Healer of Carthage (34 page)

Ruth’s lack of commitment left Lisbeth more than a little worried, but all she could do was allow her friend to join her at the basin for a good hand scrubbing.

“So how was it?” Ruth asked, her eyes cutting Lisbeth’s way.

Lisbeth backed away from the question she’d been dreading. “How was what?”

“Your first time together.” Ruth’s smile refused to be contained. “I pray he was gentle.”

Something akin to shame accompanied Lisbeth’s reflection in the polished brass mirror. Everyone expected her to emerge from her husband’s chambers as a
matrona
, a satisfied and happy wife in every sense of the word. “More merciful than I deserved.” Another lie to add to the stack she was accumulating, but this was no time to seek aid for a rebuffed schoolgirl crush.

“Details will have to wait.” Lisbeth dried her hands on her tunic and hurried to the atrium. The little family huddled together on one of the couches, their faces splotchy with measles. Without taking time for a thorough examination, she scooped both boys into her arms. She turned to find Cyprian standing in the doorway. “Get back.”

“Let me help,” he insisted.

“No way. They’re very contagious.” She awaited his reluctant retreat, then spoke to the father. “Sir, can you walk?” The man didn’t waste effort on an answer. Instead, he raised himself from the bench. “Good. I need you to follow me.” Lisbeth moved the little family to her room as quickly as she could.

All three of her new cases fell into the bed. The two brothers were asleep before she could remove their filthy shoes. Between the father’s coughing spells, she managed to get directions to his apartment and his wife’s name: Eunike, a Greek by the sound of it.

Weighed down by the dual burden of trying to save them and a sick woman in labor, Lisbeth retrieved her mother’s stethoscope from the nightstand. If only Mama were here. As much as she hated to admit it, she would need Cyprian’s help in locating Eunike.

Stethoscope lassoed around her neck, Lisbeth went in search of her new husband.

Ruth met her outside the library door with her mother’s medical bag and Junia in tow. “I added suture supplies, a couple of clean tunics, wine, and a blanket for the baby.”

“You’re a terrific nurse.” She took the bag, grateful to have another piece of her mother to take with her. “But remember what I told you: stay far away from my patients.”

“Should I give them something to eat?”

“No!” Yelling was not going to deter Ruth’s passion for strays. “Junia’s immune now. Let her serve them tea and honey.” Lisbeth squatted next to the quiet, wide-eyed girl, no doubt reliving the death of her own parents. “You can be my big-girl helper and give them a drink, right?”

Junia swallowed, then threw her arms around Lisbeth’s neck. “Don’t let their mama die.”

How could she make that kind of a promise? Even if she had access to the best medical supplies, which a few rags and some wine were not, she couldn’t guarantee her ability to save a life. Abra had taught her that hard lesson, and she would never forget it. “Ruth, help me out here.”

“Come on, Junia. Let’s fix some eucalyptus tea.” Ruth untangled Junia’s arms and led her toward the kitchen. “You’re such a brave girl. I’m glad you’re here.”

Lisbeth rose to her feet. When she turned, Cyprian and Caecilianus stood in the library doorway, compassion on their faces.

With a sigh of resignation, she held out the directions she’d scribbled on a piece of papyrus. “I don’t know how to find this man’s wife.”

44

A
S THEY SEARCHED THE
polluted tenement alleys for the laboring mother, Lisbeth prayed the scanty knowledge she’d accumulated on her brief labor-and-delivery rotation would outweigh the fear pulsing through her veins. The last time she’d dealt with a baby, things hadn’t ended well.

Lisbeth stepped over sour-smelling refuse that littered the uneven streets and hurried to catch up with Cyprian. Home births had been the de facto method of delivery for centuries. This woman could probably drop a baby in the field, strap it to her breast, and go right back to work. Needless worry about possible complications would not help her get the job done.

Cyprian waited outside a door where a woman’s labored screams pierced the wood. “I think we’ve found Eunike.” He knocked, and the door creaked open. “Want me to go first?”

“No.” Lisbeth didn’t move.

“I’m right behind you, then.”

“Right.” Heart pounding out
get a grip, get a grip, get a grip
, Lisbeth eased inside. “Eunike?”

The little apartment was a mirror image of the one where she’d found Junia, except even more crowded because of the paraphernalia of everyday life and empty pallets taking up the floor space. On the narrow bed, a young woman wearing a soiled nightdress
lay spread-eagled, one leg slung over the dirty sheets, the other foot resting on the floor.

