Number One
May 1920
"You cannot do it on your own," Di snapped, stamping her foot in frustration. "Your first delivery? You'll kill them both!"
"I will not!" Jem protested.
The Aster House sitting room was large enough to accommodate a dozen well-behaved guests, but seemed far too small for two Blythes bent on shouting one another down. Between the red hair and flushed cheeks and stormy expressions, Una thought they resembled a pair of sparring roosters. She squeezed Faith's hand and attempted to blend into the sofa.
"Now hold on, both of you . . ." Dr. Blythe said, stepping in between his children, only to be assailed simultaneously from both flanks.
"He doesn't have any idea what he's doing, Dad!"
"I took obstetrics this term!"
"Oh, well then you're the expert, aren't you?"
"I don't need any help!"
"You certainly do! I'm not going to let you endanger my best friend just because your ego . . ."
"She's my wife!"
"Dad's delivered thousands of babies. I've delivered dozens. You've never done a delivery on your own, not once!"
"I've assisted! Dad, tell her . . ."
Una looked up at the quiet clink of china close at hand. Sylvia was bending toward the sofa, holding out a tray laden with almond sponge and teacups.
"What do you say, Faith?" she whispered, dark eyes atwinkle. "I'll hold the door and you make a run for it."
"I'm ready to have this baby alone in a potato field," Faith grinned, taking a slice of cake. "We might even make it back before they notice I'm gone."
"Una and I will cover for you," Sylvia promised stoutly, offering Una a cup and a wink.
". . . hardly means you're qualified . . ."
" . . . do you honestly think . . ."
Faith nudged Una with her elbow. "You'll stay with me, won't you?"
"D-d-during the birth?" Una stammered.
"Of course during the birth," Faith smiled conspiratorially. "I'll need someone to remember I'm there."
Una nodded slowly. "If you want me. But wouldn't you rather have Di? She'll know what to do so much better than I will."
"No, silly!" Faith said with a light poke in the ribs. "I want you."
Una blushed into her tea, trying to look anywhere but at the raving Blythes. How could Faith take this all so calmly? The discord was making Una's flesh creep and the saucer rattle in her hand.
"Enough! Both of you!" Dr. Blythe deployed his sternest voice, the one generally used to reprimand naughty dogs who stole from the pantry and burly fishermen who refused to rest long enough to let broken bones set.
Di and Jem quieted, both puffing, identical expressions of stubborn pique on their florid faces.
"Here is what we are going to do," Dr. Blythe explained. "Jem will attend the delivery on his own . . ."
"But Dad . . ."
Dr. Blythe held up a hand to quell Di's complaint, ". . . and Di and I will sit right outside, ready to assist at a moment's notice."
Faith clutched Una's free hand and struggled to her feet. "And Una will be in the room with me as well," she announced, causing every Blythe head in the room to whip in her direction. "Yes, hello! I've been here the whole time! You all can work out the medical side of things among yourselves, but I'll have Una."
Three pairs of quizzical eyes fixed on Una, who was just then regretting her decision not to join a foreign mission.
"But Faith," Jem said, crossing the room and taking her by the hand. "I can do this on my own. I promise."
"You most certainly can't," Faith snorted. "For one, you aren't the one giving birth. And while I have every confidence in your abilities as a doctor, I'll have Una or I'll have no one at all."
"I'll guard the door for you," Sylvia smirked behind her teacup.
"But . . ."
Faith raised a delicate eyebrow and the matter was settled.
On Sunday, Una's eyes were closed, head bowed in prayer as the All Saints congregation shuffled to and from communion, when she felt a gentle touch on her shoulder. Jerry had slipped into the pew beside her, dark eyes flashing.
"It's time."
"I told you to let her stay til the end of the service," Faith scolded when Jerry delivered Una to the apartment on the top floor of a converted mansion near the medical school. "It will be ages and ages yet."
"You never can tell," grinned Jem, the red curls at his temples already slightly damp with sweat, though he hadn't done anything more than roll up his sleeves.
