Years (69 page)

“Everyone’ll gather at the school,” Ulmer predicted. “Let’s go!”

And sure enough, by the time they got there, the building was already filling. The bell kept pealing. The crowd kept growing. The new teacher, Mr. Thorson, announced that classes were dismissed for the day. The children stood on their desk seats and clapped. Reverend Helgeson arrived and led them all in a prayer of thanksgiving, and the celebration continued on into the late afternoon.

By the time the rejoicing band broke up, the snow that had been threatening all day had begun in earnest. They drove their wagons home through the wind-driven flakes, carefree in spite of them, their joy undaunted by the prospect of a winter storm. The wheat was in. The world was at peace. There was much to be grateful for.

Linnea awakened with her first pain at one o’clock that morning. She wasn’t certain what it was, so waited for another, which was some time in coming. She didn’t wake Theodore until an hour had passed and she was certain.

“Teddy?” She shook him gently.

“Hmm?” He rolled over and braced on an elbow. “Something wrong?”

“I think my pains have started.”

Immediately he was awake, straining toward her, reaching for her stomach. “But it’s a month early.”

“I know. I must have done too much dancing and shook things loose.”

“How close together are they?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen... ” He was out of bed in a flash, reaching for his trousers. “I got to get to town and get the doc.”

“No!”

“But you said it’s—”

“No! Look out the window. I won’t have you going out in that!”

From within the dark room it was easy to see how bright it was outside. The snow, still swirling, had whitened everything and gathered in the corners of the window ledges in thick white triangles.

“But, Linnea—”

“No. After John, no! This baby’s gonna know his father!”

“But it’s not a blizzard. It’s just a regular snowfall.”

She struggled from the bed and caught his arm as he reached for his shirt.

“Teddy, we can do it ourselves.”

His muscles tensed beneath her hand. “Are you crazy? I’ve never delivered a baby.”

“You’ve delivered horses, haven’t you? It can’t be too much different.”

“Linnea, I’m wasting time.”

“You’re not going!” She clung to him tenaciously, pulling him back when he would have leaned for his boots. But suddenly she gasped. “Oh... Teddy... oh!”

“What is it?”

Terrified, he lit the lantern and turned to find her standing in the middle of the floor with her feet widespread, staring down.

“Something’s coming out already. Oh, please don’t leave me.

He gaped at the puddle between her feet, frantically wondering what to do. With Melinda it had taken hours... and Ma had been here to see to things.

“Your water broke. That means it... it won’t be long.”

“Wh... what should I do?” she asked, as if there were anything she could control.

In three steps he’d swept her off her feet and deposited her on the bed again. “Rest between pains, don’t fight them when they come. I’ve got to light a fire and get some rope.”

“Rope! Oh, Teddy, please don’t go to town. We—”

“I’m not.” He pressed her back, took a moment to soothe her, brushing her hair back from her forehead, kissing her wild eyes closed. “The rope’s for you to hang onto. I’ll be right
back, all right? And I promise I won’t go to town. But I have to go out to the barn. Just stay here and do like I said when the pains come.”

She nodded in the brisk way of one too afraid to argue. “Hurry,” she whispered.

He hurried. But — blast his hide! — why hadn’t he got things ready before? He’d thought he had another whole month, and even then, the doctor usually brought leather stirrups and sterilized instruments. He never thought he’d have to cut ropes and boil scissors. Damn these Dakota winters! What in tarnation would he do if complications set in?

The snow bit into his cheeks as he made his way back from the barn with the cleanest length of rope he could find. Linnea seemed frantic by the time he reached the bedroom.

“They’re coming f... faster, Teddy, and I... I got the bed all wet.”

“Shh, love, don’t worry. The bedding can be washed.”

In between pains he lit a fire, sterilized scissors, found string, and a clean blanket for the baby, and a washbasin and towel for its first bath. He lifted Linnea from the bed and lined it with a rubber sheet, then padded it with a soft, folded flannel blanket over which he stretched a new, clean sheet. He was holding her in his arms, transferring her back to the bed when she was hit by the most intense pain yet. She gasped and stiffened, and he held her, felt her body tense, her fingers dig into his shoulder through the worst of it. When it was over, her eyes opened and he kissed the corner of one. “Next time a war ends, not so much dancing, all right, Mrs. Westgaard?”

