A/N: This chapter contains descriptions of childbirth.
Chapter Nine
November brought bitterly cold days and nights coupled with brisk winds and icy rains. The wind skating over the flat, often icy plane of the prairie blew through the cracks of the log cabin, which wasn't as well-insulated as their home in Wisconsin. Playing outside was no longer very enjoyable, especially when the girls' lips chapped and had to be moistened with lard. But staying inside the cabin all day could be stifling, especially with such a bleak view of the world out of each small window. They made do by rotating the chores outside, beginning with milking Betsy. Whoever was tasked with this chore faced the worst of the cold. The dead grass crunched under their feet, coated in a thin layer of frozen dew that melted by midday.
Caroline had calculated that the baby would be born in either late October or November, but as October ended with no sign of a coming baby, and November carried on into the double-digits, the days were narrowing down. She tried to remain calm, but she was more restless than anything else. There was only so much she could do to occupy everyone in such a small space. There was only so much she could clean. There was only so much she could sew without knowing the baby's gender. On clear days, Charles usually left to hunt, but she noticed him making more excuses to stay now that the root cellar was again generously packed with preserved meats, cheeses, and butter.
Toward the middle of the month Caroline felt the weight of the baby settle, and from the persistent pressing knew its head was in the correct position. That alone gave her great comfort. She'd long ago resigned herself to the fact that she would have to give birth alone, and with the knowledge that it was unlikely any sort of dextral manipulation akin to the foal's birth would be necessary, she slept more easily. The same could not be said for Charles. He watched her like a hawk. Any twinge, any sigh, any admission of tiredness could be interpreted by him as a sign of labor. Caroline could still get away with gathering the eggs each morning, unless one of the girls volunteered. Milking Betsy had become difficult, and carrying the milk bucket usually ended with more milk on Caroline's apron than remained in the bucket.
On the morning of Thanksgiving, Caroline was awoken by the baby, who moved inside her abruptly, as if puzzled. Thankfully, Charles' hand wasn't on her belly, so he only felt her shift a little under the quilt, trying to get comfortable. Light filtered in from the window, pale and grey, and the fire crackled, struggling not to die. After laying in bed with her eyes open for several minutes, Caroline carefully extricated herself, put some more wood on the fire, and dressed herself.
Charles stirred when the door opened and cold air blew in, but Caroline closed it quickly and headed to the stables, where the chickens were now kept in a coop Charles had tried to design to keep them as warm as possible outdoors. Caroline had wrapped a thick shawl around her torso, and covered her neck and head with yet another. Fingerless gloves and warm stockings under her heavy skirt completed her outerwear. Some debris brushed over her cheeks and settled on her eyelashes. She blinked, wiping her eyes with cold fingers, and was delighted to discover that it was snow, the white of it invisible against the cloud filled sky. They had all they needed, no one was out away from the house. For the first time since the cold weather had begun, the cabin looked like a little safe haven. She hurried toward the stables with her little wicker basket.
"Hello, girls," she cooed, lifting the lid of the chicken coop. The two hens clucked disapprovingly, but obligingly moved aside so she could gather four brown eggs. She stood, using the wall for leverage, and went to the cows' stall to pat Betsy and her calf in turn before heading back to the cabin. She was just closing the door and latching it when her center of gravity changed, the baby settling even deeper into her pelvis. It was then that she knew. The baby would be born today or tomorrow. Tomorrow, please let it be tomorrow, after Thanksgiving was over and she could rest.
The first pain arrived late in the day, low and sharp, while Caroline was plucking feathers from the prairie hen Charles had gotten yesterday in lieu of a turkey. She knew it was a real pain because of how low the baby was, along with the confusion she sensed coming from the baby all day. None of the playful turns and wiggles, just frustrated little kicks.
The girls, chatting while they completed the tasks she'd asked of them, didn't notice their mother close her eyes and lay her hand flat on the table, the other resting on her belly. The pain passed quickly, and wasn't very intense. If the labor was slow, as Mary's had been, she could get through supper. Charles was outside chopping wood. Caroline worked faster.
Through the next hour Caroline rode a steadily building wave of discomfort. She couldn't sit for more than ten minutes at a time, and used any excuse she could to pace around the cabin. After telling the girls to set the table, she decided to go to the outhouse. Outside it was already dark, the air was crisp and clear. A thin layer of snow had settled on the ground, illuminating it. She breathed deeply on her way back to the cabin, letting the weather cool her face and neck.
