Disclaimer: I don't own Harvest Moon, Karen, or any related characters or events; to the best of my knowledge, they're all owned by Natsume. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events is purely coincidental. This story is based primarily on the plot of Harvest Moon 64.

Wine Red no Kokoro

by flame mage

Part 24: The Dawn of Man

Pregnancy was a little strange at first. Jack and I had figured out that we wanted children, but even when you're expecting it, it's always a shock when your stomach starts swelling, I guess.
And it was a pain sometimes, too. The craving for sweets wore off after a while, but you try asking any pregnant woman what the best part about pregnancy is and just see if she says, "I just loved the whole feeling of being bloated and lethargic!" Actually, she probably won't say anything; she'll be too busy throwing up on you. I didn't really want to eat for a while, and Dad started hauling over food. He didn't even give it to me; he'd hand it to Jack and say, "here, cook this for her." So we'd go into the kitchen that night and figure out how to make chicken con broccoli or tomato quiche or whatever dietary monstrosity Dad had decided would be good for my health. Actually, most of it was okay, although I drew the line at a daily bowl of Popuri's herb salad. I have limits.
Like any first-time parents, we were euphoric and probably went a little overboard. I even broke down and got Ann to teach me how to knit so I could make little baby-sweaters, which everyone cooed at admiringly when they came by to bring me gifts. Ooh, that's one of the cool things about pregnancy: everyone gives you presents. Of course, they're not presents that anyone would actually want, like painkillers or liquor (both of which the midwife made me lay off of the whole time), but little cutesy things like blankets and stuffed animals. Maria, who was the closest thing to artsy-craftsy we had on the island, brought me a little blue mouse-ears cap for the baby to wear. Ann and I considered keeping up our social-butterfly- izing-Maria plan, but after the Spirit Festival, it became apparent that it was unnecessary. We started seeing Harris in the library more and more, and then the two of them walking in the mountains together, and rumors were flying that Rick was making a bundle on blue feather sales. Elli still brought cakes every morning. In the Winter, she'd come around six so she could see Jack, but after he got married she started coming earlier again. There was still just a trace of acid in her eyes when she looked at my increasingly rounded stomach, but for the most part, she was recovering from her jealousy and we were getting back to normal. Normal was good.
Aside from drinking, the midwife made me swear up and down that I would not, under any circumstances, work outside in the vineyard, especially during the summer and even more especially for long periods of time. I had to cut down my hours at the bar, too, and I had to sit down more. On an actual chair, too, instead of perching on the edge of Jack's table the way I normally did. Duke was very understanding about the whole thing, although I noticed there were tears in his eyes when he congratulated Jack, and I knew he must still miss his own child badly. They say there's nothing worse than losing a child, and I hope I never find out what that's like.
I still worked on the farm some, doing simple things like crating the eggs. I couldn't work in the fields anymore, and I couldn't exert myself too much taking care of the animals, but I still managed to help. Rick came up with an air conditioning system to keep the greenhouse cool, so I could water the crops in there, too, and after the first minor explosion, it worked almost perfectly.
Flower Bud Island is kind of a strange place. We're stuck with one foot in the present and one in the past, so to speak. We have indoor plumbing and running water coming out of our taps, but the wells in our front yards are still being used. There aren't many phones here, and there are no computers. Our houses are air conditioned, and although we later got a clinic, at the time there was no doctor on the island. We ordered what we needed from the mainland, and a few times a week the ferry would come and drop it off for us. No big factories, no tourists. But it was a life, and those of us who lived on that tiny island...we were generally happy, going through life amiably and, for the most part, enjoying it.
Anyway.
The library had a few maternity books, but the midwife looked like she was stockpiling them. If a rabid axe murderer broke in and demanded that she surrender all her maternity books, he'd have enough to read two or three a day for a year--and he'd need a forkload to get them out of there. I started reading them obsessively and spouting random bits of wisdom from them ("Jack, the baby takes nutrition from my body!"). For a while, my only captive audience was Jack--the older people exchanged knowing glances and the gang my age looked blank, confused, and somewhat embarassed.
