Tracie Peterson (29 page)

“You think you have all the answers, don’t you?” Digger said angrily. He hated this lack of control over their circumstances. He hated feeling they were simply out there somewhere without any hope of making it back.

“No, I don’t think that at all, Digger. But I know who does have the answers. And furthermore, I’m not afraid to ask for help. But you are.”

“Are you talking about the kind of help like Melody’s parents gave?”

Deacon looked at his co-pilot rather sympathetically. “Digger, they were just hurt and disappointed. They’re only human.”

“Well, I don’t need their kind in my life.”

“Are you going to deny Melody the right to see her folks? What about the baby? Are you going to keep the baby from his grandparents? You’re all one family now. After the war, you’re going to have to find a way to put this all behind you and if not through the power of God, then what?” Deacon questioned.

Digger shrugged and looked away. “Maybe I don’t see it like you do. I can keep Melody happy. She won’t need her folks and neither will I.” He didn’t really convince himself with the words and was certain he hadn’t convinced Deacon.

“Maybe, maybe not. But one thing is for certain,” Deacon said quite seriously, “you’re going to need something.”

“I know. I know. Don’t preach at me.” Digger’s voice betrayed his exasperation. “You think I need religion.”

“I think you need God.”

“Same thing.”

“No, Digger. It isn’t. He isn’t a man-made religion. God is so much more than what most religions allow Him to be. He isn’t limiting like Melody’s parents suggest. He can forgive sin and does so on a regular basis.”

“How would you know?”

Deacon smiled. “Because He forgives me.”

“I thought you were perfect. Saved and sanctified and cleansed by the blood!” Digger said as if he’d taken to a pulpit. He could hear those words from his folks and grandparents as if it were yesterday. He could remember songs they’d sung on Sunday morning with words so vivid about forgiveness and redemption.

“All of the latter, but not perfect,” Deacon answered. “I’m forgiven and there is a difference.”

Digger scowled and kept his focus straight ahead. “Well, let it be your difference, then. I don’t see it that way now and I’m not going to see it that way later. Provided there is a later.”

“Well, we don’t have the luxury of waiting around here,” Deacon said, deciding the time had come to execute his plan. “We’re going to turn ninety degrees from our heading and see where that gets us.”

“Pilot to crew. We’re making a ninety-degree turn off of our current heading. Keep your eyes open for landfall and don’t forget that 109 is still out there somewhere.”

“Roger, Deac” came a unison chorus.

“Melody,” Ginny said rather gravely, “I think we have a problem.”

The older woman had just checked the baby’s progress and to her great consternation, found that the baby was breech.

“Problem?” the girl asked rather shaken. “Is the baby all right?”

Ginny tried to sound confident. “I believe so, for the time. But he’s backward. He’s coming bottom first and that isn’t good.”

“What can we do?”

Ginny heard the terror in the girl’s voice. She reached up and smoothed back Melody’s blond, sweat-soaked hair. “I’m going to call Doc Ketterman and see if he’s been freed up to head our way. You’re far enough along that I don’t think we can safely move you to the hospital, even if I could get someone out in this ice. We’re going to have to do what we can and trust the rest to God.”

“I’m so scared, Ginny. Please don’t let my baby die!” Melody began to sob uncontrollably, and Ginny knew she had to get the girl calm.

“Look, you can’t give yourself over to this kind of spell. You need your energy, and crying and such is only going to wear you out. Why don’t you write a letter while I go try to get ahold of the doctor,” Ginny suggested. She reached over to the nightstand and pulled open the drawer. Inside she found paper and a pencil. “Write to Collin. Tell him how excited you are. Tell him how much you love him. Tell him anything.”

Melody took the paper and pencil and allowed Ginny to help her onto her side. Ginny then brought a book for Melody to use for a writing surface. Seeing that the girl was as comfortable as possible, she went to make her call.

“Mary Beth,” Ginny said, reaching the operator, “I need to get a call through to Doc Ketterman.”

