A Matter of Principle (22 page)

Sally’s eyes widened. “With wings?”

“
O’ course, with wings! But ye won’t see them just yet, ye know. They have to grow.”

“
Oh.” Sally slumped a little with disappointment.

“
And you, girlie, have been chosen as its special sister. No other girl in this world was chosen. Only you.” Sydney shook her head solemnly. “I hope ye are ready to help.”

“
I’ll help!” Sally nodded, her curls bouncing.

“
Alright then. Ye must start now. This very minute. Because if ye don’t, the angel might chose another sister!”

“
No!” Sally looked as though she might cry, for real this time.

“
And here’s what ye must do.” Sydney shifted the girl in her lap. “Ye must be very quiet while your mother is helping the angel pass into this world. It’s a very special magic, and she needs to pay attention. She cannot be concerned about you at this time. Do ye understand me?”

Sally nodded.

“
Good. Your father will tell ye when the magic is over, won’t ye?” Sydney looked up at Wilbur who, along with Mrs. Ansel, had slipped into the room to listen.

“
Yes!” He cleared his throat. “I will, Sally. I promise.”

Sally stared at her father. He held his arms out, and Sydney pushed just a little. Sally stood and crossed into her father’s arms. Wilbur cradled her and mouthed ‘thank you’ over her head.

Sydney climbed to her feet and shook out her skirt. “Now I’ll go be seein’ about helpin’ that angel a bit myself. You see to bein’ a good sister, Sally. And whatever ye do…” Sydney leaned down to the child. “Don’t tell a soul about the baby bein’ an angel, or me bein’ a faerie. This world’s not a safe place for either of us if they find out!”

“
I won’t,” Sally whispered.

“
Promise me, then?”

Sally nodded and looked up at Wilbur. “You, too, Daddy.”

“
I promise!” Wilbur assured her. “Not a word.”

“
My lips are sealed,” Ada Ansel added. “Let me take you up, dearie.”

Sydney climbed the stairs behind the landlady once again. The distressing sounds had abated, but as she drew nearer she heard Karlie whimpering. Mrs. Ansel knocked on the door, then pushed it open.

“
I’ve brought Mrs. Hansen!” she announced.

Berta O’Shea whirled, mouth open first in surprise, then widening in anger. “Why?” she demanded.

“
Is Sally well?” Karlie called from the bed. “She grew so quiet of a sudden…”

“
She’s fine! Mrs. Hansen calmed her. She’s with her father,” Ada’s tone brooked no argument. “And now she’ll help you!”

“
But I am already here,” Berta pointed out. “There is no need for another midwife!”

With a howl that rivaled any feral creature of the woods, Karlie curled on the bed, her face an astonishing red. Sydney looked to Berta, who did nothing.

“
How far is she?” Sydney asked over the wails.

“
Not far enough,” Berta shrugged. “There’s no reason for you to stay!”

Sydney stood in place, torn between wanting to rush to the woman’s side, and not wanting to add fuel to an already simmering feud between the two Cheltenham midwives.

“
Oh, God! I’m going to die!” Karlie screamed.

Sydney was beside her before she remembered crossing the room. She rested one hand on the woman’s belly and the other her back, pressing both. Karlie was holding her breath.

“
Karlie, blow out! Hard!” Sydney instructed. Startled, Karlie complied. “Now breathe in and push your belly against my hand.”

Karlie did as she was told, almost. She was still scared and in pain, but she seemed to try. The pain passed.

“
That’s good,” Sydney encouraged. She glanced at a clock on the bedside table. “Now close your eyes and relax.”

Sydney massaged Karlie’s back and murmured comforting words. She felt tension begin to leave the woman’s body.

“
When the next pain starts, I will count out loud. Karlie, you need to take deep breaths in, and push your abdomen against my hand, until I tell you to cease. Might you do that?”

Karlie turned her head to look at Sydney.

