"Yes, of course," Judith answered.
Isabelle came rushing inside, drawing everyone's attention. She shut the door behind her and hurried over to Frances Catherine. She took hold of her hand. While Judith stood by, Isabelle repeated all the words of encouragement Judith had given her when she'd begun her laboring. She talked about the miracle about to take place, added that yes, it was messy, but still beautiful, and Frances Catherine must remember to feel the joy in the precious duty of giving a new life to the world.
A warm feeling of contentment filled Judith. She had made a difference in someone's life. She knew she would have to leave this place, and soon, if the council had their way, but while she'd lived here, she had made an impact on someone else's life. At least one other woman besides Frances Catherine would remember her.
Helen hurried out of the cottage to fetch the soup. Isabella had left her son in Winslow's aunt's care, and she left to tell her she'd be staying with Frances Catherine until after her baby was born.
Frances Catherine waited until the door closed behind the two women, then turned to Judith. "Are you worried about me?"
"Perhaps just a little," Judith admitted.
"Why did you have the peculiar look on your face? What were you thinking about when Isabelle was talking to me?"
Judith smiled. Frances Catherine rarely let anything get past her. "I was realizing that I made a little difference in Isabella's life. I helped her bring her son into the world. She won't forget that. The others will forget me, but she won't."
"No, she won't forget," Frances Catherine agreed. She turned the topic then. "Patrick says Iain won't tell him what he's going to do. My husband's convinced the council will sanction both of you. He said that when he told his brother that opinion, Iain just smiled and shook his head."
Judith shrugged. "I won't stay here, no matter what happens. You understand why, don't you? I can't be an outsider again."
"Judith, all the women here seem to feel like outsiders," Frances Catherine argued.
The door burst open. "Well?" Patrick bellowed from the entrance.
"Well, what, husband?"
"Frances Catherine, why is this taking so long?"
"Patrick, you really need to get hold of yourself," Judith ordered. "This isn't going to happen any time soon."
Frances Catherine hurried over to her husband. "I'm sorry this is so upsetting to you, but nothing's happening. I can't make the baby hurry, Patrick."
"Judith, can't you do something?" Patrick demanded.
"Your wife is going to rest now," Judith announced. "We have to be patient."
Patrick let out a sigh. "Winslow says you're twice the size Isabelle was," he remarked with a frown.
Frances Catherine didn't take exception to that comment. She knew her husband was looking for something more to worry about. "I ate twice as much," she told him. "Where did Iain go?"
Patrick found his first smile. "I was driving him daft. He's training with his men."
"You should go and help him," Frances Catherine suggested. "I'll send someone to find you when the time draws near."
Patrick reluctantly agreed to leave. He kept coming back, however, and by nightfall he was camped out on the doorstep.
Isabelle's aunt came to fetch her twice during the long day to feed her infant son, and Helen left once to make certain the elders had a proper dinner and that her son Andrew was being looked after.
Frances Catherine's contractions continued to be inconsistent until late afternoon. They came on with a vengeance then, but Frances Catherine was more than ready to take on the pain.
By midnight she was screaming in agony. She was using the birthing chair and bearing down with all her might during each long, excruciating contraction. Helen used the flat of her hands to push down on Frances Catherine's stomach, but her efforts only intensified the pain. The baby wasn't cooperating.
Something was wrong and everyone knew it. The pains were coming one on top of another, and she should have given birth by now. Something was blocking the delivery. Helen knelt on the floor in front of Frances Catherine to once again check the baby's progress, and when she'd completed her examination, she leaned back on her heels and looked up at Judith.
The fear in her eyes made Judith's stomach twist. Helen motioned her to the other side of the room.
"No whispering," Frances Catherine screamed. "Tell me what's wrong."
Judith nodded agreement. "Yes, tell both of us," she ordered.
"The baby isn't in the right position for the birthing. I felt a foot."
Another contraction seized Frances Catherine. Judith ordered her to bear down. Her friend screamed her refusal. She collapsed forward, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Oh, God, Judith, I can't do this any longer. I want to die. The pain-"
"Don't you dare give up on me now," Judith interrupted.
"I can't get my hand inside," Helen whispered. "We need the hook, Judith."
"No!"
Frances Catherine's tortured scream of denial snapped Judith's control. She was so terrified inside, she barely knew what she was doing. She tore her hand away from her friend's hard grasp, then rushed over to the water bowl. She scrubbed her hands clean. Maude's instructions were echoing in her mind. She didn't know or care that what the midwife had told her might be based on nonsense either. She would follow her procedures and trust that it mattered.
Helen stood up when Judith knelt down in front of Frances Catherine.
Her friend was hoarse from her screams. In a pitiful whisper she pleaded, "Tell Patrick I'm sorry."
"The hell with that nonsense," Judith shouted. She was heartless to her friend's agony now. "Leave it to you, Frances Catherine, to do everything backward."
"Are you thinking to turn the bairn?" Helen asked. "You'll tear her insides if you try."
Judith shook her head. She kept her attention on Frances Catherine. "Tell me when the next pain begins," she commanded.
Helen tried to hand Judith the bowl of pig's fat. "Cover your hands with this grease," she suggested. "It will make the bairn's coming through easier."
"No," Judith answered. She hadn't washed her hands clean so she could cover them with the vile muck.
Isabelle put her hand on Frances Catherine's stomach. A scant minute later she called out, "The pain's starting now. I feel the tightness building."
Judith started praying. Frances Catherine started screaming. Helen and Isabelle held her steady while Judith worked.
Judith's heart almost dropped into her stomach when she felt the tiny foot protruding from the opening. She was praying out loud now, but no one could hear her. Frances Catherine's screams drowned out every other sound. Judith gently moved the foot down and then went in search of the missing one.
God answered her prayer. She didn't have to reach far to find the missing foot. She slowly eased it down through the opening.
Frances Catherine did the rest. She couldn't stop herself from bearing down. The baby would have landed on her feet if Judith hadn't caught her in time.
The beautiful infant who had given them all such a scare was petite in size, adorably chubby, and had a sprinkle of fire-red hair covering her crown. She was extremely dainty-looking… and had a roar very similar to her mother's.
She was perfect.
So was her sister. She didn't give them any trouble at all. She caught everyone by surprise, though. Frances Catherine was weeping with joy, and relief, too, that the ordeal was finally over. Helen had gone outside to complete the ritual of burying the afterbirth in accordance with the rules of the Church, so that demons wouldn't attack the mother or her infant while they were in such a vulnerable condition, and Isabelle was busy cooing to the baby while she gave her her first bath. Judith was washing Frances Catherine when she suddenly started bearing down again. Judith told her to stop it. She was worried about hemorrhage. Frances Catherine couldn't stop. Her second daughter was born just minutes later. She was polite enough to arrive head first.