"Caroline!"
It was Charles, she made him out by the kerosene lantern he carried on his way back from the stables.
"Supper's almost ready," she said when he got nearer, her breath coming out like smoke.
"Good. The animals are blanketed down, and I covered the coops."
"That's-Oh!" She didn't know what she'd intended to say. Her body suddenly contracted in on itself, a jolt of pressure and pain. Instinctively, she grabbed his free arm.
A sudden rush of liquid ran down her legs, increasing the pressure in her pelvis and heightening the pain. She remembered this.
"Caroline?" Charles' voice was unnervingly calm. He must have practiced, because she knew he'd been terrified of this day for weeks.
Caroline's eyes were closed, her brow creased as she concentrated on the worst pain yet, the heat of it still moving through her, settling in her back. "I'm all right," she said on a breath. "I just need to-"
Charles put the lantern down and gave her his other hand. She held on, leaning into his weight as her body dealt with nature's blow.
It seemed to last an eternity, but in reality she knew not much time had passed at all. When it was over, she looked at her husband.
He swallowed. "This is it, then?"
"I feel all right," she said, which was mostly true. "I don't want to spoil Thanksgiving for the girls. Will you-will you build a fire out here?" His hand left her as he picked up the lantern again and helped her walk back to the cabin.
"Caroline-"
"After supper they can sit by the fire. You could play your fiddle. It's not so terribly cold."
He looked aghast. "What about you?"
She put on a brave face. "I'll call you when I need you. I've done this before, you know." A sense of urgency was building in her, and she knew the next pains would be closer together now. "Let's have supper."
The meal was tense, but Caroline tried to lighten the mood by encouraging the girls to talk. She ate small bites of everything, periodically holding the table in a white-knuckled grip, but got up as soon as she could to continue pacing the cabin.
"I wish we could see Grandma and Grandpa again," Mary said.
"We'll just have to send them our nicest thoughts," Caroline said lightly, pretending to tend to the fire. Squatting felt good. Being on her knees was even better. It took all the pain away from her back.
"Do you really think it'll snow again tonight, Pa?" Laura asked excitedly.
"I'm not sure, Half-Pint," he said, keeping his eyes on Caroline. "Sure seems like it. After supper's over we can sit by the fire outside and watch for it."
"Oh, goody!" she said, eating with enthusiasm.
"I don't want to sit out in the cold."
Caroline stood, a hand on her back, and returned to the table. "It won't be very cold once you're in your winter things sitting by the fire, Mary. Maybe your Pa will play his fiddle."
That prospect seemed to cheer Mary, and they ate in silence for a time. At a particularly low and intense pain, Caroline grit her teeth and put her head in her hands, elbows on the table.
"Girls, get your coats and scarves on. Your Pa's going to get the fire ready," she said, her hands shaking with the effort to remain calm. Charles stood from the table.
Laura's jaw dropped. "But we haven't tasted my pie!"
"You can have some later," Caroline bit out.
"Come on, girls, I'll help you," Charles said.
Caroline stayed at the table, trying to breathe deeply and steadily, but fear was creeping up on her. Things were moving more quickly than she'd anticipated. All she could think of was that terrible snowy night that kept appearing in her dreams. But this was different, she kept telling herself. This baby was ready to come.
The girls were shepherded out quickly.
"Can I get you anything?" Charles asked on his way out.
"Water," she said, and he returned with a washbasin full -far too much, but it was better safe than sorry.
She changed into a nightgown and, through pains that were coming what seemed like every two or three minutes, got everything ready. A clean sheet thrown over the bed. Strong twine, her kitchen scissors, a basin for the afterbirth. A cloth and a baby blanket she put near the fire to warm. Water set to boil. The table remained uncleared, their Thanksgiving supper frozen in time.
Outside she heard Charles' fiddle, the girls clapping, and finally let herself make the noise she'd been holding in all evening. Kneeling on the floor, she braced her arms on the side of the bed and leaned into the pain, groaning, trying to muffle it into her arm. It had been three hours since her labor started, not even half of how long she'd labored with Laura or the boy.
