Chapter 13
Her next contraction was a bit stronger than the previous ones, but somehow not so painful. Or maybe just not so shocking now that she was more accustomed to such an unusual variety of pain. Some parts of the body, after all, were naturally more sensitive than others. It was only natural that unaccustomed pain to them should seem more intense and unbearable than other sorts of pain.
James examined her shortly after the contraction passed, quickly and with all the professionalism of a real, licensed physician. Despite his admission, he made her feel like he had seen a thousand naked females before her, making the whole thing considerably less awkward than it might otherwise have been.
"You're coming along, but I suspect we still have some time to wait before things really start to progress."
She sighed, but nodded. From everything she'd read, it was not unusual for a woman's first labour to last more than twelve hours. In a fair number of cases, it would last days. She prayed it wouldn't stretch out so long, but felt that it would be very much her luck if it did.
"You don't have to stay, James. This is going to be long and boring."
"Nonsense. You shouldn't be alone."
"James, nothing is going to happen for a long time. I'm not in any danger."
"I know you're not. You still shouldn't be alone. This is an important time. You should have someone with you."
"Thank you, James," she whispered, taking his hand again. "You're a good friend."
"Shh," he urged quietly, squeezing her hand. "Do you need anything. Are you hungry or thirsty?"
"A bit thirsty. And I wouldn't say no to a little chocolate if there's any in the house."
He chuckled at that, giving her hand another squeeze and climbing to his feet. "Yet you accuse me of having a sweet-tooth. I'll see what I can do. You get some rest."
"All right. Thank you."
Smiling and resting her hand on her stomach, she watched him go, reaching for one of the books they'd brought up from the library earlier. She was on the second page when the next contraction hit. Gasping and dropping the book, she clutched her stomach, squeezing her eyes shut and telling herself firmly that the discomfort really wasn't all that bad. And, really, it was no worse than taking the Source had been. It was just much more focused, and on a much more delicate area of her anatomy this time. The last time she'd really felt noticeable sensation down there, John had been doing something quite pleasant to her. Now, to feel such powerful sensation there, after so long with none at all, was almost overwhelming.
As the contraction passed, it occurred to her that she might never again experience the kind of lovely sensations associated with lovemaking. John was gone, and she could hardly sleep with anyone else while she was married to a man as kind and loving as James. And, of course, he was unlikely to ever lay a hand on her in passion. The past several months had made it painfully clear that he was perfectly content with a sexless marriage. He did love her, had said so himself repeatedly in unguarded moments, but didn't seem to want more from their relationship.
Tears came unbidden to her eyes at the idea of a celibate, lonely life, and she wiped them away defiantly. It wasn't that she needed sex to be happy, after all, but it would have been nice to have someone to love her properly. She sniffed hard, shaking her head and wiping her eyes again.
It was terrible, or perhaps ideal, timing. James chose that moment to enter the room, wheeling a cart of refreshments. Quickly pushing it to one side, he hurried over to the bed, sitting and wrapping his arms around her. Gathering her close, he urged her head down against his strong chest and made soothing noises, petting her hair as she quietly wept, working the fear and loneliness out of her system.
"Are you in that much pain?" he asked gently, pressing his face to the top of her head and just continuing to hold her. "I can give you something."
"No." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, it's not that. I'm just... I don't know. I feel so emotional."
"The baby blues, come early?" he ventured, dropping his head further and nuzzling her cheek.
"Must be," she agreed weakly. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me."
"You're under a lot of stress. Nothing about the last forty weeks has been easy for you. I sometimes forget that marriage didn't solve everything for you. It helped, I'm sure, but that doesn't take away the pain and anger, or the guilt. How could it? So much went wrong for us all, so quickly. It's been a nightmare," he noted, tightening his gentle hold on her. "Of course you're emotional at a time as important as this. Everything is about to change, and it's hard to know whether those changes will be for better or for worse."
She sniffled again at that, at words no doubt unintentionally reminiscent of their wedding vows. Wrapping her arms around him, she nestled as close as her massive belly allowed. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"I believe we've had this conversation before," he murmured, petting her hair. "The truth is, while I may make this easier for you, you would still manage on your own. You're stronger and braver than I think you've ever realized. I saw that about you the first day we met. I admired it in you so much."
"There's nothing admirable about me, James," she sighed into his chest, shaking her head. "I'm not the strong woman you think I am."
