Lydia

He cast one final, desperate glance into the snow-specked heavens. “Please,” he muttered. “Just—”

The sound of hoofbeats riveted his thoughts. He could hear them pounding up the gulch trail, moving rapidly closer. As Donovan’s eyes probed the snowy darkness, a big dun mule burst out of the aspens and into the clearing.

Two dark shapes, one of them very small, clung to the mule’s back. As the animal wheeled to a stop, Annie sprang to the ground and dashed toward the cabin. “Uncle Donovan, I brought Miss Sarah! Is Ma all right?”

“She’s fine,” Donovan lied. “Go on in and take care of Katy and Samuel. I’ll see to the mule.”

He loped off the porch and across the yard, to where Miss Sarah Parker was climbing down from the saddle, a canvas satchel clutched beneath her dark wool cloak. Relief jellied Donovan’s knees. At that instant, he could have swept the spinsterly Miss Sarah into his arms, plucked off her pince-nez glasses, and kissed her full on her prim mouth.

“It’s about time!” was all he could say.

“Sorry.” She tossed him the reins. “I just finished delivering Minnie Hawkins down on Panner Creek. I couldn’t get here any sooner. How is Varina?”

“Bad. The baby’s not coming the way it should. I hope to heaven you haven’t gotten here too late.”

Miss Sarah swung resolutely toward the porch, her boots crunching the new-fallen snow. Her plain, dark skirt swished against her legs as she turned with one foot on the rickety bottom step.

“Put Nebuchadnezzar in the shed and give him some oats,” she ordered crisply. “Then wash up and come inside. I expect I’ll be needing your help.”

She strode into the cabin. As he led the mule toward the shed, Donovan heard her instructing Annie to take the younger children to the cabin of old Ike Ordway, their nearest neighbor down the gulch. By the time he’d stabled the stubborn beast, they were on their way, trooping past him in the sad little coats Varina had pieced from old blanket scraps.

Donovan dipped water from the porch bucket and used a sliver of lye soap to lather his hands. He worked the suds carefully around his fingers, shivering as the wind penetrated his worn flannel shirt. Everything was going to be all right, he tried to reassure himself. The midwife was here. She would know what to do.

All the same, he’d have felt better if the woman had been older—say, a stalwart matron of forty who looked as if she’d borne a half-dozen children of her own.

Washing done, he entered the cabin to find Sarah Parker standing by the stove with her back to the door, rolling up the sleeves of her gray shirtwaist. Strangely, the first thought that flashed through his mind was how attractive she appeared from behind. The lamplight melted on the coil of her glossy brown hair where it lay low on the nape of her neck. And even her drab clothes could not hide the elegant set of her shoulders or the grace of a slender torso that curved from hand-span waist to sensually rounded haunches.

Donovan stared at her, galvanized once more by that feeling he could not even name—as if the sight of her had forged a dark link to some secret memory buried in the depths of his mind. What was it…?

A frenzied moan from Varina burst the unfinished thought like a bubble. Sarah Parker turned and frowned at Donovan, as if she’d known all along that he was there.

“I just finished checking her. It looks like a breech birth.”

Donovan nodded his understanding, mouth grimly set to hide his fear. “Then I guess you’ll have to turn the baby. Can you do it?”

“I…hope so.” Her gray eyes were pools of anxiety behind the pince-nez spectacles. Her fingers quivered as they fumbled with the cuff of her left sleeve. Midwife or not, she wasn’t offering him much reassurance.

“Have you done anything like this before?” Donovan probed.

“I’ve never had to.” She had turned her back on him again. “This is only my seventeenth baby. But I know how. I’ve read about it.”

“Read about it! Good Lord, woman—”

“Would you rather do it yourself, Mr. Cole?” Her Yankee voice crackled like splintering ice.

Donovan surrendered with a ragged sigh. “All right. What can I do to help?”