"Oh, I shouldn't have told any of you," Faith snapped. "I'll know better next time."
Dr. Blythe came out of the kitchen, looking nearly as excited as Jem and doing no better at hiding it. "Di's putting the water on. Have you prepped the bed, Jem? Oh, hello, Una. Jerry."
"Not yet," Jem said. "But I have all the linens and the rubber sheet . . ."
"Well, let's get to it," Dr. Blythe said, clapping Jem on the back and steering him toward the bedroom.
"I'll be going, too," said Jerry. "Any updates for the folks at Aster House?"
Faith spread her hands and looked down at her distended belly. "Does it look like there are any updates?"
"Sorry," Jerry grinned. "But they will insist on asking me what they can do to help."
Una was quite sure that Faith was on the point of telling all and sundry to take a long walk off a short pier, so she was surprised when her sister paused in thought. "What do you say, Una," she mused. "Do you fancy some lemon tarts?"
"Lemon tarts?"
"Better yet, monkey-faces. Oooh, or plum puffs! Yes, tell them we require some of Aunt Marilla's plum puffs. I've heard enough about them. Does that sound good to you, Una?"
"I'm not hungry . . ."
"Well of course not, silly. But Nan and Mrs. Blythe will go spare just waiting for news all day. This will give them some work to do!"
"But it's Sunday . . ."
"All the more reason for them to keep busy! They can't shop and they won't clean, not on a Sunday, though I suppose Nan could stretch to lace-making. But baking for the whims of a woman in labor? I'm sure there's a Sabbath exemption for that."
"So . . . plum puffs?" Jerry asked.
"Better make it all three," Faith said solemnly.
When Jerry had gone, Faith leaned back into the cushions of the sofa and sighed.
Una sat beside her, perched gingerly on the edge."Are you alright, Faith? I do want to help . . ."
"Oh, just entertain me," Faith said airily. "It's barely started. I really shouldn't have said anything until I was further along. Now they won't even let me go downstairs in case I can't get back up again."
"Well . . ." Una cast an eye over the little apartment. It was scrupulously clean thanks to a visitation from Nan, Sylvia, and Mrs. Blythe during the week of final exams, which had left every floorboard scrubbed, every curtain laundered, and the pantry set into the sort of order it had never known before. The apartment was small, but escaped feeling cramped due to the abundance of natural light from its many windows. A single main room under eaves of unpredictable height served as both sitting room and dining area, depending on what furniture one focused on. On the side facing the street, a turret of five windows surrounded a little nook that Jem kept as his office, the desk piled high with his textbooks and papers. This was the only untidy surface in the place, which was notably uncluttered thanks to Faith's economical approach to housekeeping.
"The fewer things I have, the fewer things I have to clean," she had explained at a recent Sunday dinner. Carl had laughed and told her of Thoreau and his disdain for "the devil's doorknobs," cementing that choice phrase in the family lexicon for all time.
Despite her best efforts to avoid them, Faith was in for a major incursion of household goods. Susan, Rosemary, and Miss Cornelia had been sewing industriously all spring, their combined efforts packed neatly into a trunk in the corner of the sitting room along with similar tributes from Rilla, Persis, and Mrs. Ford. Una herself had contributed a stack of diapers, all as beautifully hemmed as if they were ornamental cushions, along with an exquisite bonnet and sweater set knit from cashmere yarn so fine the garments ran like quicksilver. There were new towels, new sheets, a bewildering assortment of specialized dishware, pins, creams, and various other impedimenta obscure in origin and implementation. All of this was packed in boxes, anticipating the long-awaited moment when it would be called up to serve the new arrival.
". . . I could open the windows?" Una ventured, not being able to ascertain anything else that needed doing.
"Yes, let's," Faith agreed, beginning to hoist herself out of the sofa. "It can get awfully stuffy up . . ."
Suddenly, she darted out a hand and gripped Una's arm.
"Faith?"
"Just . . . wait . . ." Faith grimaced, her body tense and still. "Wait . . . alright. Alright, it passed."
