A Harvest of Hope by Lauraine Snelling

absolutely no affection in the gesture, of course. Here was a woman in extremity, hanging on for dear life, being hauled into the unknown. And Miriam was jealous? For shame!
    But she could not make the silly jealousy go away.
    Trygve marched smartly toward the door, double time. Miriam hiked her skirts and ran ahead to hold the door for him as he carried the woman inside. Ingeborg hustled after them.
    As he passed through the door, he muttered, “You know her skirts are wet, don’t you?”
    â€œAye.”
    Ingeborg called, “Here comes Astrid!” She hurried inside and turned toward the kitchen.
    Miriam continued holding the door as the doctor strode up onto the porch. Good! With two fine baby deliverers here, Isobel Munro had the best care possible.
    Miriam followed Dr. Astrid down the hall to the main bedroom.Trygve came out. “I’ll be just outside. Let me know when you need something.”
    Dr. Astrid failed to say thank-you, so Miriam did. He smiled at her and left.
    Miriam helped Dr. Astrid remove the skirts and petticoat. Mr. Munro knelt beside the head of the bed, and his wife clutched his arm tightly. He looked terrified.
    â€œHave you ever assisted with a home delivery before?” Dr. Astrid asked as she completed her examination.
    Miriam shook her head. “That would have been this year, but I am here instead.”
    â€œTell me what you see.” Dr. Astrid stepped back, so Miriam moved down and made her own examination. “The perineum is bulging. The baby is in the birth canal.”
    Ingeborg entered with an armful of sheets and pads and set them on a chair. “I’m putting my instruments on to sterilize. Want me to add yours?”
    Dr. Astrid smiled to her mother. “Takk. And would you please set the tea to steeping?”
    â€œIt already is.”
    Dr. Astrid nodded to Miriam. “Take over.”
    Take over! Who would ever have dreamed my day would go from riding the train to handling a delivery? Nurse Korsheski had been right. She was getting experiences here like she wouldn’t have anywhere else. And besides, the doctors here didn’t order the nurses around like some of the others, especially Dr. Gutenheimer of Harvard, in Chicago. She’d heard even some slaves were treated better than he did the nurses.
    A long throaty groan. The tiny wet-haired head presented. Good! A normal birth.
    â€œBreathe!” Dr. Astrid stroked the woman’s shoulder. “Good. Panting is good.
    â€œMiriam, make certain that the pads are positioned properly under her. Good.”
    Miriam focused on the emerging baby.
    â€œMassage the perineal tissue to help it stretch. Stroke it outward. You have seen it done. You don’t want the perineum to tear. Mrs. Munro, rest as you can, and when it is time to push, breathe and push hard with the contraction.”
    â€œAh, ah . . .” Mrs. Munro tried to stifle the scream, but it came as a drawn-out wail.
    The tiny head emerged and flopped down instantly. Miriam gasped. Did the neck break? Izzie Munro gave one more agonizing push, and the baby slid into Miriam’s waiting hands.
    â€œIt’s a girl. You have a baby girl. Oh, she is so perfect.” Miriam held up the baby by its tiny ankles, her fingers looped tightly, for the infant was so slippery. She patted the soles of her feet smartly.
    The baby rattled, sucked in air, and belted out a yell fit to call cows. They all laughed through their tears, and Miriam tenderly laid the squalling infant on her mother’s chest while the umbilical cord slowly stopped pumping and lay flaccid.
    â€œSuch a wee one,” Izzie Munro purred. She stroked the tiny head, the minute fingers, the cheek. “Diarmid, sae tiny.”
    â€œAnd sae beautiful,” he murmured. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
    Miriam tied off the cord and cut it, watching for a moment to make certain there was no leakage.
    Dr. Astrid was deeply kneading Mrs.