She gave him a quavering smile, but sighed and seemed to wilt as he laid her down again.

“I want a clean gown,” she said when her breath evened.

“But what does it matter?”

“Our child will not be born while his mother wears a soiled nightgown. Now get me a clean gown, Theodore.”

When she called him Theodore in that tone of voice, he knew he’d best not cross her. He flew to the dresser, wondering where the sudden show of spunk came from when a moment ago she’d been submerged in pain. Women, he thought. What did men really know about them after all?

The old gown was off, but the new one still rolled in his hands when the next pain struck. She fell back and arched, and he saw her stomach change shape with the contraction, saw
her knees go up and her body lift of its own accord. Sweat broke out across his chest. Low across his belly he thought he felt the same pain she’d experienced. His hands shook when he helped her don the clean, white nightgown and folded it back at the waist.

He’d never tied knots so fast in his life. He slashed the rope into two three-foot lengths, secured each to the metal footboard of the bed, then fashioned the opposite ends into loops through which Linnea’s legs could slip. The last knot wasn’t quite finished when she gasped his name, reaching with both hands. She gripped his hands so hard he felt bruised, and drew on him with a force that made both their arms quiver. Sweet Jesus, those ropes would cut right through her flesh!

When the contraction ended, they were both panting.

He rushed to the kitchen and found two thick towels to pad the ropes for her legs. He moved the bedside table and kerosene lantern toward the foot of the bed where it shone on her exposed body. Gently, he lifted her feet and placed them through the ropes, then carefully slid them up behind her knees. The lanternlight threw a golden tint upon her white thighs. For the first time it struck him fully how vulnerable a woman is during childbirth.

Her bleary eyes opened. “Don’t be scared, Teddy,” she whispered. “There’s nothing to be scared of.” There remained no trace of the fear he’d sensed in her earlier. She was calm, prepared, confident in his ability to play the part of midwife. He moved to her side and bent over her, loving her more than ever before.

“I’m not scared.” It was the first time he’d ever lied to her. Looking down into her flushed face he would gladly have taken her place if only he could. He stretched her arms over her head and gently placed her hands around the metal rods above her. “Now save your energy.” He covered her fingers with his own. “Don’t talk. Scream if you want, but don’t talk.”

“But talking takes my mind off the p—”

She grimaced and sucked in a deep bream. Heart pounding, he rushed to the opposite end of the bed, feeling uncertain and clumsy and even more frightened than when he and John had been trapped in the blizzard.

Her muscles strained. The ropes stretched taut. The iron bed rails chimed and bent inward. She growled deep and long while a trickle of pink flowed from her body. He stared at it,
horrified at being responsible for bringing her to this travail, vowing, Never again. Never again.

Teeth clenched, he whispered, “Come on... come on... ” as if the child could hear.

When Linnea’s pain eased, Theodore’s shirt was damp beneath the arms. She rested and he wiped her brow.

“How you doing?” he asked softly.

She nodded, eyes closed. “Tell me when — ” she began, but this time the pain brought her hips higher off the bed than before. He watched the trickle of pink grow brighter and thought, oh God, she’s dying. Don’t let her die. Not her too! He was wracked by the need to do something for her, anything whatever to help. He placed his hands beneath her and helped her lift when lifting seemed what Nature intended.

“Come on, get out here,” he muttered. “Scream, Lin, scream if you want to!”

But when a cap of blond appeared, he was the one who yelped, “I see the head!” Excitement rushed through his body. “Push... once more... come on, Lin... one more big one... ”

With the next contraction the child came into his big callused hands in a squirming, slithering, slippery mass of warmth. At the sound of the child’s lusty yowling, Theodore smiled as wide as a man can smile. He wanted to tell Linnea what it was, but couldn’t see through his tears. He shrugged and cleared his eyes against his shoulders.

“It’s a boy!” he rejoiced, and laid the wriggling bundle on Linnea’s stomach.

“A boy,” she repeated.

“With a little pink acorn.” She chuckled tiredly and managed to lift her head. But it fell back weakly and her fingertips searched for the child’s head.

