Saturday's Child (19 page)

❧

But ten hours later, it was clear that there was a great deal to worry about. Katie's labor had lasted through the afternoon, with the pains coming closer together just as they should. Quentin held her hand, wiping the dampness from her forehead, feeling his fear rise with every pain that gripped her.

It didn't seem right that it should hurt so much but Katie kept assuring that everything was proceeding normally, Louise had told her what to expect and the pain was nothing compared to the joy of holding her child. But Quentin couldn't shake the feeling of disaster that hovered over him.

He told himself it was only his imagination, that Katie must surely know what was right, but the feeling lingered in the back of his mind.

As the pains grew almost continuous and she grew paler and weaker and still there was no child, he couldn't convince himself any longer that it was just his imagination that something was wrong. She arched, her body twisting with pain. He could see the contraction ripple across her taut belly, feel it in the grip of her hand on his forearm, her nails digging deep into his skin. When the pain faded, she seemed to lapse into a state near to unconsciousness.

Quentin eased himself away from the bed, running his hand through his hair. The room was warm, but not warm enough to account for the sweat that dampened his back. He was scared. More than scared. He was terrified. He didn't have to be a doctor to know that something was wrong; Katie was too pale, too weak.

In the front room, he knew the hands were keeping a vigil. Katie had touched all their lives for the better, making them part of a big family. They'd come to love her. Just as he did.

The thought slipped in so naturally that it was a moment before the impact hit him. He loved her. My God, how could he have been so blind? He loved Katie. How long had he loved her?

How could he have lied to himself for so long? He'd told himself that he cared for her, that he'd married her for practical reasons. And yes, God help him, he'd even told himself that he'd married her out of compassion.

"Quentin?" Katie's voice rose in a moan and he spun back to the bed. Her hands were knotted in the quilts, her body arched with pain. Quentin dropped to his knees, taking her hand in his, trying to will some of his strength into her suddenly fragile body. As the pain eased, she fell back, her skin as pale as the linen on which she lay.

Quentin brushed the sweat-soaked hair back from her forehead, fear almost choking him. Now that he'd finally realized his feelings, he couldn't lose her. Not again. He couldn't bear that again.

"Katie? Can you hear me?"

His voice seemed very far away. Katie opened her eyes with a great effort, seeing Quentin's face hovering over hers. He looked so pale and worried. She wanted to reassure him, wanted to tell him not to worry. But she was so tired. So very tired. Before she could summon up the energy to say his name, the pain came again.

It seemed even more fierce this time, as if a great fist had grabbed her belly and was squeezing. She cried out, her body writhing as she struggled to escape the pain. She was no longer conscious of the fact that it was a child she was trying to give birth to. All she knew was that some alien creature was tearing her apart, fighting all her efforts to expel it from her body.

She whimpered as the pain eased, leaving her trembling and so weak that even breathing seemed too much of an effort. It took a great effort to lift her eyes in response to Quentin's voice.

"Katie, there's something wrong." He was brushing a cool cloth over her forehead. It felt so good. She wanted to close her eyes and concentrate on the gentle stroking. She wanted to drift away on it. Someplace far away where the pain couldn't find her again. But Quentin was still talking, and he looked so serious.

She frowned, trying to understand what he was saying.

"I think the babe is turned wrong. Katie, do you hear me? I think the baby is breach. He has to be turned."

"The baby." She felt a spurt of fear, her hand fluttering weakly to her stomach. Nothing could happen to her baby. Not now. "The baby."

Quentin caught her hand, his eyes fierce on hers. "Katie, I have to try and turn him. Will you let me try? Do you trust me, Katie?"

For one moment, her mind was crystal clear. She looked up into Quentin's eyes, felt the strength in the hand that held hers.

"With my life," she answered, her voice faint but holding a confidence Quentin only wished he felt. "With my life."

"I'll take care of you," he promised. "Everything will be all right."

But she was already in the grip of another contraction and didn't hear him.

Later, she could remember only two things about the time that followed. Pain, an overwhelming, dominating force that threatened to swallow her completely, leaving nothing but a shell behind. And the sound of Quentin's voice. She couldn't grasp what he was saying but she could hear him talking. It was that sound that she clung to when the pain threatened to grow too great to bear.

