South of Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 2) (22 page)

Chapter Forty-Three

    
 
E
mma woke to bright daylight streaming across her on the bed. Disoriented, she touched the bed around her. Roland was not there, she must have overslept. She lay with her eyes closed against the bright light and put her hand on her stomach, feeling the pain and remembering the horrible nightmare. She felt her now flat abdomen and sobbed a single wrenching cry.

      “No, no,” she sobbed deeply.

      “Emma. Hush, it’s okay.” She could hear Roland speaking to her and held her eyes closed, afraid to face him.

      “Leave me alone. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I lost the baby.”

      “No, Emma, no,” he whispered. “The baby is alive.”

      “I saw him,” she closed her eyes tighter. “Don’t lie to me, I saw him.”

      “Shhhh...” he kissed her forehead softly. “The baby is alive. You can see him if you like.”

      She opened her eyes weakly and saw him standing beside her, his face filled with love and worry. He looked pale and exhausted, large dark circles beneath red eyes.

      “Don’t tell me that if it is not true. I couldn’t bear it.”

      “I would not,” he assured. “He is alive. Would you like to see him?”

      He helped her sit up in the bed slightly and she sighed, the room spinning around her.

      “Oh, Roland,” she put her hand to her face. “I feel terrible.” Her head ached dreadfully and her hands shook. “What happened?”

      “There were some problems. We thought we lost you and the baby too. But you’re going to get better now and Ottland is doing really well. I’ll get him.”

      It seemed odd to her that Roland called the baby by name and she watched him cross the room and return with a tiny bundle.

      “Ottland, this is your beautiful mother.”

      Emma struggled to rise up onto her elbow as Roland placed the baby on the bed beside her and the tears ran down her face freely.

      “Oh, Roland. He
is
alive. I thought I saw him. I thought he was…”

      “He’s doing really well, Emma. He had a few tough days, but he snapped right back really well and Isabel thinks he’s perfectly fine. Isn’t he beautiful?”

      “A few days?” Emma touched the baby’s face with a shaky hand.

      “He was born on Sunday night. This is Wednesday. Oh, Emma, I’m so glad you’re awake.” Roland’s hands began to shake.

      “Am I okay? I feel terrible.”

      “There was so much blood. I thought we had lost you both. Rebecca is here, and Isabel. They’re down in the kitchen.” He kissed her hand appreciatively.

      Ottland opened his eyes and lay quietly trying to focus on Emma’s face.

      “He’s so quiet, so beautiful.”

      “You both gave us all a scare. I’m going to get the women. They’ll want to know you are awake and you are probably starving.” Roland put the baby into the bassinet and returned to the bedside.

      “I love you,” he whispered and she could tell by the heaving of his shoulders that he was sobbing as he left the room.

      Emma lay flat on the bed looking around the room trying to remember what had happened. She remembered the blood. The baby did not cry, but was here, alive. Her baby was alive. She choked on the tears of realization and wiped her face with her hands. When she saw Rebecca and Isabel’s expressions as they entered the room, she knew that things had gone badly.

      “Oh, honey!” Rebecca bustled into the room quickly, Isabel close behind her with a tray filled with cups and bowls. Rebecca took her cousin’s hand and rubbed it warmly.

      “Roland,” Emma tried to lift herself from the bed to see where the man had gone. “He looks so exhausted,” she sighed deeply. “What happened?”

      Rebecca gathered several pillows to prop the woman up and shifted her up in the bed with Isabel as the older woman explained.

      “You started hemorrhaging. The baby separated from you too early.” She tucked the blanket in beneath the mattress snugly. “We thought we might have lost you both, but here you are!”

      “Roland said the baby is fine.” She tried to push the image of the tiny infant, limp and blue from her memory.

      “He appears to be. He’s still a little quiet, and it’s very early, but he’s eating well and he’s very bright. I think he’ll do perfectly fine.”

