Veil of Silence (23 page)

“Probably.  Get me there faster!”

Heather tried not to take it personally.  After all, her wife was in pain from the birth of what would be their fourth child.  She tried not to think of how it was conceived.  She tried not to resent that she hadn’t been part of the decision to have three more children.  It wasn’t her fault.  It wasn’t Marsha’s fault.  The psychologists had been wonderful with her problems over it.  She hadn’t been one to assign blame anyway, but how could she help it when her wife was giving birth to a product of rape?  She kept telling herself that the man who had caused this was far away and wouldn’t ever know these children he had caused.  They were theirs, hers and Marsha’s, and he had unknowingly provided them with what they really wanted…a large family.  She also conveniently forgot about the sperm they had on file for when it was time for Heather to have a baby.  She still wanted that, but hadn’t the nerve to bring it up to her wife…not yet.  The timing hadn’t been great since she got back.

They were soon pulling up in front of the hospital.  Heather had called ahead so that Marsha’s doctor, a woman by the name of Doctor Cook, would know she was in labor and could be ready.  Someone ran out with a wheelchair and they helped the straining Marsha into it.  “I think this kid is already coming out,” she got out through the pain she was in.

“Oh, no.  Not in the ambulance bay,” the man behind the wheelchair teased.  “We don’t want that!” he took her and rushed off as Heather went to park The Wreck.

Heather quickly followed inside, but there was no sign of her wife.  They gave her a slight hassle before revealing they had taken her immediately back to the birthing rooms.  Heather had a hard time finding them, but fortunately she had been there once before for Hayley and the confusing corridors at least
seemed
familiar.  She knew part of the problem was that they were a same-sex couple and it was like the people were deliberately making it harder.  She had to explain time and time again that Marsha was her wife, and then she had to deal with their blank stares of incomprehension over and over.  It was frustrating, and by the time she found Marsha, was gowned, and got into the room with her, the black-haired woman was yelling.

“What the fuck is wrong with you people?  Get this
out
of me!”

Heather was shocked at the language.  Her wife, while being in the army and hearing choice language from the people she associated with, never spoke like that otherwise.  She knew it was something she was unaware of at the moment, and if she had known, would be immediately contrite.  Looking at her ranting at the doctor and nurses, maybe not.  She looked like a wild woman, her curly hair already streaming down her face and clinging to her due to the sweat.

“Where the
fuck
were you?” she asked as Heather took her hand.

Heather nearly cringed, not only at the language addressed towards her, but at Marsha’s grip on her hand.  The woman had no idea of her own strength.

“Traffic,” she replied, using humor to deflect the hurt.

“It’s crowning,” was heard.

“Push, baby,” Heather encouraged.

“What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing?” she managed to get out despite the pain.  She gasped as she attempted to push the bowling ball out from between her legs.  She heard the baby begin to cry and it encouraged her.  “What is it, a boy or a girl?” she eagerly asked.  She, like Hayley, hoped it would be a boy to even things up in the house.  Poor Amir was inundated by female estrogen in that household.

“Well, they don’t put the sex on the head so you are going to have to give me a few more strong pushes,” Doctor Cook said sarcastically, but with enough humor that they all either laughed or smiled at her reply.  She’d probably said it a million times to other mothers.

Marsha complied, pushing as though her life depended on it, feeling a gush of fluid as the baby slipped from her body.  She also felt a mighty pain as her body contracted again and again, releasing the muscles from the birth of the child. 

Doctor Cook looked up and smiled.  “You have a boy,” she announced proudly and held him up.  “Would you like to hold him?”

Marsha looked at the crying baby, bloody and covered with amniotic fluid, blood, and gunk, and shook her head.  “No,” she said clearly and distinctly.

Heather looked startled and glanced at the doctor.  She remembered Marsha hadn’t wanted to hold Hayley either.

“Don’t worry about it, this frequently happens,” Doctor Cook assured her as she reached for the scissors.  “You want to cut the cord?” she offered Heather who eagerly stepped forward, releasing Marsha’s hand as her wife collapsed, exhausted, against the bed.  Marsha looked up at the ceiling, relieved it was over as another pain came over her and she gasped.  Quickly handing the baby off to a nurse to clean, the doctor turned back to her patient.  “Another push and we can get the placenta out and finish up with this.”

Marsha was sick of this already and complied, but only to get them to stop telling her to push.  She was tired.  She wanted to be clean and warm and forget this part of having children.  If she never had another child, she’d be happy about it.  She was done, so done, and she could remember having Amir and Bahir taken away from her.  Strangely, she suddenly wanted to feel this child in her arms.  After pushing out the placenta, she watched as the nurses and Heather fussed over the infant.

“May I hold him now?” she called, weakly.

Surprised, Heather turned, a now clean and swaddled baby in her arms.  She walked over with a big smile, her eyes suspiciously moist as unshed tears filled them.  “He’s beautiful,” she said to her wife as she helped her hold him.

“What should we call him?” Marsha asked instead of disagreeing with her wife.  Newborns were not beautiful.  They were squashed, red, and bloated from birth.  They would look better within a day.  They didn’t get interesting, at least to Marsha, until they started looking around and seeing things.  She’d missed out on Hayley walking and learning to talk.  She’d missed some of it with Bahir and Amir.  She wouldn’t miss any of it with this child if she could prevent it.

“We once talked about naming a boy after my father,” Heather suggested hesitantly.

Marsha looked at the dark features of her baby.  He looked nothing like her wife and wouldn’t with her Italian heritage and Zabi’s Middle-Eastern or Asian contribution.  She smiled.  It didn’t matter.  He was theirs.  “Hello, Liam,” she said as she looked down at her son.

“Liam Lawrence?” Heather asked, including Marsha’s father.  She had adored her father, and her stepdad, while a good man, wasn’t the same.