"Stronger than you know," he murmured, rubbing her back. "You'll see when this is all over. And, for now, I just need you to trust me. I'm right here and I'm going to help you through this."
"Thank you," she whispered, smiling weakly up at him.
"Try to get some rest," he directed, smiling warmly and urging her onto her back against the pillows. "We have a long day ahead. Quite probably a long night, too."
She sighed at that assessment, shifting around to try to find a comfortable position. "How far along am I?"
"Three or four centimetres. I'll check again after you've had a few more contractions."
"All right," she agreed, closing her eyes and resting her hands on her stomach.
"How are you holding up?" he asked gently after a few moments of silence.
"The contractions are more painful than I thought they'd be this early on but, so far, it's still not as bad as I was afraid it might be. You hear such horrible stories of labour and childbirth. I was half-expecting not to be coherent by this stage."
"As you yourself pointed out, women have been doing this for hundreds of thousands of years," he answered, a smile in his voice. One of his hands coming to rest on her stomach, he added, "I think women have a hard time precisely because they're so terrified. But you understand what's happening to your body and, unlike many, you've experienced considerable pain in the past, so it's easier for you."
"You're probably right," she agreed, opening her eyes and covering his hand with one of her own. "It's quite unpleasant, but it's not so very unbearable."
"I'm sure it will get much worse," he warned, biting his lip, "but I'm equally sure you can handle the worst that labour has to throw at you."
"The pain will be terrible, I know. But knowing why it's happening and what it's for..."
He nodded in agreement, giving a little gasp as the baby targeted a hard kick at his palm. "You're eager to get out, aren't you?" he chuckled. "It won't be much longer, little Miss."
"Why are you so sure it's a girl?" she asked, smiling curiously at him.
"Why shouldn't I be? Besides, it's mostly wistful thinking on my part. I just think the world could use another woman like Helen Magnus, so of course I hope you'll grace us with a girl."
She bit her lip at that, blushing a little. "Thank you, James."
"Mmm," he agreed, smiling and nodding. "Have you decided on a name yet?"
"Gregory if it's a boy, of course," she told him.
"Of course." He nodded. "And, if it's not?"
"I'm partial to Ashley for a girl. Ashley Watson has a good sound to it."
"Ashley Watson?" he repeated, expression musing. After a moment, he smiled. "Yes, it sounds... kind and even-tempered."
"And Gregory Watson?"
"Ah, now that's a strong name. With a name like that, your son is bound to be both a scholar and a leader."
"And you don't think an Ashley could be those things?" she asked, frowning a little.
"Of course she will be," he answered easily, patting her stomach. "Any child of yours will be naturally powerful and brilliant and, together, we'll teach her to love learning as much as we always have. She'll have it in her blood and in her upbringing, which is more than can be said for most. Of course she'll be as much of a scholar as either of us."
"Do you think she'll be athletic, too, like... like her father?" she asked, faltering a bit near the end of the query. After all, if the child inherited one trait from John...
"Well," he answered slowly, "that will be in her blood, too. But you know what a debate there is on how much a child inherits in its blood and how much from its environment. She will probably be athletic if we encourage her to, but not otherwise."
"You fall on the nurture side of the debate, then?"
"To a strong extent, yes. If nothing else, there's almost no proof that children inherit more than superficial physical traits from their parents and, even so, Lamarckism has been quite thoroughly discredited, so there's no need to worry about her picking up any traits her parents weren't born with. Do you understand?"
She nodded slowly, swallowing hard. "It will still be best to keep a close eye on her."
"Of course. But we will love her, support her, nurture her, and treat her like a normal child rather than like a ticking bomb. That alone will help insure that she grows up happy and stable."
"You really will love her like your own, won't you?"
"Oh, I'll love her better than any man ever loved his own offspring," James promised, smiling and gently caressing her swollen belly. "She's to be the centre of my world."
"You'll be an amazing father, won't you?" she murmured, heart-warming as she considered the amount of affection he'd likely lavish on her poor child.
"I'll do my best to be a good one. I keep telling you that," he chuckled, smiling warmly down at her. "Now get some rest, if you can. I brought hot cocoa for you, and a plate of chocolate pastries," he told her, climbing to his feet. "If a child really could inherit traits acquired during the lifetime of its parents, yours would be sure to be quite addicted to chocolate..."