Not to Be Outdone
Jan 11, 2008 1:55:55 GMT -5
Post by Kathy on Jan 11, 2008 1:55:55 GMT -5
((Because not everyone can have attentive, loving husbands and doctors...))
*Kathy was hard at work in the wash-house, (the son born to the de Winters had done nothing to lighten the loads of linen needing to be laundered,) but working slower than usual due to her cumbersome body and a gentle ache in her back, no doubt from lifting waterlogged sheets from the washtubs. She straightened a bit, rubbing at it, wincing as it sharpened, strong enough to make her back teeth ache, it seemed.
It took her a few moments to realize her feet were wet.*
Jesus Mary and Joseph tell me I just kicked a pail over...
*Wide-eyed, she felt her dress soaked and heavy, and the pain intensified, making her cry out, shaking with terror and agony. The wash-house was so far from any other buildings...could she get help...move fast enough in time?
Her body told her NO.
Biting her lower lip hard enough to draw blood, she hobbled over to the cabinet and got a pair of small, sharp silver scissors, along with a bundle of clean rags and in the other hand she filled a smaller pot with hot water from the washboiler, moving slowly and ceasing all motion when the pains hit her, clutching at the table to keep from falling to her knees, her knuckles white.
She took some soft sheets, folding them into a square on the flagstones in a warm place near the open hearth where she began to heat more water--she had no idea how much she'd need. She took off her dress and most of her soiled undergarments, leaving only a long cotton chemise on to keep her from shivering, even though she remained near the fire and she'd broken into a profuse sweat.
Holding her aching belly, feeling she would burst, she forced herself to walk slowly around the wash-house, always leaning against a wall or washtub, breathing hard, her golden hair dark and heavy with sweat, plastered against her face and neck. She whimpered slightly, but knew nothing would be sufficed by any louder cries--no one would hear her unless they were already coming to the wash-house on purpose.
She wished Michael were there, to tell her everything was going to be alright...to hold her, even if birthing children was women's work and he'd be about as useful as a colt in the kitchen.
She dragged two upturned tubs nearer the fire, to brace herself on either side as she squatted over the nest of sheets, trembling with pain and a freezing cold she could not dispel despite the humid heat of the wash-house. Gritting her teeth, she threw back her head and bore down with all her might, balancing a tentative hand to help receive the child as she felt the certain downward agony of the infant being born.*
"MIKEY!" *she screamed blindly, gathering her breath on a sob and giving another great push, feeling something warm and heavy slip to her hands, followed by the afterbirthso what if it should take a minute or two in reality I'd rather get it out of the way. She fell back onto the flagstones wearily for a moment, but her wide eyes were fixed upon the blue, bloody child between her knees. ((We'd like to take a moment to thank our sponsor, Science 10, for showing up the live birth video. I'll not get into the myriad fluids and squirtings and squishings.)) She used the rags to clean its face, clearing fluid from its mouth and nose, and it heaved a breath then gave a great bellow, swiftly turning a rosy pink. Kathy washed the baby gently with the warm water and tied then cut the cord that bound them before wrapping the baby--a wee girl--in a clean sheet.
Doubting she could stand, she slid towards the fireplace, groaning a little and leaving a bloody streak, but soon settled with her back against the side of the stone mantle, still trying to catch her breath. She glanced about despondently at the utter mess she'd made of the wash-house, but a moment later she was enthralled by the child she held. Her eyes were closed, her face wrinkled and red, but she'd a shock of deep red hair like fire plastered across her perfect wee head. Kathy kissed it, weeping a little, trying to hush her cries for a moment before she thought to try giving the child her breast. The girl rooted for a moment, seemed uncertain, then latched on with an uncanny kind of knowledge for one so small and fragile-looking.*
"Ye're a strong one," *whispered Kathy.* "And it's just as well that ye are. Life's no' easy..." *she said, crying a little, again, and she wasn't wholly certain it was all happiness or relief that time. Knowing the child was warm and well, Kathy closed her eyes and rested. Soon enough she'd have to gather her strength to clean up the place and make her way back home, she supposed.*
*Kathy was hard at work in the wash-house, (the son born to the de Winters had done nothing to lighten the loads of linen needing to be laundered,) but working slower than usual due to her cumbersome body and a gentle ache in her back, no doubt from lifting waterlogged sheets from the washtubs. She straightened a bit, rubbing at it, wincing as it sharpened, strong enough to make her back teeth ache, it seemed.
It took her a few moments to realize her feet were wet.*
Jesus Mary and Joseph tell me I just kicked a pail over...
*Wide-eyed, she felt her dress soaked and heavy, and the pain intensified, making her cry out, shaking with terror and agony. The wash-house was so far from any other buildings...could she get help...move fast enough in time?
Her body told her NO.
Biting her lower lip hard enough to draw blood, she hobbled over to the cabinet and got a pair of small, sharp silver scissors, along with a bundle of clean rags and in the other hand she filled a smaller pot with hot water from the washboiler, moving slowly and ceasing all motion when the pains hit her, clutching at the table to keep from falling to her knees, her knuckles white.
She took some soft sheets, folding them into a square on the flagstones in a warm place near the open hearth where she began to heat more water--she had no idea how much she'd need. She took off her dress and most of her soiled undergarments, leaving only a long cotton chemise on to keep her from shivering, even though she remained near the fire and she'd broken into a profuse sweat.
Holding her aching belly, feeling she would burst, she forced herself to walk slowly around the wash-house, always leaning against a wall or washtub, breathing hard, her golden hair dark and heavy with sweat, plastered against her face and neck. She whimpered slightly, but knew nothing would be sufficed by any louder cries--no one would hear her unless they were already coming to the wash-house on purpose.
She wished Michael were there, to tell her everything was going to be alright...to hold her, even if birthing children was women's work and he'd be about as useful as a colt in the kitchen.
She dragged two upturned tubs nearer the fire, to brace herself on either side as she squatted over the nest of sheets, trembling with pain and a freezing cold she could not dispel despite the humid heat of the wash-house. Gritting her teeth, she threw back her head and bore down with all her might, balancing a tentative hand to help receive the child as she felt the certain downward agony of the infant being born.*
"MIKEY!" *she screamed blindly, gathering her breath on a sob and giving another great push, feeling something warm and heavy slip to her hands, followed by the afterbirth
Doubting she could stand, she slid towards the fireplace, groaning a little and leaving a bloody streak, but soon settled with her back against the side of the stone mantle, still trying to catch her breath. She glanced about despondently at the utter mess she'd made of the wash-house, but a moment later she was enthralled by the child she held. Her eyes were closed, her face wrinkled and red, but she'd a shock of deep red hair like fire plastered across her perfect wee head. Kathy kissed it, weeping a little, trying to hush her cries for a moment before she thought to try giving the child her breast. The girl rooted for a moment, seemed uncertain, then latched on with an uncanny kind of knowledge for one so small and fragile-looking.*
"Ye're a strong one," *whispered Kathy.* "And it's just as well that ye are. Life's no' easy..." *she said, crying a little, again, and she wasn't wholly certain it was all happiness or relief that time. Knowing the child was warm and well, Kathy closed her eyes and rested. Soon enough she'd have to gather her strength to clean up the place and make her way back home, she supposed.*