“Isn’t that too many Ls?” she asked, thinking of how that would sound.

“I don’t know.  I think it sounds impressive.”

Marsha wouldn’t argue with her wife, not at a time like this.  So, Liam Lawrence Gagliano it was to be.

* * * * *

“God, I’m tired,” Marsha sighed when she was back in the room they assigned her.

“I imagine so.  That came quick,” Heather smiled at her wife.  They’d cleaned her up, assuring her it had been a good birth and that she would be able to have more children if she wanted.  Heather distinctly heard, “Hell, no,” from her wife.

“I’m just glad that’s over,” she sighed again.  “Can you help me get in the shower?”

“I don’t think…” she began and then quickly went around the bed as Marsha swung her feet over the edge.  “You shouldn’t….”

“I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stand how sticky I feel.  They never get all the sweat off and I feel gross…all over.”

“Should I get a nurse?” she worried.  What if Marsha collapsed, or bled out, or gushed, or something….

“You’ve seen me naked,” she pointed out.

Heather gulped.  Of course she had.  She’d seen Marsha in the shower and knew her bath-loving wife was only biding her time until she could use the tub again.  She’d looked beautiful with her full body carrying their son.  She knew that nothing would deter Marsha from taking the shower she now desired, so all she could do was help or get out of the way.  If something happened, there was that red button thing….

Marsha felt wonderful standing under the hot spray, allowing it to get hotter than she had at home because she had been afraid of harming the baby.  It still wasn’t hot enough.  The hospital must have some gauge on it and she looked up at the shower, annoyed because it wasn’t hot enough.  She hadn’t showered in five years, using the sponge bath method when they weren’t near a stream, or simply going without.  The tribe didn’t mind body odors.  Her Westernized nose told a different story.  She relished modern conveniences as she held onto the safety bar and let the water pour down her dirty body.  She quickly washed her hair and sweaty body of the film.  She watched, concerned, as clots of blood fell out of her body and swished down the drain.  When she had pushed the limits and felt a little faint, she quickly turned off the water and used the towel Heather handed her.  She dried her body, sitting on the toilet as she put on her underwear and the large pad to catch the blood.  Heather found another set of gowns and helped her into one facing towards her back and another facing the front so she would be fully covered.

“Feel better?” Heather asked brightly once Marsha was back in her bed and brushing out her wet hair.  She knew she felt better knowing that nothing had happened in that ill-advised shower.  Patients were supposed to wait.

“Much,” she said with a huge yawn.  “Care to cuddle?” she offered as she scooted over on the hospital bed.

Not needing to be asked twice, and relishing the closeness, Heather hopped up and just held Marsha until she fell asleep.  Then she gently got off the bed and pulled up the covers, watching as the beautiful woman that was her wife slept on.  She marveled at the strength of this woman who had just given birth to their fourth child.  She knew that none of these children were biologically hers, but she also knew that it didn’t take biology to make them hers.

* * * * *

Later, while Marsha slept, Heather went to the nursery.  She was looking at the various babies through the windows, thinking that this was like a zoo exhibit when Captain McKellan came up behind her.

“Which one is yours?” he asked.

Startled, she smiled.  Liam
was
hers, wasn’t he?  Marsha had married her to share her life and her children.  She pointed out the blue bundle of joy.  “How did you know?” she asked, wondering.

“You weren’t aware that Marsha was under surveillance?”

She looked at him in surprise, losing her smile.  “What?  Where?  When?”  She suddenly felt like MaryBeth, asking questions so quickly he didn’t have time to answer.

“She had to be, coming from Afghanistan.  It’s a passive surveillance to make sure she isn’t in contact with anyone she shouldn’t be.”

“Who in the world would she be in contact with?”

He shrugged, knowing that Marsha wasn’t the enemy.  “They have to make sure.”

“Are our phones tapped too?” she wondered aloud angrily.

“Of course not,” he answered immediately, but his tone lacked conviction.  He had no idea how far up this went.  He only knew that some pretty high brass was involved and they weren’t talking, just making sure she was going to be questioned.  That reminded him of the other reason he was here.  “I have some bad news.  Is she awake?”

“She wasn’t when I left, but she might be now.  What bad news?”  She started to walk back towards Marsha’s room, the captain falling into step beside her.

“I have to tell her first,” he told her apologetically.

Marsha was awake and was eating from the look of things.  “Do they think people want to eat this?”  She showed them congealed gravy, which matched the pudding she had opened.  It was disgusting!  She shouldn’t complain though.  She would have been grateful for some of this a few months ago, even with much less taste.

“I think it’s supposed to build up your strength,” Heather told her helpfully.

“Not this,” she put down her spoon.  “Where ya been?”

“Checking on Liam,” she smiled and then sat down to hear what the captain had to say.

“Captain McKellan, nice of you to visit,” Marsha said with a weary smile.

“You’re looking good, considering,” he cleared his throat uncomfortably, feeling awkward about what she must have gone through.

“Yeah, well, we women have reservoirs of strength you men haven’t even fathomed,” she teased. 

She looked very tired and he wanted to get this over quickly.  “I’m sure you do.  My wife would agree.  I have some unfortunate news.  Now that you have given birth, the army is giving you two days to recover before they require you to appear for questioning.”

Marsha blinked.  Two days?  That wasn’t very generous.  Whatever they were looking for they were obviously not being very patient.

“That’s not enough time for her to recover…” Heather began, outraged.

He held up his hand to silence her.  “I’m sorry.  Don’t bite the head off the messenger.  I know she should be given weeks, but they aren’t willing to wait.  The delays with the SERE psychologists already have a few of them chomping at the bit.”

“Two days and two nights?” Marsha asked, sarcastically.