To Be Loved
Chapter 35
December 5, 2010
"A babe in the house is a well-spring of pleasure, a messenger of peace and love, a resting place for innocence on earth, a link between angels and men."
~ Martin Fraquhar Tupper (1810-1889)
One day early in March, Christine's sunny personality was replaced with one of dogged determination. For nearly two weeks, she had been relentlessly feathering her nest and making ready for the birth of her daughter. (Of course, it was going to be a daughter. Hadn't Erik dreamt this? And if anyone knew the power of dreams, it was Christine!) Erik followed her helplessly, doing all that he could to spare her from any physical strain, but there were times when it was hard to keep up with her. She was a juggernaut, making sure the house was clean, that there were plenty of linens, that the nursery was ready.
Fru Nystrom watched her closely and nodded her head knowingly. "The baby will be here soon," she pronounced.
"Should we send for the doctor?" Erik asked anxiously.
"What doctor?" Anna replied. "There are no doctors in Gamla Uppsala. The midwife, Fru Eske, will come when it is time."
"No doctors?" Erik gasped. "How can this be?"
"Erik," Christine said patiently. "Women have been giving birth for millennia. I'm young and strong, and the past nine months have been entirely normal. There is no need for a doctor. Besides, doctors don't have a very good reputation when it comes to birthing."
"We should move to the city, to Uppsala, until the baby is born." He looked around furtively, as if there were some escape route to be had.
"We'll do nothing of the sort. Our baby will be born at home. That's the way I want it to be, Erik. No strange rooms for me, not in some hotel where strangers have slept. And definitely no hospitals! I do not want our baby coming into the world and being taken away from me to be nursed by so-called professionals."
Oh, but she was as infuriating as she was intractable. "There's nothing wrong with professionals," he replied tersely. "They know what they're doing!"
"So do I! No doctors, Erik. Promise me. There is no safer place for a baby to be born today than in her own home in Sweden. Ask 'the professionals' yourself, if you don't believe me."
Anna, who was normally timid and shy around Erik, joined in the discussion. "She's right," she boldly proclaimed. "You are a smart man! Read about it yourself. Swedish midwives are professionally trained in all the latest techniques. They can do anything a doctor can do. And better, too." She said the word, "doctor," with utter disdain.
Erik raised his hands in the air, giving up. "It's no use arguing with you when your mind is made up." Then he noticed the frown on his wife's face. "Christine? What is it?" When she didn't answer, he knelt beside her chair and touched her shoulder. "Is something wrong?"
"My back hurts something terrible. I think I should go lie down," she said breathlessly. "Help me up the stairs."
Erik helped her out of the chair and put one arm around her waist as he guided her to the stairs. He looked over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of Fru Nystrom.
"I'll send Oskar for the midwife," Anna said firmly. "Just in case."
-0-0-0-
Tuva Eske proved to be a formidable woman. She had a kindness about her that extended only so far, and she took charge of the childbirth with calm determination born of years of experience. She set Anna about bringing up the linens and towels that had previously been boiled and set aside for the occasion, and she fussed at Erik until he left the room.
"Birthing is a messy business. We don't need a first-time father getting under foot," the midwife pronounced, and sent him on his way. Indignant at being treated as though he had no reason to be at his wife's side, Erik retreated to the parlor where his nykelharpa awaited. Anna reassured him that Christine had previously met with the midwife several times, unbeknownst to him, while he worked in his study. He had been summarily exiled from the master bedroom by all three women admonishing him, saying that the birthing room was no place for a husband.
Thus, in the middle of the night, Erik fiddled while Christine labored. Periodically, Anna would appear by his side and grant him a few minutes with Christine. Between pains, she was able to carry on pleasant but brief conversation. "She's almost here! Isn't it wonderful, Erik? We're finally having our baby." The moment the contractions began, though, her entire attention was focused solely on delivering a child.
He played fast and furious pieces, starting with frenzied polonaises by a Polish composer he'd come to admire named Henryk Wieniawski, and from those he progressed to the challenging "Caprice No. 24" by Paganini. Fingering, harmonics, plucking…his hands were a blur as they exacted all that the old nykelharpa could give him. In the hands of the Maestro, it sounded as grand as the finest instrument in all the world.
Upstairs, Christine's ordeal was progressing normally. The music provided a distraction from her pain, and gave her something to focus on other than her own natural fear that something might go wrong. The midwife mopped her brow with a cool cloth, paying close attention to the young woman's state of mind. It would not do to let her patient worry. "I've never heard such music!" Tuva exclaimed, and gave a reassuring smile when Erik switched to Bach's chaconne, spellbinding them all with its dark, warm dynamics. "From hearing your husband at church, I knew he was gifted, but never had I imagined—"
"Herr Erik is a wonder to behold," Anna interrupted with proprietary pride. "Listen," she added, as the chaconne came to a close.
Christine lay back on the bed pillows as the pain eased off. "Some men make nuisances of themselves. Mine plays the violin," she said, smiling weakly. The labor was taking a toll on her. "How much longer?" she asked.
"Not long now," Tuva replied. "Another hour, perhaps."
