She was working alone in the field when she felt the first pain, a sharp tightening across her abdomen like that of a tightly clenched fist. She had been through this before so she knew what it was. Panic overtook her as she looked around in desperation. There was no time to run to the nearest neighbor. If only her husband had still been there, she could have sent him to fetch the midwife...if only...

Swallowing the sorrow that still overtook her frequently and forcing herself to be calm, she somehow made it back to the house, where she gathered the necessary supplies and then lay down to gather her strength before the time came to start pushing.

Hour by hour she lay there, panting and blowing through the pains, dozing lightly between them, until the pains began to come close enough together to make dozing impossible. She thought about the last time she had been through this, how her dear husband had been there with her, encouraging her. How she missed him! But she couldn't afford to give herself time to grieve right now, not when she had a job to do.

When the time came to push, she got up on her haunches on the bed. She knew that that was the easiest way to give birth, to let gravity do part of the work.

The delivery itself was quite easy. A few mighty pushes and the child slid from her body.

She sat back and looked at the infant. It was a girl.

A girl! Tears came to her eyes as she remembered her previous delivery. How quickly she had grown from infant to toddler, from toddler to child. The sound of her laughter rang across the field, the light in her eyes that had been snuffed out too soon, far too soon.

This new life reminded her so very much of that precious one, although of course it had come from a different father, conceived in violence rather than love. Yet the child itself was innocent, as much so as any newborn. As she looked down upon her new daughter, she felt an overwhelming love. Tenderly she cleaned the baby, wrapped her in a blanket, held her close. The newborn, whose weak cry had sounded like the mewing of a kitten, quieted at last.

"Sarah." She whispered the name as she looked into the milky blue eyes. "Your name is Sarah." It hadn't been the name of that first little girl, the one who lay buried beside her father behind the little church in the village, but she had always loved the name.

Sarah found her mother's breast and began to nurse hungrily. Worn by care and grief and exhausted from the delivery, the brave woman held the warm bundle and for the first time since that tragic day no longer felt utterly alone.