By some miracle, Theodore had grown as calm as the eye of a tornado. It seemed he’d never in his life been so efficient as he tied the two pieces of string around the umbilical cord and severed it.

“There. He’s on his own now.”

Linnea laughed, but he could tell she was crying. He lifted the infant and stuck a finger into his mouth, to clear it of mucous.

“He’s sucking already,” he told Linnea, thrilled at the feel of the delicate tongue drawing on his little finger.

“Does he have all his fingers and toes?” she asked.

“Every one of ‘em, but they’re no bigger’n a sparrow’s bones.”

“Hurry, Teddy,” she said weakly.

Forcing the afterbirth from her body hurt him as much as it hurt her, he was sure. Her stomach was soft and pliable as he pressed upon it with both palms. Once more he promised himself never to put her through this again. If they could take turns, he’d go through it. But not her. Not his precious Linnea.

It was the first time he’d ever given a baby a bath. Mercy, how could a human being be so tiny yet so perfect? Fingernails and eyelids so fragile he could see right through them. Legs so spindly he was afraid to straighten them out to dry behind the tiny knees. Eyelashes so fine they were scarcely visible.

He wrapped his son in a clean flannel blanket and placed him in Linnea’s arms.

“Here he is, love. He’s a tiny one.”

“John,” she cooed softly, in welcome. “Why, hello there, John.”

Theodore smiled at the sight of her lips on the baby’s downy head.

“He even looks a little like our John, doesn’t he?”

He didn’t of course. He had the look of all newborn babies: wrinkled, red, and pinched.

But Linnea agreed, anyway. “He does.”

“And I think I see a little of Ma around his mouth.”

His mouth was nothing whatever like Nissa’s, but again Linnea agreed.

Theodore settled beside her, the two of them gazing at the miracle their love had created. Born into a family who had lost so many, he embodied the hope of new life. Born to a man who’d thought himself too old, he would bring renewed youth. Born to a woman who thought herself too young, he would bring about a glowing maturity. Conceived in a time of war, he brought with him a sense of peace.

Theodore nudged the baby’s hand with his little finger and thrilled when his son’s tiny fist closed around it.

“I wish they could see him,” he said.

Linnea touched Theodore’s hand, so big and powerful compared to the baby’s fragile grasp. She looked up into his eyes.

“I think they do, Teddy,” she whispered.

“And Kristian,” Theodore said, hopefully. “Kristian’s gonna love him, isn’t he?”

Linnea nodded, her eyes locked with Theodore’s, suddenly knowing in her heart that what they said was true. “Kristian’s going to love him.”

He kissed her temple, his lips lingering.

“I love you.”

She smiled and knew a deep sense of fulfillment. “I love you, too. Always.”

They listened to the prairie wind worrying the windows. And the sound of their son, suckling nothing. John’s cat slipped around the doorway and stood looking curiously at the three. With a soft, throaty sound, it leaped to the foot of the bed, circled twice, and settled down to sleep on Nissa’s old quilt.

The cantankerous wheat farmer who’d greeted the new schoolmarm at the station so gruffly the first time she’d appeared sat with his arm cradling her head. He wondered if it was possible to make her understand how much he loved her.

“I lied before. I
was
scared,” he confessed.

“I could tell.”

“Seeing you like that, in so much pain — ” He kissed her forehead. “It was awful. I’ll never put you through that again.”

“Yes, you will.”

“No, I won’t.”

“I think you will.”

“Never. So help me God, never. I love you too much... ”

She chuckled and brushed her fingers over the fine hair on John’s head. “I want a girl next time, and we’ll name her Rosie.”

“A girl... but—”

“Shh. Come. Lie down with us.” With the baby in the crook of her elbow, she moved over and made room for him. He stretched out on top of the quilt and rolled to his side, folding an elbow beneath his ear and stretching a protective arm across the baby to Linnea’s hip.

Outside, somewhere on the prairie, the horses ran free. And Russian thistles rolled before the wind. And upon the derrick of a windmill the dry, tan husks of last summer’s morning glories still clung while the blades rapped softly above. But inside, a man and wife lay close, watching their son sleep, thinking of their tomorrows and the blessings to be reaped, the life to be lived to its fullest... the minutes, the days, the years.