Una blanched, the lingering pain in her forearm nothing to the clenching of her own gut.
"You should stay sitting," she squeaked.
"No, I'm fine," Faith said with a breezy tone Una could not fathom. "They've been coming and going all morning. Let's open those windows."
The windows were tricky, with thick layers of paint and uneven sashes making them paradoxically both difficult to open and in need of propping to stay that way. They had only managed to wrestle three into compliance before Faith tensed again, sucking in a long breath between gritted teeth.
"Another contraction?" Di asked, drying her hands on a towel as she emerged from the kitchen. "Getting closer together, aren't they."
Faith nodded, but did not reply.
"That's good!" Di beamed.
"What's good?" Jem asked, materializing at the bedroom door.
"Contractions," Di said briskly, running her towel over a perfectly clean tabletop.
Jem groaned, looking at his watch. "Faith, you're supposed to tell me! How will I know whether they're getting closer together?"
"They are," Faith said dryly.
"No sign of your water breaking, though?" Jem asked, tilting his head as he surveyed his wife, the floor, the sofa . . .
Faith drew in a breath as deep as her constricted lungs would allow. "Here is what you are going to do," she said in a clipped tone that went Dr. Blythe's one better. "Jem, go find a deck of cards. Di, there's a cribbage board on the bookshelf; set it up here. We'll play until I can't anymore, and anyone who says anything obstetrics-adjacent before I say it myself goes directly to Aster House for the duration. Is that understood?"
Thus, Una Meredith found herself holding a hand of cards for the first time in her life, and on a Sunday no less. Dr. Blythe patiently explained the suits and different ways of scoring points, adopting Una as his teammate in an otherwise cutthroat match. Faith took breaks at irregular intervals to grimace through one contraction and another, but said not a single word about them, leaving the entire table breathless.
They played to 61 and then to 121 and then through again. Finally, sometime in the mid-afternoon, when Faith stretched across the table to move her peg, she gave a little oh! and pressed her hand to her belly.
"That will be the water, I expect," she said, and indeed it was.
Una felt a lurch of indistinguishable fear and excitement. Di and Dr. Blythe both set down their cards, but said nothing. Jem was half-standing, hovering over his seat like a sprinter poised for the starting gun.
"Oh, alright," Faith said, throwing up her hands. "It's time."
"I don't want to lie down!"
"I swear to God, Faith, if you were this unreasonable on the obstetrical ward, they'd have sedated you by now."
"Well thank goodness I'm not on the ob . . ." Faith's words were cut off by another pain.
"Breathe through it, love," Jem said, his voice gone instantly gentle as Faith grasped both his hands. "Breathe. Breathe."
Una stood behind her sister, rubbing her back with firm strokes, praying silently and unceasingly. She did not stop the massage, even when she felt the muscles under her fingers go lax, Faith's shoulder's slumping.
"It feels . . . good . . . to stand," Faith panted. "If I lie down . . . I won't get up."
"You have to lie down at some point," Jem pleaded, wincing as he flexed his left hand.
"Why? Won't a bit of gravity help?"
Una flicked a glance at Jem, who was losing both the animation of frustration and the energy of joy.
"You've been up all night," he said, voice cracking. "You'll need energy when it's time to push."
The muscles under Una's fingers went flat and hard even before Faith moaned. Her voice tracked the contraction, growing in intensity until she growled a guttural snarl at the peak, then subsiding.
"I just want to check you," Jem said softly. "Can you sit for just one minute? You can get up again if you like, I promise."
Leaning on Una for support, Faith lowered herself onto a wooden chair, sitting forward on the seat so Jem could assess her progress. He knelt, felt, cleaned his hands on the towel Una handed him.
"Not long now, I don't think."
"This is a good chair," Faith said vaguely.
Jem grinned and kissed her on the cheek. "See? Let yourself rest between contractions."
"Here comes another . . ."
When it had subsided, Una offered Faith a sip of cold tea, which she accepted gratefully.
"I just feel all . . . sticky." Faith complained, tugging at her night dress. "Trapped. Itchy."
