DISCLAIMER:- I do not own any of the Dr Quinn characters, but am merely borrowing them for an adventure of my own.
This is the story of Hank, beginning with his birth in 1835 and detailing the events prior to Dr Quinn which turn him into the man he is in the series. The story then continues through the series and a little while afterwards.
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CHAPTER ONE
19 April 1835 – Good Friday
Margaret Lausenstrom went into labour at dawn. Her husband, Jorgen, paced the downstairs rooms of their Denver home, waiting impatiently while the housekeeper ran for the midwife in the next street. Meanwhile Jorgen's mother, Ilse, attended Margaret.
Jorgen and Margaret already had five year old twin boys, Lars and Leif and after their very difficult delivery, Margaret had been advised she would be unlikely to conceive again. Therefore her second pregnancy was something of a miracle and the baby eagerly awaited by both parents.
An hour later the midwife arrived, a large woman in her fifties, hauling herself breathlessly up the stairs. Margaret's maid showed her into the bedroom where the woman of the house writhed in agony, clinging to Ilse's hand as the labour pains wracked her body.
Time passed and the baby didn't emerge, Margaret tiring hour by hour and the two women attending her gradually realising something was wrong.
"I think you should send for a doctor," the midwife said at last. "She's exhausted and bleeding very heavily. We could lose both mother and child."
Nodding, Ilse opened the bedroom door and called out to Margaret's maid.
"Ask Mr Lausenstrom to send for the doctor," she instructed. "Tell him to hurry, please."
"Yes, Ma'am." The maid scampered off downstairs and Ilse returned to her daughter-in-law's side.
Outside, the sky turned black and rain pelted against the windows, lighting forking to the ground and thunder rumbling overhead. Ilse closed her eyes briefly, thinking of Jesus on the cross on this day hundreds of years before.
"Please God, do not take them," she whispered.
Doctor Maynard arrived in the early evening, soaked by the rain even from the brief moments it took for him to run from his carriage to the house. After a rapid examination of Margaret, he advised both she and the baby would be lost unless he delivered the child by Caesarian. The midwife carried out his instructions in preparing Margaret while he applied a cloth dampened with chloroform to her mouth and nose.
"What are you doing?" Ilse asked anxiously.
"Chloroform will make her sleep so she won't feel anything," the doctor explained.
"I have never heard of this," said Ilse.
"Its use is still in its infancy. It was discovered four years ago by one Samuel Guthrie from New York. It is of course still in its experimental stages, but if used carefully it's of great advantage in surgery. There, see? She's sleeping." Doctor Maynard removed the cloth and began taking surgical instruments from his bag. "I must hurry to save them," he said under his breath, gripping a scalpel and uncovering Margaret's lower belly.
In just brief minutes, the doctor passed a silent and still baby boy to the midwife and turned his attention back to the mother. The midwife gripped the child by the heels and smacked his rear with her other hand, causing the babe to suddenly come to life and begin yelling. She wrapped him swiftly in soft towelling and cradled him against her breast.
"A strapping little fellow," she said. "How's mother doing?"
"Not so good, I'm afraid," Doctor Maynard said, torn between stitching the patient's belly and trying to stop the uterine bleeding. "I fear we may lose her."
"Please, you must save her," whispered Ilse, dabbing at her tears with a lace hankerchief.
"Will you take the child, Ma'am?" the midwife asked, passing the small bundle to llse. "I'll try to help the doctor."
Ilse held the baby in her arms, pacing anxiously behind the doctor as he struggled to save Margaret's life. Unable to look at her daughter-in-law, she gazed into the little wrinkled red face with its tuft of blond hair and clear blue eyes, wondering what would become of him without a mother.
"I'm very sorry," Doctor Maynard said then, straightening up with a heavy sigh. "There's nothing more I can do."
"Oh! Oh, Margaret," Ilse said softly, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. Her son's wife had been such a sweet girl and a wonderful mother to the twins. "I must tell Jorgen." She handed the baby back to the midwife and sadly walked out of the room.
Jorgen was waiting at the bottom of the stairs when she descended and he could see from her face that she had unhappy news.
"Mother?" he said pleadingly.