The pain peaked to a level of agony almost beyond what her weakened body could stand. Through the pain, she heard Quentin's voice, demanding.

"Push, Katie. We're almost there. Push."

She couldn't push. There was no strength in her. Didn't he know that? But still that voice commanded relentlessly. And suddenly she was pushing with the last ounce of strength in her body. Quentin's hand on her stomach aided her as the baby slid from the birth canal at last.

Katie lay back, panting, light-headed with the sudden surcease of pain. It was several seconds before the silence penetrated her dazed mind. Where was the baby's cry? The reward for all these endless hours of labor? She struggled up on one elbow, blinking to clear her eyes.

The baby lay at the foot of the bed, a tiny form, perfect in every way. A boy, Katie noted with one part of her mind. She had a son. But he was so still and pale, much too pale. Even as the realization came to her, Quentin was bending over the infant, covering the mouth and nose with his own mouth, one hand pressing gently on the tiny chest as he sought to breathe his own life into his son's body.

Katie pressed her fist against her mouth, hardly breathing as she watched Quentin repeat the procedure, once, twice, a third time, coaxing the new lungs to take air. He lifted his head and she caught back a frantic sob, sure that his efforts had been in vain. But as she watched, the narrow chest rose and fell, then rose again. One tiny hand stirred and the baby's mouth opened, letting loose a weak, mewling cry. It was hardly more than a whimper but it was enough to start Katie's heart beating again.

Quentin lifted his eyes to hers, sharing the miracle of the moment, unashamed of the tears that dampened his cheeks. His hands were shaking as he lifted his son, wrapping him in a soft flannel blanket before carrying him to the head of the bed.

"Katie Sterling, I give you our son." There was an odd note of formality in his tone, as if he were speaking some ceremony. "A son. We have a son."

"A beautiful son," Quentin said softly. But looking at her, he realized she was no longer listening. The effort of the past few hours had caught up with her. She was asleep, her finger still resting against the baby's cheek.

He leaned over to brush the blanket back from the infant's face and his son opened blurry eyes to stare up at him, one hand waving aimlessly. He knew the men would be waiting in the front room, anxious to hear that mother and child were well. He should tell them the news. There were probably half a dozen things he should be doing, but he couldn't seem to draw himself away from the miracle that lay before him.

He drew the rocking chair close to the bed and sat down heavily, his eyes on the bed. He'd get up in a minute. In a minute, he'd start trying to deal with everything that had happened. In just a minute.

Outside, a soft wind kicked the fallen snow into gentle whirls. A full moon shone down out of a cloudless sky, though dawn was not far off. A coyote howled from a nearby hill, seeking a mate. A lost, lonely sound.

In the little house, the hands had heard the baby's cry and drawn their own conclusions. Slapping each other on the back as if they were responsible for the tiny new life in their midst, they trooped through the bitter cold to the bunkhouse, making bets on whether the boss had him a son or a daughter.

Laredo snorted his dislike of this late-night disturbance and moved a little closer to the barn, his eyes on the distant mountains.

Quentin slept, his long body crowded into the rocker he'd bought for Katie's smaller frame. His dreams were full of death. Alice falling through the ice, her wide blue eyes pleading with him to help her. Only suddenly, it wasn't Alice, it was Katie, begging him for help, even as the icy waters dragged at her, pulling her away from him.

He stirred, his brow pleated with agony as he saw his life shattered again and again, first Alice, then Katie. The sequence was repeated over and over until he woke, chilled and shaking, just as dawn was breaking.

❧

It was nearly noon when Louise Campbell and her escort arrived, to be greeted by the news that Katie had had her baby the night before.

When Louise bustled into the bedroom, Katie was propped up against the pillows, her son cradled in her arms. Katie looked up, a smile breaking over her pale features when she saw the other woman.

"Well, 1 see you didn't wait. Didn't I tell you that babies came on their own schedule?" She strode over to the bed, bending over to admire the sleeping infant. "Well, look at that chin. Just like his daddy's. No wonder he didn't wait for me to get here."

As she spoke, she set her hand against Katie's forehead, nodding with satisfaction when she found no trace of fever.

"You look well, despite having to depend on a man. Lefty tells me there was some problem."

"Did you talk to Quentin?" Katie asked, a touch of anxiety in her eyes.