“Oh.” Cyprian diverted his eyes, but he didn’t back out of the room like she’d seen Craig do at his first delivery. “What do you need?”

“Water. Lots of it.” Lisbeth snatched an empty crock from the corner. “And get it hot.” Although embarrassed, he seemed reluctant to leave her. “Go.” Once she had him out of her way, Lisbeth went to the woman, whose eyes were clamped shut in an effort to concentrate on her pain. “Eunike? Your husband sent me.”

The woman’s eyes flew open. “Help. Me.”

“That’s what I intend to do.” Lisbeth did a quick preliminary exam, noting the woman seemed pretty worn out and possibly dehydrated, but she’d progressed to complete dilation, with the fetal head properly aligned in the birthing canal.

“Hurry,” Eunike said, huffing. “I need to push.”

“Hang on. Breathe through your nose.” Lisbeth dropped to the floor and positioned her mother’s medical bag for easy access. “Cyprian!” She dug out some clean rags to glove her hands for the baby catch. “Can you sit up, Eunike?”

“No,” the woman replied, panting.

Cyprian burst into the room, water sloshing everywhere, alarm on his face. “What?”

“Help me get her upright.”

He hastily placed the pot on the floor and raced into position behind Eunike. His strong arms easily and gently raised the exhausted woman. “This good?”

“Ease her to the edge of the bed.” Lisbeth wiped her hands on her tunic. “Eunike, I’m going to put your feet on my shoulders. Wait to push until I say.”

The woman expelled a shattering howl. “Hurry!”

“We’ve got crowning.” Lisbeth eyed the dark bulge in the cervix. “Is this your third baby?”

“Fifth,” Eunike answered between labored breaths. “Two girls died before they walked.”

Lisbeth glanced at Cyprian. The color had left his face. But his steady focus was aimed directly at her, communicating that he believed she could do this. “Let’s get this kiddo out and into her mama’s hands as quick as we can.” Another contraction tightened the swollen belly. “Chin to chest, Eunike.” Lisbeth readied for the head. “Okay, girl. Push where it counts.”

The baby’s head, topped with an abundance of dark, curly hair, appeared. Lisbeth couldn’t contain her smile or her relief. “Halfway there, Eunike. Another good push should do it.” She patted Eunike’s leg. “This one better be a girl, because it’s a beauty. Can you give me another good push?”

Gasping for air, the laboring woman spat out, “I
am
pushing.”

The fetal head suddenly retracted against the mother’s perineum, causing the baby’s cheeks to bulge like a turtle pulling its head back into its shell.

Eunike went limp in Cyprian’s arms.

“Oh, no.” Should she apply a bit of force or allow nature to take its course?

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Something’s holding up the delivery.” Possibilities tumbled in Lisbeth’s mind. The cord? Baby too big? Suddenly a med school test question came to mind . . . shoulder dystocia?

Lisbeth cursed. “The baby’s stuck.”

“Why?” Cyprian’s eyes were wide.

“The shoulder has impacted the maternal symphysis.”

Shifting Eunike’s weight, Cyprian asked, “What are you talking about?”

“It’s rare. This is where I call in an attending. Get some help. But I—”

Cyprian cast a narrow look her way, his disapproval of her fear evident. “Fix it,” he ordered, a man used to clapping his hands and having the world scurry to do his bidding.

“Fix it?” She laughed to keep from crying. “She could hemorrhage. The baby could suffer permanent injury. You only have to look at Laurentius to know how well that works out in this society.”

He didn’t deserve her verbal slap, but right now she felt completely helpless. This rare complication wasn’t any more Cyprian’s fault than the fact that she was trapped in a serious medical situation with no anesthesiologist, attending, or surgical options.

“If you do nothing . . . they’ll die.” Cyprian eyed her calmly, a reminder that the best way through this was to stay in control of her terror. To keep her composure so as to not panic the mother. When had she become so risk-averse that she wouldn’t try everything she knew rather than let a mother and baby die?
God, help me.

“Quick, grab her legs.” Lisbeth clasped Eunike’s ankles and hyperflexed the woman’s knees against her abdomen. “You’re going to hold her legs against her belly. Hopefully shifting positions will open the pelvis and free the shoulder—” The baby shot out in a gush of reddish water. “Whoa. I almost didn’t catch—” Lisbeth looked up. “It’s a girl.” Cyprian’s smile unlocked a deep longing, a heat that warmed her intimate, empty spaces.