      Emma looked up at Rebecca sadly. “You all must have been so worried. I was so afraid. I am so sorry. Poor Roland looks exhausted. Is he okay?”

      “He never left your side. He has been right here every minute. He can get some rest now and I think he’ll be fine.”

      “Emma,” Isabel asked cautiously. “When you lost your baby before did you have bleeding like this time?”

     “I did, but the doctor told me that I could have more children.”

      “How long did it last?” Isabel suspected that something left over from Emma’s miscarriage had remained.

      “A very long time,” Emma hung her head. “I should have told you more about it. I wanted a baby so bad. I just wanted to believe what the doctor said.” She touched her forehead in misery.

      “It doesn’t matter now. You and the baby are fine. You just get better.”

      “I am so sorry,” Emma began to cry pitifully. “Look at you all waiting on me. My poor Roland looks so terrible and I could have killed another baby with my selfishness.” She sobbed wretchedly.

      “No, no.” Rebecca patted her hand as Isabel laid a cool cloth across her forehead.

      “Emma, none of this is your fault. You lost a lot of blood and it may make you very depressed. We all need you to eat, to get well. It’s important. Please don’t blame yourself for any of this.” Rebecca lifted a bowl of steaming broth and offered Emma a spoonful. She tasted it and then took a spoonful dully, fighting to stay awake.

      “I got two cupfuls of broth into her. In a couple of hours I will try again.” Rebecca touched the exhausted father’s arm. “Roland, please get some rest. Emma can see how exhausted you are. She needs you rested now. We’ll be here. Please.”

      In the middle of the day Isabel got more broth into the young mother and even a few spoonfuls of soup.

      “Roland will sleep another hour or two. You should go home. Tim has brought over all of my things and I will stay until she’s good enough to be up and about. And the maid you brought will be here,” Isabel urged. “Take little Philip home to Stavewood and don’t exhaust yourself as well. We all need to keep up our strength, not only for ourselves but for Emma as well.”

      “Timothy will be back shortly and I’ll go back to Stavewood with him,” Rebecca sighed. “I am very tired. I was so worried we would lose her.”

      “I think the worst is behind us now.” Isabel touched Rebecca’s hand gently as she sat in the kitchen, her own baby sleeping soundly in her arms.

Chapter Forty-Four

    
 
R
oland balanced the baby with one hand while he rinsed the dishes with the other. He had hung all of the now white sheets on the line and made a serious attempt at dusting the parlor. Little Ottland, now three weeks old, gurgled softly in the man’s capable arm.

      Roland changed the baby’s diaper quickly and kissed his tiny forehead. The infant was healthy and filling out now. The wet nurse was needed less frequently and the new style of bottle seemed to work well, although Roland was never comfortable leaving the baby unattended with the device. Roland could see no problems with the babe and every day he became less worried about any lasting effects from his difficult birth.

      Emma stepped to the doorway silently and stood watching the man rinsing dishes with one hand. She had fought terrible depression every minute, in many ways as difficult as overcoming her addiction. She lay in the bed too exhausted to do much more than get up for basic necessities and to sit up to eat. Getting and keeping food down was often a challenge, but she fought hard. She wanted her family, her life and her health back terribly. She wanted to care for her child and mother him. She wanted Roland to be relieved of so much responsibility. He fought to stay cheerful, she knew, and waited on her constantly. She could stand convalescing no longer.

      She had noticed on her slow descent down the stairs that the house was very clean, fresh and aired. All of the linens, she knew, that had been used during the difficult delivery hung unstained and white on the lines.

      “You know you are making it very difficult for me to follow in your footsteps. The house is so immaculate, I am very impressed.”

      Roland turned to face her and the sight of him, infant in hand and white apron around his waist, nearly brought her to tears.

      “Emma! Why are you up? Do you need something?”

      “I need to be up,” she stated and lowered herself into the chair.

      He placed the baby in the bassinet and knelt beside his wife.