"He needs a proper instrument," Christine decided before the next contraction began. "Anna, remind me to write Édouard and ask him to use some of the next paycheck to purchase a proper vi—oh! Here comes another one!"
Downstairs, the bow danced across the strings as Erik's nimble fingers wrought the notes, and by the time he had gotten to Vivaldi's daunting "Winter," he was perspiring heavily and his shirt was soaked from exertion. On the last downward stroke of the bow, the horsehair sprung loose, having been completely worn out by the demands he had placed on it, and as the last note resonated, his daughter was born.
At the sound of the baby's cry, Erik tossed the nykelharpa aside and sprinted up the stairs. He flung open the door, only to be met by a stern Anna Nystrom. "Not yet, not yet," she admonished. "We're not finished in here yet."
Erik looked over Anna's head, trying to ascertain what was taking place. He was under the impression that the baby had been delivered, yet there was still a scurry of activity taking place. "The baby…."
"She's beautiful, Herr Erik, simply beautiful. An angel. She has her mother's golden red hair! And listen to that cry. Ja, she has healthy lungs, that's for sure. Let me finish bathing her, and I'll call for you in a few minutes." With that, the door was closed in his face.
He was ready to tear it off the hinges. Someone tapped on his shoulder, and he wheeled about, ready to spring on the intruder. It was Oskar. Erik had forgotten about the man while he'd been pouring out his emotions into his music and was surprised to see he was offering him a glass of water in one hand and a mug of glögg, a heated spiced wine, in the other. Erik accepted the water and drained the glass in three quick gulps but shook his head, declining the spirits.
Oskar shrugged his shoulders. "Skål!" he said, saluting the new father, and tossed back the contents of the mug. "There's no sense letting it go to waste."
-0-0-0-
Finally, Erik was given permission to enter the room. He wasn't sure what to expect, and was surprised at the bright and cheery atmosphere in the room.
Fru Nystrom gently pushed Erik forward. "Go to her. She's been waiting for you."
Erik walked to the bed. Christine was lying on her side, many pillows propped around her. Her red-gold hair was brushed and hanging loose around her shoulders, resting gently against her soft, flannel nightgown. Cradled in her arms was a small bundle. His baby. No, their baby. His wife looked up at him. Cradled in her arms was a light blanket covering a small bundle. She motioned for him to sit with her.
"Come see your daughter," said Christine, her face exhibiting both radiance and weariness. He leaned over and dropped a kiss upon her forehead and found himself grinning like a silly fool when she drew the blanket back for his first look at the baby.
"Fru Eske was showing me how to feed our new baby. Mother's milk is the best, she says."
Christine managed a tired grin. "Our daughter was hungry, and she's still learning how to nurse." Erik frowned, not understanding her meaning. "I'll explain it to you later," she said.
The midwife joined them. "Now, you burp the baby." She demonstrated, all the while giving advice on how to hold the baby, burp her, change her diapers...the usual things new mothers and fathers needed to know. Erik sat in awe. The midwife smiled. She'd seen first-time fathers before.
Erik looked at Christine. "How do you feel?"
"A little tired, but well. Erik…she's beautiful!" Tears of pride and joy filled her eyes. "You were right, you know – about our baby being a girl." She handed the baby to Erik, who held it at arm's length, as if it would break at any moment.
"No, no," chuckled Fru Eske. "Relax. Like this." She pushed the baby against his chest, nice and snug. "It's a baby, not a bomb."
Erik gazed into his daughter's face. Now that she had been fed, she was content to lie in her father's arms. She yawned and blinked a few times, looking around at all the strange sights around her with her slate-blue eyes, then found her attention drawn to her father's face…and the mask he wore. Erik felt himself freeze, waiting for the babe to squeal in terror, but instead she smiled and his heart melted.
"It's gas," Fru Nystrom said, but Erik was certain his daughter had smiled at him.
Fru Nystrom and Fru Eske quietly exited the room, leaving the three of them alone. Erik sat holding his daughter in his arms, opening the bundled blanket so that he could examine her more closely. He counted her ten fingers and ten toes, not once but twice, reassuring himself that all was as it should be. The other two women had been carrying on and on, declaring that the babe was the most beautiful one they'd ever seen, but Erik suspected that such statements were simply the usual gushing over a newborn (not that he'd ever personally engaged in such conversations). No matter, the fact that his daughter was born without a blemish—from the red-gold curls on her head, her scrunched up nose, her rosebud mouth to her delicate little fingers and toes— made her perfect in her father's eyes.
Holding her in his arms, Erik wondered how different this was from his own birth. Not that he could remember any of that, but it was all too easy to imagine the midwife squealing in horror as she brought him into the world, or his mother refusing to suckle him. No matter. That was all in the past—the dead past. It no longer mattered that his father had abandoned him or that his mother refused to love him. In his arms was all the proof he needed that there was such a thing as complete and unconditional love.
"Erik, since we are alone, let her see your face."
He looked up at Christine, wondering if he had heard her correctly. "Let her see me?" The idea was preposterous…wasn't it?