“Why isn’t she crying?” Eunike’s concern snapped Lisbeth out of her trance.

Lisbeth’s blurry gaze leapt from Cyprian’s to the waxy form in her hands. “Let’s find out.” She turned the baby facedown and worked mucus from both nostrils. A gentle pat on a miniature foot
roused a lusty cry. “Thank God.” She and Cyprian shared a relieved laugh and a look that said he was in awe of what she’d accomplished.

“I’ve helped horses foal”—he steadied Eunike, who was leaning forward with outstretched arms—“but I had no idea.”

Lisbeth swallowed the lump his praise had raised in her throat. “Help Eunike lie back.” She placed the baby on the woman’s naked belly and asked, “What’s her name?”

Eunike stroked the tiny head. “What’s your name?”

“Lisbeth,” Cyprian answered before Lisbeth could speak, a different tone in his voice, a pride that melted Lisbeth on the spot. “Of Dallas.”

“
Thascius
,” Lisbeth corrected, her eyes locked with Cyprian’s. “As of last night.”

“Then she shall be called Lisbeth,” Eunike declared, “as a wedding gift to you both.”

A child named after her was a gift she didn’t deserve, but one she would cherish nearly as much as the picture of Cyprian’s beaming face.

While Eunike and Cyprian counted fingers and toes, Lisbeth cut the cord and delivered the placenta with no problems. “Let me clean her up, and then you can nurse her.”

Eunike relinquished her baby long enough for a brisk rubdown. Lisbeth wrapped the pinking girl in one of the blankets Ruth had sent. The child fit in her arms as if she were her own. She couldn’t resist kissing the puckered forehead gearing up for a hungry cry. With an unexpected tug of regret, she handed the baby back to her mother. What was happening to her? She wasn’t an emotional person, and here she was on the verge of completely losing control.

“I think she’s hungry.” Lisbeth watched the infant greedily attach to her mother’s breast. Security. That positive touch of
humanity. Unconditional love. A primordial glimpse into humans treating others well. Humanity at its best.

Within seconds both mother and child were sound asleep.

Lisbeth glanced at Cyprian standing stone still over the bed and barely breathing. “Baby Lisbeth is beautiful, don’t you think?” he whispered, his admiration directed not at the satisfied bundle in Eunike’s arms but at her.

Here she was, eighteen hundred years removed from the past she’d rather forget, and all she wanted to do was tell this man the truth, to tell him she didn’t deserve his respect. To beg his absolution and forgiveness. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He moved toward her and lifted her trembling hands to his lips and kissed her ring. “Who are you, Lisbeth of Dallas?”

“Thascius.” The word rolled off her tongue, leaving a sweet taste in her mouth. She pointed to the hand he held. “Proof that I am the wife of the solicitor of Carthage.”

“A hollow title without the truth.” He kissed her.

“You deserve the truth.”

The old bishop had been right to insist that the story come from her. Now would be the perfect time to tell her new husband everything, before she fell so far in love with him that she’d never recover from the dissolution of his respect and admiration.

He pulled her to him. “It won’t change how I feel about you.”

“It might.”

The chatter of women returning from the well drifted through the open door.

“Let me clean up; then we’ll talk.” She snatched the empty crock. “I need some more water.”

“I’ll fetch it.” Cyprian tried to take the jug from her hand.

“No. Fresh air will clear my head, allow my adrenaline to dissipate.” Lisbeth gathered the bloody cloths to toss upon the trash
heap on her way to the well. “Don’t look so terrified. I’ll only be gone a few minutes. They’ll be fine.”

By the time she reached the worn path to the cistern, evening shadows had lowered the temperature several degrees. It had taken all day to find their way to the correct apartment and deliver Eunike’s baby. A good day, one of the best days of practicing medicine she’d ever had. She would relive the moment of the baby’s arrival the rest of her life. Was it Cyprian’s presence that made all the difference? Or was it getting back in the saddle again and having some success after her dismal failure with Abra? Or maybe she felt ten pounds lighter, because Craig was right. She was cut out for obstetrics.

Craig. Obstetrics?
The thought stopped her in the middle of the path. The truth, a big, ugly roadblock she hadn’t noticed before, now stared her in the face, and she couldn’t navigate around it.