pain. Through the window in her bedroom, Carolina could see the snow lightly falling. It had come early and would probably amount to nothing more than a dusting, but the hypnotic pattern of falling snow was the only thing to draw her attention away from the suffering.
“Does it always take this long?” she asked as Mrs. Graves wiped a cool towel across her perspiring forehead.
“Sometimes much longer,” she admitted to her young charge. “I figure this little one ought to be born sometime this evening.”
“This evening?” Carolina nearly screamed the question as another pain tore through her abdomen. She pulled against the leather birthing straps that Mrs. Graves had secured at the headboard of her bed. It helped only marginally to have something to pull against as her child pushed for freedom.
“There, there. It’s all a part of birthing. You’ll forget all about the pain once you’re holding the baby in your arms.”
“I seriously doubt that,” Carolina said, falling back against her pillows as the pain subsided.
Mrs. Graves chuckled and rinsed the towel in a basin of cool water. “There’s not a woman alive but what says the same thing during her laboring time. But I promise you, it’s true. Now, you just rest easy while I go and check on the master and Victoria.”
Carolina nodded and closed her eyes. All she wanted to do was rest, but there was no rest to be had. There was no comfortable position in which to lie, and even if there were, the pains were close enough together that anything more than five or ten minutes of rest would be impossible.
She tried to think about the baby and of what Mrs. Graves had told her all along about delivering a child. She had heeded the woman’s advice in every way possible and knew that the time would pass more easily if she remembered the end goal. Her baby. James’ baby.
She smiled at this thought and sighed. Life had been so much easier these past few days. James and Victoria were bonding in a way that she had once only dreamed was possible. Victoria’s entire mood seemed lightened by the process of adoption, which James had moved through rapidly. He had found Carolina’s attorney, Thomas Swann, to be of tremendous assistance, and Carolina felt grateful that Swann had understood their need. And so it was in a process of one friend calling upon another and then another that Victoria’s adoption was all but signed and sealed. Already she called herself by the Baldwin name, and no one said anything to discourage her from doing so.
“May I come in?” James called from the door.
“Please,” Carolina answered, seeing his worried expression turn to one of sheepish uncertainty.
“Are you sure?” He came to her bedside in hesitant steps. “If you’d rather I not be here—”
“ I’d rather not be here,” Carolina announced with a smile. She reached out her hand and took hold of her husband’s long, lean fingers. “But, of course, we know it is most necessary for me to remain.”
James seemed to relax at this and took up the bedside chair. “So my son is giving you fits, I hear.”
“What makes you so certain it’s a boy?” asked Carolina with a stubborn upward tilt of her chin.
James grinned. “Because that’s what I want him to be. Besides, we already have a lovely daughter.”
“True enough, but what if this is another lovely daughter?” she asked and grimaced, feeling the beginnings of another contraction.
“I would love another daughter, just as I would love a son. Never fear,” he assured her.
Carolina was determined to keep from making an issue of her pain, but as the strength of the contraction gripped her, she cried out and lunged forward against the leather straps, dropping her hold on her husband’s hand. “Oh, James,” she said, moaning in misery, “please pray for me. Pray for us.”
The color had drained from his face. “Let me get Mrs. Graves.”
“Not . . . necessary.” She gasped for breath, fighting the
“Does it always take this long?” she asked as Mrs. Graves wiped a cool towel across her perspiring forehead.
“Sometimes much longer,” she admitted to her young charge. “I figure this little one ought to be born sometime this evening.”
“This evening?” Carolina nearly screamed the question as another pain tore through her abdomen. She pulled against the leather birthing straps that Mrs. Graves had secured at the headboard of her bed. It helped only marginally to have something to pull against as her child pushed for freedom.
“There, there. It’s all a part of birthing. You’ll forget all about the pain once you’re holding the baby in your arms.”
“I seriously doubt that,” Carolina said, falling back against her pillows as the pain subsided.
Mrs. Graves chuckled and rinsed the towel in a basin of cool water. “There’s not a woman alive but what says the same thing during her laboring time. But I promise you, it’s true. Now, you just rest easy while I go and check on the master and Victoria.”
Carolina nodded and closed her eyes. All she wanted to do was rest, but there was no rest to be had. There was no comfortable position in which to lie, and even if there were, the pains were close enough together that anything more than five or ten minutes of rest would be impossible.
She tried to think about the baby and of what Mrs. Graves had told her all along about delivering a child. She had heeded the woman’s advice in every way possible and knew that the time would pass more easily if she remembered the end goal. Her baby. James’ baby.
She smiled at this thought and sighed. Life had been so much easier these past few days. James and Victoria were bonding in a way that she had once only dreamed was possible. Victoria’s entire mood seemed lightened by the process of adoption, which James had moved through rapidly. He had found Carolina’s attorney, Thomas Swann, to be of tremendous assistance, and Carolina felt grateful that Swann had understood their need. And so it was in a process of one friend calling upon another and then another that Victoria’s adoption was all but signed and sealed. Already she called herself by the Baldwin name, and no one said anything to discourage her from doing so.
“May I come in?” James called from the door.
“Please,” Carolina answered, seeing his worried expression turn to one of sheepish uncertainty.
“Are you sure?” He came to her bedside in hesitant steps. “If you’d rather I not be here—”
“ I’d rather not be here,” Carolina announced with a smile. She reached out her hand and took hold of her husband’s long, lean fingers. “But, of course, we know it is most necessary for me to remain.”
James seemed to relax at this and took up the bedside chair. “So my son is giving you fits, I hear.”
“What makes you so certain it’s a boy?” asked Carolina with a stubborn upward tilt of her chin.
James grinned. “Because that’s what I want him to be. Besides, we already have a lovely daughter.”
“True enough, but what if this is another lovely daughter?” she asked and grimaced, feeling the beginnings of another contraction.
“I would love another daughter, just as I would love a son. Never fear,” he assured her.
Carolina was determined to keep from making an issue of her pain, but as the strength of the contraction gripped her, she cried out and lunged forward against the leather straps, dropping her hold on her husband’s hand. “Oh, James,” she said, moaning in misery, “please pray for me. Pray for us.”
The color had drained from his face. “Let me get Mrs. Graves.”
“Not . . . necessary.” She gasped for breath, fighting the
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