"Would it be alright if we took off your dress?" Una asked "Combed your hair?"
Faith nodded her assent. In the gaps between the next several contractions, Una and Jem relieved Faith of her sweat-damp garments, combed her hair and braided it away from her neck, and sponged down her back with cool water. She sat on the edge of the chair, arching her back to meet each pain, the glowing expanse of her skin slick and golden in the lamplight as if she had swallowed the sun. Jem coaxed and soothed, providing ballast against the waves that seized her and comfort when they subsided. Una knelt at Faith's feet, bathing them in a basin and squeezing her toes gently.
"That's heavenly," Faith moaned, even as another contraction took her.
Jem checked her again and stood up radiant. "I think it's time to meet our little visitor," he grinned.
"You're doing great, Faith," Jem said, sweat pouring from his forehead in rivulets as he knelt on the bed. Una would have offered him a towel, but she was so entwined with Faith, hand to hand and head to head, that she could hardly spare a thought for her brother-in-law, let alone a gesture. He seemed to be getting on alright, though, his energy renewed by the urgency of the moment. "I can see the top of the head. Next contraction, you're going to give it everything you've got, ok? The biggest push in the world. Imagine you're a giantess or an elephant or a speeding train or . . ."
"Oh, shut up, will you?" Faith spat, attempting to kick Jem, who only dodged and grinned.
"That's the spirit, love. Put all that into the next push, alright?"
Faith merely grunted, but when the next contraction came, she snorted like a dragon and bore down with such ferocity that Una felt her own hand buckle. Faith pushed long and longer, her whole body hard as iron, until all the tension dissolved in a single whoosh as the baby slid free into Jem's waiting hands.
Faith gasped; Una looked, half fearful, but Jem was grinning. The baby had thrown his arms wide and rigid, like a crab fending off a seagull, and after one breathless moment of surprise, opened his mouth and wailed. Una gaped at the child, who seemed both beautiful and grotesque, wet and purple and squashy-faced and absolutely enormous. He squalled lustily in his father's hands, twisting and thrashing in protest of his recent ordeal.
"A boy," Jem choked. "It's a boy, Faith."
Jem placed the slick newborn on Faith's chest, letting her hold him as all four of them attempted to breathe. Faith clutched her son with one hand and reached for Jem with the other.
"You did it," she gasped.
He laughed, eyes glistening as he bent to kiss her. "Hardly. You did it, love."
"He's alright?" Faith asked, peering down at the baby.
"He certainly is. Perfect. He must weigh ten pounds."
Faith beamed, eyes aglow with the holy passion of motherhood, her joy and Jem's so radiant that Una felt herself an intruder. She would have slipped out the door then and there, but Jem spoke to her unexpectedly, making her jump.
"Una, will you bring a towel? And stay right here with Faith while I take care of the afterbirth."
Una did as she was bid, approaching cautiously and draping the towel over the baby's back with exquisite gentleness as Jem clamped and cut the umbilical cord.
"Say hello to your Auntie Una," Faith said, turning the child so that Una could see his face.
Una bent low over them both and offered her gory nephew a delicate kiss. "He's beautiful, Faith."
"He is, isn't he?"
"Does he had a name?" Una smiled. "Jem Jr.?"
Faith snorted derisively. "As if that one needs to be more pleased with himself."
Jem grinned up from the end of the bed at this invocation. "Quite impossible at the moment," he assured her. "Alright, Faith, I'm going to need you to push one last time. Maybe let Una take little not-Jem for a minute?"
"Here now, laddie," Una crooned, scooping the baby into a warm towel. "Let's get you cleaned up for Mummy."
It was the work of moments to sponge blood and vernix from the wee face, cover the impossibly soft cheeks with kisses, and wrap the sturdy little body in a blanket Una had made for the occasion. The baby snuffled, but seemed to be settling into the new world of air and light, no longer howling in protest. Una noted that he had beautiful little ears that lay flat against his head, and was pleased that she would have something to tell Susan. Una did not swaddle him, knowing that Jem would want to check him over in more detail, but pulled the blanket snug around him for warmth.
