swaddle him well,” I told her. “I’ll talk to Elizabeth.” Martha looked at me blankly, and I remembered that she’d never served in a household with children. I quickly showed her the best way to wrap a newborn. “Now he must be put to the breast. He will turn the milk to blood, which will give him strength.” I handed the infant to Elizabeth, and he began to nurse, but with less vigor than I would have liked. Elizabeth looked at me nervously. Her other children had been lusty eaters, and she was worried. I gave her what I hoped was an encouraging smile. “Good.” Soon the child slept, but it was too soon for my liking. I told Elizabeth to give him suck as often as he would take it, and when she fell asleep, Martha and I left.
“Will he live?” she asked when we reached the street.
I didn’t know what to tell her. The joy of welcoming a child into the world was matched only by the sorrow of seeing one out. “He is in God’s hands,” I said. It was the only response I could think of. Martha snorted rudely, so I tried another explanation. “It is not good that he was born in such a state, but I have seen weaker children thrive, and lusty ones waste away within days. He is lucky to have Elizabeth as his mother, for she has raised her share of healthy children.” Martha only nodded. “You could say a prayer,” I added. She cast me a sideways glance, silently dismissing the idea.