"Children are taught to fear and loath. It is not something they are born with. She should grow up seeing you, knowing you for yourself and not as some man behind a mask."
"But…you're sure I won't frighten her?"
Christine gently shook her head. "No. I promise. Here, give her to me while you take off your mask."
Reluctantly, he gave the baby back to his wife, then removed his mask and wig, setting both down on the table next to the bed. When he took the infant back into his arms, he held his breath, waiting for what was going to happen next. He watched in amazement as his daughter opened her eyes, gave a little bewildered stare as if to ask, "Who are you?" Then she made some gurgling noises that sounded a lot like the sounds of approval…and she smiled again. This time, there was no doubt in his mind that she was smiling at him. Apparently satisfied with what she saw, she gave a yawn, closed her little eyes once more and went to sleep, safe in her father's arms.
And at that moment, Erik cried. "She's perfect," he repeated more to himself than anyone else. "Perfect." After several moments of blissful peace, he finally asked, "What shall we call her?"
They had had this discussion many times. Each time they thought they had settled upon a name, a new idea would pop into their heads, and in the end, they had decided to wait until the baby was actually born, believing the right name would come at that time.
"Aurelia," said Christine.
"Our Golden One?" His gaze returned to the soft, pale curls on her head. "Yes, our Golden One. Aurelia, you have no idea how much joy you have brought to your father this day. No more sorrow, no more fears. From this day forward, our lives will be filled with joy and it will be because of you." He smiled at Christine. "And you, too, of course."
She chuckled softly. "Thank you."
"Ah, but I am tiring you. All I did today was pace a hole in the carpet downstairs while you were up here, doing all the hard work. I should leave you to get some sleep."
"And you?"
"Why, I shall watch over our daughter," he said proudly.
A knock at the door had Erik handing the baby back to Christine, then quickly donning his wig and mask.
"May I come in?" It was Fru Eske, who'd returned long enough to ensure that her patient was comfortable and resting, and that the baby was the same, promising to stop in and check on mother and babe tomorrow and for as many days as may be needed.
"Do you anticipate any trouble?" Erik asked, suddenly worried.
"No, of course not. This is what I always do."
The next three days were the happiest days Erik had ever known. If he were the sort to believe in fairy tales, he would have called this part of his life the quintessential ending of one in which the ugly beast was transformed by the love of a beautiful woman…and turned into a loving husband and father. He treated Christine like a delicate treasure, one he would guard with his very being. As for Aurelia, she already had her father wrapped around her tiny fingers and could do no wrong. When Erik told Christine that Aurelia's cries were like the songs of angels, his wife smirked and replied, "And do her soiled diapers smell like roses, too?"
Erik had a cot brought into the room so he could sleep in the same room as Christine and the baby while allowing his wife full use of the bed so she could rest. He was very solicitous of her comfort and more than once, she couldn't resist teasing him that he was becoming a worrywart. She would be fine in a few days, she said. Women give birth every day. To which Erik replied, "But they are not my wife. You are."
One morning, Christine asked for a pen and writing paper.
"Whatever for?" Erik asked.
"I want to write to 'Uncle' Édouard, or did you forget that we were going to ask him to be our baby's godfather at her baptism."
"Oh…uh…I believe I have some in my work room," Erik said, chagrinned at having done just that. Returning with not just paper, pen and ink, but a bed desk as well, he held Aurelia while Christine wrote.
Christine scribbled away, humming as she wrote. To Erik, she seemed to be taking forever. "What are you doing? Writing a novel? That's my job," he said half in jest.
"I'm telling him how lovely his goddaughter is, and how much we are looking forward to his returning." What she didn't tell him was that she also asked their friend to bring a violin for Erik. With the strength returning to his hand and fingers, it was time he graduated from the nykelharpa. This was going to be her special gift to her husband, and she smiled as she imagined the look of surprise on his face when she presented it to him.
-0-0-0-
On the morning of the fourth day, after several days of regularly regaining her strength, Christine complained of a slight headache. Erik put his hand to her forehead and thought she felt slightly feverish. When asked if she was experiencing any other symptoms, she tried to shrug it off, saying only that she felt tired. When Erik relayed this to the housekeeper, Fru Nystrom immediately sent for the midwife.
Within minutes, Fru Eske was at the door. "What is the problem?" she asked, quickly divesting herself of her cloak, her bag containing the tools of her trade in hand. Erik followed her upstairs, filling her in.
"Perhaps you will think I am being an overly protective husband," Erik said.
"On the contrary, it is good that you sent for me. Sometimes these things are nothing; sometimes…" Her voice drifted off, as if fearing to give voice to her fears.
"And sometimes?" Erik prompted.
The midwife shook off whatever misgivings had temporarily clouded her thoughts, and smiled at Erik, patting his hand. "Now, let us not look for trouble. First, I must examine your wife. Then, we shall have a better idea what we are dealing with."
"I'm coming with you."
"No. You must wait out here. Your wife will feel better if you will be a good husband and wait downstairs. I promise, as soon as I know anything, I shall come for you. Trust me; I know how wives feel about these things."
-0-0-0-