      “Oh, Roland, please,” she pleaded. “Let me be up. I cannot bear being in bed another minute and to have you fussing over me any longer. I ought to be doing the dishes and hanging out sheets. Look at you, the house looks great and the baby is doing so well. And I, I am doing so well now.

      “I don’t know what happened exactly. Isabel said maybe something wrong was left from before. I can’t cry another tear over it. I love you and I am so happy the baby is well and that I have you.” She cupped her hand against his cheek.

      All of the fear and worry that Roland had held for the past weeks rose to the surface in him and he looked into her eyes seriously.

      “I didn’t know if I could go on without you. When I thought I’d lose you and lose the baby, I thought I would just snap. Oh, Emma.” He swallowed hard.

      “It’s over now, Roland,” she said in her familiar way, rolling his name off her tongue, and he smiled. “Let’s do what we must to get me back up and around again before I snap.”

      Émigré laid his head on Emma’s lap and whined softly.

      Two days later she stepped cautiously from her first bath since the birth of her baby, and, although she tired easily, she felt rejuvenated. Dressing slowly, she ventured down the stairs. The house was silent and she walked out to the yard.

      Roland had purchased a large, white wicker chair, which held a brightly colored cushion and a soft lap blanket. He directed her to the chair, covered her gently, placed the infant in her lap, and produced a shovel and a wooden box filled with seed packets.

      “Since you cannot dig in your garden yourself I am here at your service. I have all of your seeds and your gardening wish is my command. You tell me what to put and where to put it and by the time you are completely well you will have a thriving garden.” He smiled gallantly and leaned on the shovel.

      Emma knew that if she weren’t already completely enamored with the man he would have won in her heart now in an instant.

      She smiled at him with love in her eyes and began to direct him.

      Several hours later he finished packing the soil over the last row of seeds and looked up to see that she had nodded off quietly, the infant fast asleep against her chest. He stood and watched them, two survivors, warm and resting in the soft shade of the big birch tree. His smallholding was a home now, he thought. He had his wife and his son. He had something he had wanted since he was a child. He had a family. He looked out over the meadow and took a deep breath of the warm spring air.

Chapter Forty-Five

    
 
L
ouisa studied the infant and frowned. The baby had his father’s coloring, a fair creamy complexion and a mass of dark hair on a round head. His cheeks were chubby and plump and he watched the girl intently with dark eyes.

      She marveled at the fact that, although he was a pretty cute baby, he looked nothing like little Philip. This baby studied her but little Phillip liked to take in everything in the room. Where Phillip was a much more verbal infant, Ottland was content and observant. After examining him closely for several minutes the child had come to her conclusion and she stepped away.

      “Well, Loo,” Rebecca asked expectantly. “What do you think of him?”

      “I think that babies are just like their daddies. Phillip is loud and noisy like my daddy and Ott likes to look at you hard like Mister ‘Couver.

      Timothy chuckled aloud and Rebecca shook her head as the family sat in the kitchen at the Vancouver house on their first social visit since the birth of the baby.

      “Cuz’n Emma.” The girl stood beside the woman and scuffed her feet against the floor. “I’m so glad you are going to be better now. Whenever we came to bring things for Mister ‘Couver he looked just terrible with worry over you. He looks so much better now, he was scaring me!”

      The woman patted the child’s hand gently. “I’m glad too, Louisa. I never want Mister Vancouver to ever be worried over me again.”

      Mark shifted Phillip on his lap and hummed deeply as the baby began to fuss.

      Rebecca took the child and she and Emma climbed the stairs to change the children and feed them.

      “Do you miss not nursing him?” Rebecca ventured as she watched her cousin feeding the baby with the double ended glass bottle.

       “I do,” Emma responded thoughtfully. “I will never get back those first few days when I didn’t even see him, but Roland can feed him too and that’s nice, especially since I couldn’t care for him at all. He’s so good with him. Maybe part of that is because he had to be.”

      “I’m sure he would be even if you had not had trouble.”

      They women sat in the quiet room, feeding and loving their babies each in their own way.