“Has the baby come yet?” the operator questioned.

“No, and it’s going to be a while in coming. Looks to be breech and I need to talk to the doctor.”

“Poor lamb. What a shame to go through such a time with your first baby. You know I had three children and all three were head down and easy as pie. Of course, my sister Annabelle, now, she had trouble right from the start. Poor thing had to go to bed for her entire time of confinement.”

“I remember,” Ginny said, trying to remain patient. “I helped deliver her babies as well as yours, if you recall.”

“Of course I remember. I still have all my faculties.”

The woman was clearly offended, but Ginny didn’t have time to worry over such things. Mary Beth always had a penchant for discussing everyone’s business and never once did it occur to her that she was being a gossip or a bore.

The phone was ringing now and Mary Beth was silent. No doubt she’d listen in on the entire conversation.

“Hello?” came the voice at the other end of the line. The weather made the connection sound nearly as poor as the long-distance call Ginny had made earlier in the day.

“This is Ginny Williams again. Could I talk to the doctor?”

“I’m afraid he’s gone. He went with my pa to help old Gus Ferguson to the hospital,” replied the young woman.

“I see,” Ginny replied, wondering what she should do next.

“You want me to connect you to the hospital?” Mary Beth asked without waiting for another word to be spoken.

“Yes, Mary Beth,” Ginny answered, “I suppose that would be the best.”

But the news was not good. Doc Ketterman hadn’t shown up yet and the nurse had no time to discuss much of anything with Ginny.

“It’s like we’ve got our own private war going on,” the woman told Ginny. “The ice has caused several accidents.”

“I’m sure sorry to hear that,” Ginny said. “I have a young woman here who is about to deliver a breech baby. I need to talk to Doc Ketterman to see what I should do.”

“Can you turn the baby?” the woman questioned. “That’s always best. I know you’ve had experience in nursing. Haven’t you delivered a breech?”

“Yes, I have,” Ginny replied, “but I haven’t kept up much with modern medicine. I thought maybe there were new techniques—things to make it go easier.”

“Not really,” the woman replied. “See if you can’t just push the baby back up enough to turn him. If he’s stuck solid in the birthing canal, you may not have a chance to do this.”

“I remember,” Ginny said, none too happy. She hung up the telephone in despair. “Lord, I need you. Now more than ever, I need you.”

Up until that moment, the reality of what was happening hadn’t really sunk in. Now Ginny realized she was most likely going to be Melody’s only help in this delivery. She went quickly to the linen closet and pulled out several towels and extra sheets. Next, she went to the back porch and pulled down the galvanized tub from the wall. She’d have to scour this out good, but then she’d be able to use it for keeping things clean—herself, Melody, and hopefully the baby.

Melody cried out and Ginny glanced quickly at the clock. The contractions were only about ten minutes apart now. There was no telling how much longer this would go on. Ginny had seen stubborn babies before and breech deliveries were always questionable.

“I’ll be there in a minute, Melody. Just bite down on that washcloth I gave you,” Ginny called to the girl.

“Father,” she said as she scrubbed out the tub, “I feel completely inadequate to this task, but you surely know that. I’m praying that you will guide me to know what I’m to do. This poor girl is so alone right now and she’s scared and hurting. Lord, please make it easy on her. Ease her mind of worry and deliver her safely of this child.”

Once the tub was scoured and drying beside the sink, Ginny built a fire in the stove and began heating water. She tried to think of all the things she’d need. Scissors, string, baby blankets, towels, and water. Her mind raced with thoughts of what she’d do if things went wrong. She wasn’t in any way capable of performing emergency surgery on the poor woman. If the baby refused to be born or got stuck, the outlook was grim.

She shook the thought from her head and carried the tub into Melody’s room. She cleared the top of the nightstand and placed the tub there. Melody was still on her side and still trying to write her letter to Collin.

“I’m going to gather some things we’ll need,” Ginny told Melody. “Then I’m going to have to check the baby again.”