Taking a deep breath, she stood again, slightly unsteady, and went to the washbasin filled with water. She dampened a rag and wiped it over her face. If only another woman were here, someone who was acting on more knowledge than instinct. That was the thing about giving birth, it seemed an unforgettable experience when you were in the middle of it, but the weight of the baby in your arms after all the sweat and tears took away the worst of the memories. Would laying on the bed help her baby along? It was how she'd given birth to the others, but the prospect of laying down seemed an impossible task.
After another pain that doubled her over, Caroline managed to get to her bed with the clean sheet spread across. She gripped the bedding and carefully lowered herself down, but it was useless, her back ached acutely. Before the next contraction, she shakily pulled the sheet off the bed, folded it clumsily, and lay it on the floor. The instant she was back on her knees she felt the urge to push. Crying out at the intensity of the new pain, she pulled the hem of her gown up to her thighs and put her hand between her legs; shocked to feel the top of the baby's head -warm, slippery. Some blood stained her fingers, and she wiped them on the sheet.
"Charles!" she called, squeezing her eyes closed and breathing.
The music stopped, and the opening of the door let a gust of chilly wind inside.
"Oh, my God! Caroline, what are you doing? Did you fall?" He shut the door and touched her arms in an attempt to help her into bed.
"No, please! I'm all right. I don't want to be on the bed." She looked at him, taking a deep breath. "I can feel the baby's head," she said. Her voice cracked with nerves. "I'm not sure if I can guide her out myself. You may need to catch-"
She cried out again, leaning into the bed and pushing because she couldn't hold back any longer, eyes squeezed shut. She heard water splashing -Charles rinsing his hands. By the time the contraction was over, he was crouched beside her, a hand on her back.
His voice shook. "Tell me what to do."
She smiled, catching her breath, and looked at him again. "Everything is as it should be. The head is first, it's not like the foal. The baby will be smaller than you think. She'll fit right in your hands. Or he will."
He swallowed nervously. "All right. Show me how."
Caroline reminded herself that he was her husband, and this was their child. There was no real awkwardness, then, when she situated herself, bunching her nightgown, and guided his hand to feel the baby's head. With tears in his eyes, Charles smiled at her, rubbing a circle on her lower back when she cried out at another pain.
"You're so brave," he said. "I'm so proud of you."
There was no time to accept compliments. "That's nice. Now catch the baby."
She bore down and pushed.
He moved quickly, crouching lower, his hands poised. Keeping her hand on the crown of the baby's head, she pushed through the pain, resting her own head in the crook of her free arm, still braced on the bed. The head was out, she felt Charles' hand join hers, cupping it safely. Gathering all her remaining strength, she pushed again for the shoulders. Her knees ached, her thighs shook, and she knew she was making the loudest noise she'd made all day.
"I can't do it!" she moaned, just as she had at every birth.
"Yes, you can. I'm right here," he said quickly, his voice shaking. "I can-I have the baby in my hand. Just one more big push."
She took her own hand away, braced both arms on the bed, and pushed harder than she thought possible. The weight of the baby left her body, slipping out easily into Charles' waiting hands.
"Please, don't hit her!" she said desperately, remembering the sharp slap the midwife had administered each time. "She's so little!"
Charles chuckled nervously. "Don't worry, Caroline. She's just fine."
"She is?"
An instant later, after new lungs adjusted to the outside world, the baby cried. It wasn't until Caroline heard the baby's voice that she realized she'd been crying, too.
She laughed in relief, wiping her eyes of tears in time to see Charles cradling the baby in the crook of his arm, covered in fluids and squalling. He was crying, too, and his hand trembled as he stroked his new daughter's foot.
"You were right. It's a girl," he said reverently. "She's so small."
Caroline smiled, reaching for her daughter with one tired hand, and Charles brought the baby closer so she could take a proper look. The little face was scrunched up, crying unhappily at this new cold world. Caroline caressed a small pink hand. Four fingers and a tiny perfect thumb.
"Oh, Charles, she's beautiful," she whispered, her voice ragged. "Can I hold her?"
Charles laughed. "Can you hold her? What kind of question is that?" He handed the baby to her, and Caroline clasped her to her chest.
"I know, baby, I know. It's not very nice out here yet, is it?" She kissed her daughter's wet head. "Charles, there's some string and scissors on the trunk. I need those and the basin."
He had just put the requested items in front of her when Laura opened the door, sending a new gust of cold air inside.
"Ma? Are you all right? We heard you screaming."