"I am so sorry, my son," Ilse said, taking his hand. "Margaret is gone."
"No," Jorgen groaned. "No! Why did this happen?"
"Her delivery was very hard. She lost too much blood," Ilse said. "Doctor Maynard did the best he could."
"I must see her." Jorgen pulled away and moved towards the stairs, but his mother caught his arm, halting him.
"Wait. Leave them a little time to prepare her," she said.
Jorgen turned away again, running his hands through his hair and making it stand on end.
"The boys," he said suddenly. "How will I tell them?"
Lars and Leif had been visiting with their maternal grandparents, Edward and Jennifer Stirling, for the past two days, Jorgen and Margaret thinking it would be better for them not to be in the house during their mother's labour for fear her screams would distress them too much.
"I will help you, my dear," Ilse said. "We will have to tell Edward and Jennifer too."
"Dear God," uttered Jorgen.
"You have not asked about the baby," Ilse pointed out gently then. "You have a son. Will I bring him down to see you?"
"A son? He lives and yet my wife has died?" Jorgen exclaimed.
"He is a strong child, like his brothers. Like you."
"I don't want to see him," said Jorgen roughly. "Without him, Margaret would still be here." He choked back a sob.
"You cannot blame him for Margaret's passing. He is an innocent child. He is your son, Jorgen."
"Innocent? My wife is dead because of him!" cried Jorgen. "I want nothing to do with him!" He swung away from her and marched into the drawing room where he poured himself a large glass of whiskey.
Sighing heavily, Ilse made her way back up the stairs. Doctor Maynard was preparing to leave and Ilse directed the midwife into the nursery where a crib awaited the baby.
"Do you know of a nursemaid?" she asked. "We will need to employ one."
"I know a pleasant lady who'll help you," the woman said at once. "I'll send her over later if you wish."
"Thank you," nodded Ilse.
It was four days before Jorgen even saw his son. He spent much of his time shut in his study at the rear of the house, leaving the care of Lars and Leif to his mother and that of the baby to the newly hired nursemaid. During that time his only company was a bottle of whiskey and he had some difficulty sobering up sufficiently to attend his wife's funeral on the Tuesday right after Easter.
During this time, the youngest Lausenstrom remained without a name until Ilse decided enough was enough and insisted on speaking to Jorgen about the child once more.
"I had planned to returned to Norway at the end of the month," she reminded him. "Would you like me to stay longer?"
"Mother, if I had my wish you would remain here forever," Jorgen said with a wan smile.
"I must return to my home eventually, but I will stay a few more weeks."
"Thank you, Mother."
"You still have not seen your new son," Ilse continued. "Nor have you named him."
Jorgen's face stiffened. "I'm not ready to think about that," he grunted. "Name him yourself if you wish."
"Are you going to ignore the child indefinitely?" Ilse pressed.
"Of course not." Jorgen turned and walked away.
Saddened, Ilse set off upstairs to the nursery to see the baby herself. What with helping to arrange the funeral and caring for Jorgen and the boys, she hadn't had time to spend with him either. Now she took him from the nursemaid and went to her room, settling herself carefully in an armchair and cradling the baby in her arms.
"What are we going to do with you, little one?" she murmured. Bright blue eyes stared up at her and softly she began to tell an old Norwegian story, knowing the child wouldn't understand a word, but would be comforted by the sound of her voice.
"Mother!" Jorgen's voice carried up the stairs and Ilse glanced at the clock, realising she had been sitting there approaching two hours.
"I am in my room," she called out. Moments later a brief tap came on the door and it swung open to admit Jorgen.
"Mother…." he began and then halted as his eyes lit on the baby. "Is that him?" He took a few steps closer and then drew his breath in sharply. "He looks like Margaret." His face contorted with pain and he backed away again.
"Jorgen, come and hold him for a while," Ilse suggested.
"Keep him out of my sight." Jorgen turned away and left the room without another word, banging the door behind him.
"He will come around," Ilse said as if to convince herself it would be true. "So, what are we going to call you?" She looked down at the baby, who despite the disturbance was now sleeping. "Hans," she murmured. "I will name you Hans."