“Please hurry,” Melody said, looking up mournfully at Ginny. “I don’t want to be alone.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

Ginny hurried around the house, gathering everything she thought might be useful. Last of all she checked the water and found it sufficiently hot and brought it with her to pour into the tub.

“I’ll be right back. I’m going to put some more water on to boil. It makes the house warmer anyway, and we just might need it in the long run.”

Melody moaned. “Oh, hurry, Ginny. I feel so strange.”

Ginny worried at this statement and rushed back to the kitchen to put on the water. Usually when women commented on feeling strange, they were transitioning into the stage of labor where they were ready to push. She glanced at the wall and saw that not even five minutes had passed since Melody’s previous contraction. The pains were coming closer together.

Ginny steadied her nerves and rolled up her sleeves. There was no putting this off. The baby would come in its own time and she supposed Doc Ketterman would do the same.

Helping Melody to roll onto her back, Ginny went to work checking the position of the baby. The baby was wedged tight and refused to budge, even when Ginny tried her hardest to push the baby back. Melody screamed in pain as Ginny tried one more time to adjust the baby.

“I’m so sorry, child,” she whispered. “This isn’t very comfortable, and I know you’re hurting. The thing is, if I can get the baby to turn around and come head first, it’ll be much easier for both of you.”

“Don’t mind me,” Melody said, between clenched teeth. “Do whatever you have to. Just help my baby.”

“I want to help you both,” Ginny said, trying to maintain a smile. “But it looks like this baby is coming bottom first and that’s that.”

Melody cried out in pain and grabbed for the iron railing at the head of the bed. “The baby’s coming now!”

Ginny felt Melody’s abdomen tighten. “Do you feel like you have to push?”

“Yes!” Melody cried. “I can’t . . . I have to . . . push.” Her moans
gradually built to a crescendoing scream. “Make it stop!”

Ginny patted her gently. “You have to stop fighting it. This baby is coming whether you like it or not.” She reached up and wiped Melody’s forehead. The young woman’s blue eyes pleaded with Ginny to put an end to her misery.

“I’m going to die, aren’t I?” Melody said, suddenly much calmer.

“Goodness, child, every new mama thinks that,” Ginny said reassuringly.

“No, this is different. Oh, I wish Collin were here. I just want to see him one more time. I just need to be with him—to know he’s safe. Ginny, you will give him my letter, won’t you?”

Ginny glanced to the half-written missive at the girl’s side. “Not until you finish it up. You’ll have a chance to write some more after the baby’s born.”

Melody gritted her teeth and strained against the pain that was coming much more quickly now. “I . . . won’t . . . get a chance. Just . . . ahhh . . . just give it . . . to Collin.”

Ginny could see that the baby was edging ever closer to birth. “It shouldn’t be too long now, Melody.”

“Promise me,” Melody said, gasping for breath, “promise you’ll take care of the baby if I die.”

“Stop being so morbid,” Ginny commanded. In truth she was already worried about both mother and baby and she didn’t need Melody’s reminder that things were far from right.

“Please, Ginny. Take care of the baby until you can talk to Collin. He’ll know what to do.”

Ginny grimaced as Melody pushed harder than ever to expel the baby. “Melody, there is one way you can help the baby.” She remembered another breech delivery from many years ago. An older woman, a local midwife, had instructed the mother to continue pushing during the final delivery moments and not let up until the woman told her otherwise. This had seemed to help keep the woman’s body from clamping down on the baby’s neck and thus strangling the poor infant before a full delivery could be made.

“When the baby begins to come out, I want you to keep pushing until I tell you to stop. Do you understand me?”

Melody let go of the metal railing and pushed the hair from her face. “I think so.”

“It’s very important and it’s one way you can really help the baby.”

“I’ll do whatever you tell me,” she said rather weakly.

The pains were coming again and Ginny knew it wouldn’t be long. She readied herself as best she could and gave up another prayer for guidance.