"Close the door!" Charles yelled, and Laura obeyed. The baby squalled louder when Caroline laid her across her lap, and worked quickly to tie off the cord, cut it neatly, and hand her daughter off to Charles to be washed with warm water and wrapped in a blanket. The afterbirth was delivered swiftly into the basin while Charles was occupied with the baby, and Caroline cleaned herself up as best she could, covering the basin with the soiled sheet and slowly rising to her feet. The baby's cries had turned to small disgruntled noises.
"What do you think you're doing?" Charles asked, rising to his feet with the clean, naked newborn cradled to his chest. She wasn't crying anymore, only making hungry snurgling noises.
"Getting a new gown."
"Caroline -into bed. I'll get that," he ordered, bringing her the baby along with the soft knitted blanket.
She climbed awkwardly onto the bed and felt her daughter's hands clutching at her sweaty gown.
Once she was redressed, Caroline unbuttoned her gown and wriggled the baby inside, holding her small naked body against her own as she nursed, the gown draping down to reveal Caroline's bare shoulder.
"Better cover the baby and let the girls in," Caroline said, looking up. "I don't want them catching cold."
Charles sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, watching them. He tucked sweaty hair behind Caroline's ears.
"How do you feel?"
She smiled easily. "Oh, I feel wonderful." There was pain, but it paled in comparison to the little girl now curled against her breast, eyes sparkling up at her.
"Caroline Ingalls, I love you," he said softly. "Thank you."
"Which one of us are you talking to?"
He chuckled, leaning to kiss her lips and brow. He reached inside her gown, found a little hand, and kissed that, too. "Both of you."
"I love you, too," Caroline said, smiling.
Charles looked at the dirty scissors, basin, and sheet.
"Mrs. Stevenson said we have to bury it so the animals can't get at it," she explained, which made them both laugh.
"There's not a lot of feminine mystique left to discover after tonight," Charles joked. "Except maybe how you managed to do that four times."
"It must have something to do with getting a beautiful, perfect baby after it's all over." She smiled softly, remembering that things didn't always work out. He kissed her brow, caressed a little foot again, and stood to get the basin.
Charles draped the yellow blanket over Caroline, tucking it under her arms and leaving a gap so she could watch the baby. He left with the soiled sheet and basin and, after a moment, the door opened again and the girls walked in. Caroline smiled widely. They looked both afraid and excited.
"We heard you screaming, Ma," Mary said. "Does it hurt, having a baby?"
"A bit," Caroline said. "But I'm all right. Would you like to meet your sister?"
Laura and Mary nodded, thrilled.
"Take off those warm things and come up here with me," Caroline said, looking down at the baby while the girls shed their coats and shoes. Her eyes fluttered as she nursed, her tiny hand gripping her mother's skin. Caroline stroked her little arm with the backs of her fingers; her damp, dark hair.
"What's her name gonna be?" Laura asked, climbing up on the bed and snuggling beside her mother. "Can I touch her?"
Caroline reached in and gently broke the baby's latch, bringing her out into the yellow blanket. Mary climbed on the other side of her and rested her head on her mother's bare shoulder.
"Look at her little nose!" Laura said, stroking her baby sister's cheek. "Was I this small when I was a baby?"
"You and Mary were a little bigger when you were born," Caroline mused. The baby looked at them all with large blue eyes, quite alert for having come into the world fifteen minutes ago.
"Hey! She has blue eyes like you and me, Ma!"
Caroline smiled, knowing most babies were born with blue eyes. "She does, doesn't she?" She leaned down and kissed the baby, who tried to grab some of her hair.
Mary sighed contentedly. "She looks like a doll."
Charles returned, and Laura shielded the baby from the cold when he walked in.
"What do you girls think of your baby sister?" he asked, washing his hands and sitting on the end of the bed.
"Can I name her?"
"No! You wanted a brother, Mary," Laura said. "I'm the one who wanted a sister. Can I name her?"
"Your sister's name is Caroline," Charles said, pronouncing it the same way his wife's folks did, with a hard N to distinguish her from her mother.
Baby Caroline tried to stuff her first in her mouth. Caroline wriggled her back into her gown so she could resume nursing, tucking the blanket up and around her again.
"How is Ma gonna know which one of them you're talkin' to when you say 'Caroline', Pa?"
Caroline quirked an eyebrow. "That's true, Charles. If you say, 'Caroline, is breakfast ready?', this little one might get confused. Unless you expect her to start earning her keep tomorrow." The girls giggled.