"Quentin didn't say much beyond pointing me in this direction. Man looks like he was drug through a knothole backward."

"The baby was breech."

"Lordy." Louise sat down in the rocker, finding it only slightly more accommodating than Quentin had. "You Irish can't do anything the simple way. How are you feeling now?"

"Tired. And sore. But I'm all right," Katie dismissed her own suffering with a wave of her hand. Holding her son in her arms made the agony of the day before seem a distant thing. "It's Quentin I'm worried about."

"Quentin? Sounds to me like the man did just fine. Breech." She shook her head wonderingly.

"He was wonderful last night. I'd surely have died if it hadn't been for him. And the baby, too. Quentin breathed life into him or he'd surely have died." She stopped, stroking the pale down on the baby's head, her eyes full of tears.

"Well, then what are you worried about?"

"He looks so pale and stern. And he's hardly spoken to me or looked at the baby. Oh, he's been kind, taking care of me and all, but he doesn't smile."

"The man's had a bit of a shock," Louise told her comfortably, pushing the picture of Quentin's set face from her mind. "You gave him a scare, honey, and men don't take kindly to that. Tends to make them testy, it does. Now, look at that, he's waking up."

Louise leaned forward as the baby stirred in Katie's arms. "You think I could hold him?"

Louise's hands were firm and confident as she took the infant. He blinked up at her, his eyes pale blue and unfocused. "He's going to have eyes just like his daddy's, too. Blue as sin."

"I thought all babies had blue eyes," Katie said sleepily.

"That's true, but I'd be willing to bet that this little one is going to keep his blue eyes. Just look at that chin. He ain't goin' to change his mind about nothin'."

There was no answer from Katie. Looking at her, Louise saw that she'd fallen asleep. Settling the baby more comfortably against her ample bosom, she reached out to pull the blanket up over Katie's shoulders.

"Look at her," she muttered, as much to herself as to the infant she held. "Shadows dark as coal under her eyes and her skin pale as the snow outside. You're lucky you didn't lose your mama, before you even had her."

"How is she?"

Louise turned, startled to find Quentin standing in the doorway. He was looking at Katie, and Louise thought it was a pity that Katie couldn't see him now. If she'd ever seen a man's love in his eyes, this was it.

"She'll do. She'll need some care and feeding up but she'll do."

"She was in so much pain," he said, as much to himself as to her.

"Well, nobody said havin' a baby was an easy thing. But I'd guess if you was to ask her if she thought it was worth it, she'd tell you it was.

"And don't you go thinkin' this means you have to worry about every baby because it means no such thing. Ain't no reason to think there'd be any problems with the others. Why, I know a woman who's first little one was turned, like to killed his mama. But she went on to have eight more and every one of 'em as normal as day. So don't you get in a lather about that."

"She's so small."

"She's small but she's got good wide hips. She won't have any trouble bearing you a passel of fine sons and a daughter or two, no doubt."

"We'll see."

Quentin didn't add anything more, but Louise had the uneasy feeling that he'd made up his mind that the little one she held was the last Katie would be carrying. She shook her head over the foolishness of men as he left the room.

"I suspect your mama will have plenty to say about that when she's feelin' better. Men just don't understand these things the way a woman does. The best things in life come along with a certain amount of hurt, whether it's havin' a baby or lovin' someone. You don't get anything for free.

"Your daddy's had a scare, but he'll get over it and I'd bet my best petticoat that in a year or two, they'll be presentin' you with a brother or sister. You mark my words."

But when she left a week later, Louise wasn't quite so confident. It was nothing she could quite put her finger on, but it did seem as though Quentin was holding himself back in a way that wasn't quite the typical reaction of a man who'd so nearly lost both his wife and child.

She turned in her seat as the wagon moved down the lane. Katie was standing on the porch, wrapped in a heavy coat. Louise lifted her hand and saw Katie return the gesture. Quentin stood behind her, his face cool and impassive.

If it hadn't been for those few moments when she'd seen him watching Katie when he thought no one was observing him, Louise might have been more concerned. There could be no doubting that he loved Katie, loved her deeply.

Well, every man dealt with his fears in his own way. Maybe Quentin just needed some time. She turned back around to face forward. If Katie could just have a little patience, she didn't doubt that they'd be just fine.