Roswitha drank four large cups of brew all day into the evening. The disgusting herbal concoction made her feel sick. She couldn’t feel any changes yet, only dread of what was to come. After returning home late that night, Madlen slept restlessly, as Johannes snored next to her. She had lied to him and said that Agathe had more dress orders than ever before. She would need to go back to work early in the morning. Johannes reminded her not to wear herself out in her delicate condition. Besides, it was no longer necessary for her to work. Her husband earned more than enough, but Madlen insisted on continuing, and Johannes didn’t want to force her to stop. When their first child was born, she would have to abandon her sewing anyway. He could bide his time until then.
The next morning, Madlen left early to go to her aunt’s house. Roswitha was already in the kitchen; Agathe was still sleeping.
“How are you?” Madlen asked as soon as she entered.
“Unchanged.”
“I told you it would take several days.”
“I can hardly wait”—she pointed at her stomach—“for this to be out of my body.”
“You have to be patient. Is the water hot?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then I’ll prepare another cup right away.”
“It tastes disgusting.”
“Yes, but this is surely the lesser of two evils: a disgusting taste versus having a baby out of wedlock.”
“Yes, please excuse me. I don’t feel well.”
“But you don’t have pain yet, right?”
“No. It’s more like a heart-pounding fear of the unknown.”
Madlen stirred up the ingredients. “It’s ready.”
“Thank you.”
“Remember to move as much as possible.”
“I will.”
“I’m going to the sewing room. Come get me as soon as you feel something.”
Roswitha nodded. “Thank you so much.”
“All right.” Madlen had a bad feeling as she left the kitchen. She’d watched Clara administer herbs for a miscarriage more than once, but as soon as Clara gave them the herbs, the women got dizzy and went off to their own devices. They only came back if there were difficulties. But Madlen was restless while waiting for Roswitha to lose the baby. She continued to work on a beautiful dark-blue dress, which she hoped her mother-in-law would like. Johannes had placed the order, but he said yesterday that there wasn’t any hurry now that Agathe and Madlen had more work than usual. She hadn’t responded, not wanting to compound one lie with another.
Madlen had already been working for several hours when Agathe entered the sewing room. “Good morning. How long have you been here?”
“Quite a while,” Madlen said as she put down her sewing. “You look pale. Didn’t you sleep well?”
“No. I was thinking the whole time about Roswitha. She may have a big mouth, but she didn’t deserve this. Please, do everything to keep her healthy.”
It did not escape Madlen’s attention that her aunt spoke of Roswitha’s health. It was still difficult for Agathe to accept what they had done.
The women spent the whole day together, with no change in Roswitha’s condition. They all strove to avoid the topic as much as possible. Everything remained calm. At the end of the day, Madlen embraced both Agathe and Roswitha as she said her farewells and promised to be back early the next morning. On the way back to her marital home, she said a silent prayer that the Lord wouldn’t let anything happen that night.
When she opened her eyes the next morning, her first thought was Roswitha. Today was the third day of treatment. From Madlen’s previous experience, something would occur today or, at the latest, tomorrow. When she worked with Clara, they had only performed a handful of these procedures to terminate an unwanted pregnancy. She sincerely hoped that the herbs would suffice and that it wouldn’t be necessary to force the baby from the body. Johannes rolled over and embraced her.
“Good morning. Do you have to get up already?”
She kissed him tenderly. “You know that Agathe’s counting on me. It will only be two or three more days; soon, we’ll have everything done.” She freed herself from his arms and sat on the edge of the bed. First thing in the morning, she usually needed a little time for the dizziness to subside.
“Come here,” her husband whispered.
She stood. “You can get that out of your head,” she teased. “I have to get dressed. Sleep a little bit more and dream about me.”
“And if that’s not enough?”
“It’s going to have to be.” She laughed, walked to the chair over which she’d draped her dress, and put it on.