"We'll think of somethin'," he promised. "For now, it's off to bed for everyone, especially your Ma."
"Where's Baby Caroline gonna sleep?" Mary asked.
Caroline, who was lost in the world of her new daughter, looked up at the sound of her own name.
"She'll sleep by me," she explained. "I'll have to feed her at night while you girls are sleeping."
Laura looked at her baby sister's hand on the swell of Caroline's breast as she nursed, curious but not bothered by this new information. "Oh."
Caroline relaxed while the girls got ready for bed. Thanksgiving supper was still on the table. She switched Baby Caroline to the other breast, and Charles cleaned up as best he could. The two Carolines watched each other, the baby had bright, sparkling eyes with a hint of violet, unlike her sisters', whose had been more muted and grey. By the time Charles had dressed for bed and slipped in beside Caroline, the baby had fallen asleep while nursing, some milk pooling around her rosebud mouth.
"I'm sorry I couldn't make her a cradle," Charles said, watching as Caroline adjusted the baby and buttoned her gown one-handed. "We just didn't have enough lumber after we fixed the stables."
"Oh, Charles, don't even think of that. Besides, I like my babies close in the beginning," she said. The lamp was low, but she still leaned close to inspect the shell of the baby's ear, and kissed her cheek while she slept. "She's so beautiful." She looked at Charles. "Are you happy? You're not disappointed it's another girl?"
He touched his daughter's cheek, her lips. "I told you I wanted a healthy, fat baby. Looks like that's what we got. She's a little shrimpy, but if she has an appetite like her sisters she'll fatten up in no time."
"So?"
He sighed. "Caroline, why do you think the good Lord went to all that trouble of making you so pretty if he didn't want you to have beautiful girls, too?"
She laughed. "All right."
"To be honest, I'd be worried about bringing a boy into this family next. He'd be outvoted every single time."
"Charles Ingalls, you bite your tongue. No talk of another baby until this one is at least walking." She closed her eyes and sighed. "Oh, no. I have to make her clothes. I kept putting it off, but she's going to grow so fast."
"Go to sleep, Caroline," he said. "It's been a long day. Just get some sleep."
Baby Caroline opened her eyes and stretched her arms, blinking up at her parents in confusion before turning her head and gumming at her mother's flannel gown.
Charles chuckled. "That goes for you, too, young lady. You've caused enough trouble for your mother this evening."
The baby only nursed for a few minutes before falling asleep again, and Caroline handed her to Charles before laying on her side and pulling the quilt up around her. She watched through heavy lids as Charles inspected his sleeping daughter, leaning close to see the blonde eyelashes, watching in fascination as she curled her whole hand around his pinky finger, stroked the sole of a pink foot. The golden lamplight, the warmth of the fire, and the knowledge that all her children were safe sent Caroline into a land of dreams.
Caroline was pulled from sleep by her new daughter shifting beneath her palm. She had a vague memory of placing her hand on the newborn once Charles had put her down between them. Now Baby Caroline was wriggling, little legs kicking in frustration. In the time it took Caroline to open her gown, the baby had pulled a fist up near her mouth, but Caroline brought her to her breast before she could cry.
She closed her own eyes in the semi-darkness, the labor having caught up with her. Keeping a hand on the baby, she reached up and took the pins out of her hair, which she hadn't had the time to undo from its chignon earlier. Flaxen hair tumbled out of the knot and relieved the headache she hadn't realized she'd had. Sensing she was being watched, she opened her eyes and saw Charles looking at her.
"Laura used to do that, with her hand," he said, touching Baby Caroline's, which rested on the curve of her mother's breast.
"Mary did, too," Caroline said, her throat sore from all the noise she'd made earlier. "You were just too shy to look then."
"You were shy, too!" he whispered. "You never nursed Mary in bed like this. You always sat in the rocker."
"I nursed her in bed sometimes. You're a heavy sleeper," she responded neutrally. "Anyway, back then I had more energy and a strict sense of propriety. Then you brought me to the prairie."
Charles smiled, leaning over the baby to kiss the crown of Caroline's head. "I love you."
Caroline looked up from her daughter. "Charles?"
"Hmm?"
"I want Caroline to be baptized."
"Caroline-"
"We don't need a priest to baptize her. You or I can do it. But I'd like her to be baptized all the same."
He smoothed her hair. "She will be."