Sydney spoke low and slow. “Don’t look at me, Karlie. Close your eyes. Rest between the pains.”

Karlie’s head sank into the pillow. It required several tries, but she began to accomplish it. Sydney kept an eye on the clock.

“
Her pains are but three minutes apart and lasting for more than a minute each,” she said to Berta over her shoulder. “How long has she been this way?”

Berta O’Shea was angrily stuffing her things into her basket; Sydney had been too busy to notice.

“
She was having pains five minutes apart, lasting but half a minute, until you touched her!” The other woman’s voice wavered, on the verge of hysteria. “You have cast some sort of spell on her! And against me, I’ll wager!”

“
Spell?” Sydney shook her head. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“
You are a witch, Hansen.” Berta O’Shea swirled her cloak around her shoulders.

“
Don’t be absurd, Berta! I merely—”

“
Cast a spell on the child, too!” Berta shouted, pointing a finger at Sydney. “She was inconsolable until you came!”

“
The girl only required a firm hand!” Sydney retorted.

“
I’ve seen you do this before!” Berta accused.

“
Do what?” Sydney felt the grip of anger clench her chest.

“
Calm a birthing woman with a word, or a touch!”

Sydney wanted to scream at the woman’s idiotic logic. “How is that a bad thing?” she managed.

“
It not a natural thing!” Berta countered. “Birthing hurts! It is supposed to hurt! The Bible says it’s a woman’s curse!”

Sydney narrowed her eyes. “I can’t take away the pain, Berta. You’re being ridiculous.”

“
No? Well, you conjure up something so they don’t notice it, then!” Berta crossed herself.

Karlie began to whimper.

Sydney pulled her attention away from the midwife and drew a deep breath of her own. “One, two, three, four…” she whispered in Karlie's ear. “Push against my hand…”

Berta O’Shea fixed an eye on Ada Ansel. “Mark my words, Lady Ada! There is something not right about this woman! And I shan’t wait here any longer and risk being cast under one of her spells!”

Berta thrust her hand through the handle of her basket and stomped from the room. Her footfalls faded down the stairs and were punctuated by the rattling slam of the boarding house front door. Ada waved her hands after the departing midwife.

“
Get on with you!” she spat. Then she turned to Sydney. “What will you need, dearie?”



“
She called you a witch?” Nicolas handed her a glass of wine.

“
I cannot believe that woman!” Sydney blustered. “Of all the—the—”

“
Ridiculous? Unfounded? Superstitious?” Nicolas offered.

Sydney pointed at Nicolas. “Yes! All of those!”

“
And dangerous.”

That brought Sydney up short. “Dangerous?”

Nicolas sat on the rocking chair by their fire and watched Sydney change and wash for dinner. “Unfortunately, there are those who still believe in witchcraft as an active pursuit.”

“
But this is the nineteenth century!” Sydney scoffed. “It’s been well over a hundred years since the Salem trials!”

“
I am not saying it’s a rational belief,
min presang
.” Nicolas considered the burgundy liquid in his glass. “But an accusation such as that could stir up some unpleasantness.”

Sydney considered her husband, lips pursed.

“
Is your concern for me?” she ventured. “Or for your reputation? And your campaign?”

Nicolas paused. “Can the two truly be separated?”

Sydney’s shoulders fell. “I suppose not.”

Nicolas reached for her and she crossed to him. He pulled her to his lap. “Is there anything else you wish to tell me?”

“
I don’t know. There was a daughter, about three years of age and plump. A holy terror!” A wry smile curled Sydney’s lip. “If Kirstie behaved so, I’d take a switch to her post haste!”

“
Then I pray my daughter’s behavior remains as impeccable as it is thus far!” Nicolas showed mock consternation in his voice and countenance. “What was the ‘terror’ attempting to accomplish?”

Sydney removed herself from Nicolas’s lap. She wet a cloth and washed her face, talking through the fabric. “She wanted into the room where her mother was laboring, but the father hadn’t a strong enough constitution to control her. She actually lay on the floor, kicking the door!”