This changed when Ann burst onto the farm one morning to announce that she was pregnant. It's a tribute to the long years of friendship we've had and our ability to read each other that she said that first, because I was still half-asleep when she charged straight into the house, barreling past a totally bewildered Jack, and if I hadn't heard that she was going to have a baby I would have shoved her onto the floor and went back to sleep. Eventually she calmed down enough to talk coherently, and then Cliff wandered in and Jack sighed and started making the coffee. Cliff was bewildered but happy, although he came into the bar that night and worried for a while. Most of his problems were along the lines of "I have no idea how to raise a child!" Jack could empathize, and they whimpered about it to the tune of three or four shots while I glared into a glass of water. Kai saw my expression and promised me the first round when it was all over. Like Elli, he still looked a little glum when he saw me with Jack, or when I whined about morning sickness, but mostly he smiled and visibly tried to be happy for me. I have no doubt that, in some way, he was. Even if I'd turned him down, he was still determined to be there for me.
It was the very beginning of Fall, the lazy golden-orange period when the world still thinks it's summer and the leaves are just beginning to change. One Sunday morning, I carefully wrapped up several books I'd ordered from the mainland, and Jack--bearing the last few Spring cabbages I'd made him save in the refridgerator--and I went to the church for Harris and Maria's wedding. I saw her that morning as the rest of us were helping to get her dress on and the flowers and music set up. Her hair was piled on her head, the white gown swirling around her as she moved. She wore no glasses and no makeup, but what made her beautiful was her eyes. They were shining, glowing with happiness and light. And I wondered if it was just today, or if she'd always had that beauty and no one had ever noticed it.
Now only Kai, Rick, Gray, and Jeff were the eligible men in the village. I didn't hold out much hope for Rick, and Kai said there was no one he wanted to marry, but as for the last two, we figured it was only a matter of time. At the wedding, a shy Gray approached a shy Popuri and asked her to dance for the first time. Jeff found the coin in his piece of cake at the Harvest Festival that year, and Elli was definitely spending more time fishing. Ellen noticed this, and cackled about it to me frequently when I stopped by to pick up bread in the mornings. Rick saw it too. When I walked into his store, I noticed that he'd taken the time to build an elaborate display showcasing blue feathers.
Fall twenty-ninth dawned bright and crisp and clear. At least, that's what they tell me. Personally, I wasn't paying much attention to the weather. I woke up before dawn with the worst contractions and I knew it was coming.
I punched Jack. "Whaa? Wazzat? Whassamatter?" he groaned, rubbing his eyes.
"Go get my mother...and the midwife," I ordered hoarsely.
He threw a pair of overalls on over his T-shirt and boxers and stumbled off as fast as he could to the vineyard. He returned five minutes later with Mom and the midwife.
"Go!" the midwife ordered Jack. "You being here will not make it come any faster! Go do work and come back around three."
I would learn later she had sent him out because she was afraid the baby would die.
I was worrying through the haze of pain. "It's early. It's not due for more than a week."
"Shh, shh," my mother comforted me, brushing sweat-drenched hair back from my face. "Try to relax."
If you've ever had a baby, I don't have to tell you: that is REALLY stupid advice. It is impossible to relax when the reaction going on in your body is the equivalent of someone trying to drive a tractor through a Cheerio. I am exaggerating here, but only slightly.
My personal defense mechanism was: forget most of it. The hours I spent in labor are very hazy, mostly cloudy with pain. I remember cursing a lot and the feeling of tears running down my face. I remember hearing Jack at the door, wanting to see me, the midwife turning him away sternly. I remember my mother sitting at my bedside, rubbing ice on her hand where I'd clenched it too hard. Strange what we remember. Those images stand out in my mind as if they're reflected in water. The rest of it was a painful blur.
I remember the very end, though, squeezing my mother's hand again as the midwife cried "push!" and pushing with all my strength...and then a rush as I realized it was done. My child had been born.
The midwife picked it up, looked at it, and announced, "It's a boy." Expertly, she cleaned the baby's mouth, and it let out a cry. "He's alive," she said and studied it closer. "And he will stay alive," she added. "He's small, but he's a good strong boy."
I choked and realized I'd forgotten to breathe. My mother wiped tears from my eyes and then her own.
Jack burst in exactly at three, obviously having been pacing just outside the door for a long time. The baby was lying next to me in the bed.
"Jack..." I said weakly.
"I'm here, Karen," he replied. "I'm here."
"Give him a name..." I whispered.
There were tears in his eyes. Mine, too.
Gently, he picked our son up and cradled him in his arms. "Welcome to the world, Adam," he said.