Turning back to the bed, Una placed the sighing bundle in her sister's waiting arms and pressed a farewell kiss to the damp curls escaping over her forehead. Faith did not look away from her son's face, but smiled at Una's kiss. When Jem had finished his ministrations and come to sit beside his wife and child, Una took her leave. As noiselessly as a little gray mouse, she slipped from the room, leaving the new family sobbing together on the bed.
"Everything alright in there?" Di asked, rising to her feet as Una closed the door softly behind her.
Una only nodded, not quite able to speak, but showing a smile through her own tears.
"Nothing wrong with the little one's lungs, is there?" Dr. Blythe grinned, lacing his hands behind his head. "Boy or girl?"
"Boy," Una whispered.
Perhaps it was strange that becoming a grandfather should shave decades off Dr. Blythe, but joy radiated from him in waves and he looked half a boy himself.
"Should we go in to help?" Di asked. "They've both been up all night. They'll need clean sheets, clean clothes . . ."
"In a few minutes," Dr. Blythe nodded, his voice husky even through his smile. "We'll just give them a few minutes together."
"Perhaps tea?" Una said, stepping toward the kitchen.
"Goodness, Una, you sit!" Di said, bounding into the kitchen herself.
Dr. Blythe offered Una a chair, but did not require her to speak, for which she was shamelessly grateful. They sat in silence as a windy golden sunrise peeked in through the curtains. Perhaps not as glorious as triumphant dawn emerging from the depths of the gulf, but quite nice enough to be getting on with.
Di returned with tea and warm scones slathered with more butter and jam than Una ever would have allowed herself. She had just taken her first heavenly bite when the bedroom door clicked open. Three heads turned as one to behold Jem, bearing a swaddled bundle in the crook of his arm and smiling from the tips of his toes to the whorls of his own excellent ears.
"A young gentleman to see you," he said, settling the baby into Dr. Blythe's arms. "May I present Number One: Samuel Meredith Blythe."
Dr. Blythe nodded, holding his son's eye for a long, proud moment before greeting his grandson. "Hello, small Samuel."
"Samuel?" Di asked, copper brows meeting in a V of consternation. "That's not a family name, is it?"
"No," Jem cleared his throat. "He was a very dear friend."
"In France?"
"In Germany."
Dr. Blythe reached for Jem's scar-mapped hand and clasped it convulsively in his own, skirting the razor-edge that separated Adoration and Pietà . They worshipped together, exclaiming over Sam's size, noting that he'd be another in the rosy-golden line of Merediths, though Dr. Blythe seemed reluctant to abandon all hope that he might be red-headed just yet. Together, they enumerated each of his tiny toes and wee, precious fingers.
Una abandoned her scone, leaving fathers and sons to their hard-won joy. She followed Di to the bedroom, where a quarter hour of brisk tucking, sponging, and plaiting saw Faith returned to drowsy comfort.
"Sleep, dearest," Una crooned, stroking her sister's hair.
"You'll bring Sam?" Faith yawned. "When he's hungry?"
"Of course," Una promised, privately thinking she stood little chance in vying for that particular honor.
She stayed by the bed as Faith dozed, tracing the shining highlights of her hair. In a little while, Una would go with Di to Aster House to summon Mrs. Blythe, would share her bursting joy with Carl and Jerry, would accept congratulations from Shirley and Sylvia and Nan and Emile and Marie, would smile at Claude as he gamboled about singing ba-by ba-by ba-by, would ensure that someone went off to send a telegram to the manse. But for now, she would sit with Faith, thanking God that she was delivered safe, wondering how it was possible for her beautiful sister to have grown still more beautiful.
Author's Note:
If you are wondering about Jem's friend Sam, I have written a short story about the two of them: "Brigade Brothers," the fourth story in my One Hour to Madness and Joy. It is rated M (mostly for violence) and concerns Jem's improbable escape from a POW camp in September 1918.