Nicolas chuckled. “What was your weapon?”

“
Imagination. I told her I was a faerie.” Sydney began to un-plait her hair while she spoke. “I used my mother’s Irish brogue.”

Nicolas narrowed his eyes, frowning slightly. “And that worked?”

“
Like the proverbial charm.” Sydney lifted her brush and worked it through her hair.
Perhaps that was a bad choice of words.

A softly surprised look shifted Nicolas’s countenance. “I remember when Gunnar was born.”

Sydney paused in her task. “Do you? How old were you?”

“
I was less than two.” Nicolas tapped a knuckle against his lip. “I remember it was my bedtime and I wanted my mother. She couldn’t come; she was laboring. But I didn’t understand that, of course. I was fit to be tied up! Just as your ‘terror’ I imagine.”

Sydney sank into the chair by her dressing table. “What happened?”

Nicolas began to laugh. “I clearly remember kicking Addie, screaming that I wanted my
Mamma
. She tried to put me into bed, but I kept running to my parent’s door. This door.”

Sydney smiled at the thought of little Nicky, stubbornly insisting, even then, on having his way.

“
They finally allowed me to sit on the floor outside,” Nicolas continued. “But then I could hear her inside.” Nicolas ran his hand through his hair. “In truth, it was rather terrifying.”

Sydney nodded slowly. “How long did you remain there?”

“
All night. I did sleep at some point, stretched out on the hard wood floor with my head against the door. There was a blanket, as I recall…” Nicolas looked to the ceiling as he recollected bits of the occurrence. “Gunnar was born just before dawn, it seems. I heard his early cries. And that was rather puzzling, make no mistake!”

Nicolas laughed again and waved his hand toward the massive bed. “When I was allowed into the room, I stood beside this very bed, wondering what amazing magic had occurred that this ugly little creature in my mother’s arms had, quite suddenly, appeared out of nowhere!”

A laugh burst from Sydney. “I had never considered birth from a toddler’s view. At the least, Stefan was six and could understand where his sister came from!”

Nicolas shook his head. “And demanded to be told, specifically, how she got inside of you to begin with!”

“
Like father, like son,” Sydney confirmed. She blew him a kiss.



In spite of the successful birth of Wilbur Cartwright Renfrew II, Berta O’Shea spread her rumors of Sydney’s use of witchcraft. Her retelling of the faerie story was not helpful in dispelling the notion, though Sydney couldn’t say how she knew about it.

Of course, not everyone believed them. But they passed them along in any case, as interesting gossip. In truth, no one had ever been punished for practicing witchcraft in Missouri. The hysteria of the late 1600’s truly was long past, and a more intellectual point of view was generally respected now.

But the idea titillated.

And the whispers grew louder.

Chapter Seventeen

February 8, 1822

St. Louis

Nicolas stepped back, right into Leif.

“
You foolish boy!” he barked. “
Vokt mannen i det røde stroke!
”
Watch the man in the red coat.

“
Sorry, sir.
Med de stygge skoene?
”
With the ugly shoes?

Nicolas could not stop himself from glancing down. Beckermann’s shoes were, indeed, ugly. “Yes. Apology accepted. Now get away from me; go wait in a corner or some such place!”

Beckermann watched the teen slump away. “Why do you tolerate such behavior, Hansen?”

Nicolas heaved a long-suffering sigh, his gaze fixed on Leif’s path and apparent destination. “He’s a cousin. Orphaned in Christiania. It’s my Christian duty, is it not?” He turned to Beckermann expecting his gentleman’s understanding.

Beckermann nodded and slapped Nicolas’s shoulder. “Don’t allow the boy to become an anchor, Hansen. When he’s old enough, cut him loose.”

Nicolas bowed slightly. “I shall keep your advice, sir. After all, you do know ships.”