“Come on.” With an abrupt swish of petticoats, she strode behind the quilt, where Varina sprawled damp, tearful and exhausted on the rumpled sheets. Donovan’s heart contracted at the sight of her. His questions about Sarah Parker evaporated as he knelt to take his sister’s hand.

Sarah had taken a tin of greasy salve out of her satchel and was rubbing the stuff on her hands. “How long ago was the last pain, Varina?”

“Three…maybe four minutes.” Varina’s tired voice was so faint that Donovan could barely hear.

“We’ll wait for the next one to pass. Then I’ll try and turn the baby.” Sarah hesitated, then continued. “It will hurt. I’ll be as gentle as I can, but—”

“I know,” Varina whispered. “It’s all right. Do what you have to. And Sarah—”

“Yes?”

“If it’s a question of saving me or the child…I want this baby to live.”

“Hush!” As Sarah leaned over to squeeze Varina’s hand, Donovan caught the glint of tears in her eyes. “Don’t talk that way, Varina Sutton! You’re going to be just fine, and so is your baby!”

Varina did not answer. Donovan watched the contraction take his sister. He watched it seize her swollen body in its cruel talons, squeezing and twisting until he wanted to scream for her.

“Get ready.” Sarah shot him a hard glance through her round glass spectacles. “As soon as the pain eases, you hold her. Keep her as still as you can.”

Donovan nodded, his throat too constricted to speak. He clasped Varina’s hands, noticing how weak her grip was. She was nearing the end of her strength.

Varina’s fingers began to relax as the pain diminished. Donovan could feel Sarah’s presence in the tiny enclosure. He could sense the exquisite tension in her as she waited, drawing into herself like a cat preparing to spring.

“Now!” she exclaimed, shifting her position to the foot of the bed.

Donovan clasped his sister in his arms and held her with all his strength. Varina’s nightdress, draped between her raised knees, blessedly screened Sarah from his view. But he could imagine what she was doing. He could feel every move she made in the agonized spasms that racked Varina’s body. And once more, silently this time, he prayed.

Seconds oozed past like drops of blood. Varina’s raw, anguished breathing rose to a gasp as she bit back the pain.

“It’s all right, Varina.” Sarah spoke with effort from the foot of the bed. “It—it won’t be much longer now. I’m going to count to three, and when I do, you’re to scream for all you’re worth! Do you understand?”

“The…children,” Varina murmured weakly.

“They’ve gone to Mr. Ordway’s. They won’t hear you.” Sarah’s shadow danced on the wall as she raised the lantern and set it on the washstand, then repositioned herself over the bed. “When I count three, now. One…two…three!”

Varina screamed. She screamed with the pent-up agony of hours. She screamed for Charlie, crushed in the mine. She screamed for Virgil, shattered by mortar fire at Antietam. She screamed for her own lost girlhood, and for the grace of a life that had vanished with the war’s first shot.

Donovan squeezed tears from his eyes as her anguish knifed through him. If Varina survived this, he vowed, he would do anything to see her happy. He would work his fingers to the bone, risk anything to provide her with the comforts that footloose Charlie Sutton had never managed. Varina and her children were his only living kin. He would see that they never wanted for anything. He would-”It’s done!” Sarah gasped. “Varina—the baby’s turned!`Now—quickly, when the next pain comes—push! Push with all your might!”

Varina’s next contraction came on the heels of Sarah’s words. Shifting his position, Donovan cradled his sister’s shoulders with one arm. Her frenzied fingers gripped his free hand as she bore down.

“Push…push…”

Donovan could hear the midwife urging as Varina gasped and strained. The two women were working together now, battling for the baby’s life. Donovan could not see Sarah, but he could sense her agitation. He could hear the ragged little sobs of her breathing as she echoed Varina’s effort. “Push…oh, yes, yes!”

Varina went limp in his arms as the new life slid out into the world. Donovan heard the sound of a sharp slap; then, miraculously, a thin, mewling cry.

“Oh!” Sarah’s voice was husky with awe. “Oh, Varina, it’s a boy! You have a beautiful little son!”

Varina stirred, moaning softly.