A/N: Just a couple of household items here – I still don't own Downton Abbey, in case anyone was wondering.
Also, this is a reminder that quotation marks are not used for any conversations, EXCEPT for when Charles and Elsie talk to each other. And a few small exceptions.
Thanks to ChelsieSouloftheAbbey for her suggestion that hopefully will make the rest of the conversations easier to read. And thank you to those who commented on Tumblr about this – that's why I asked. JustSterling, just for you I think I'll make this note longer…:)
There is a time jump here, and there will be more in this story as it progresses. At some point, I have to get to the main part of the story.
Thanks to you all for reading, and reviewing this story! Please continue! Your reviews make me happy!
June 1853, near Sonoma
The afternoon sun floods the vineyards, the rolling hills. The blossoming clematis on the side of the house shows off its purple flowers.
Richard sighs, shifts his weight on the overturned pail he sits on. He has read the same page in Oliver Twist fifty times, but Mr. Brownlow, Rose and Nancy have not yet left London Bridge. Turning his head, he looks through the half-shut barn door at the house. He hears nothing but light wind and the quiet thump of the animals behind him.
And snoring.
Charles sits on another overturned pail, his back against the wall, his face slackened in slumber. His head is tilted back and his mouth is open.
Grinning, Richard shakes his head. Finally. He knew how much his brother-in-law wanted to stay awake until everything was over, but the man has not slept since dawn yesterday.
He lets out a yawn himself. The warm spring sunshine relaxes him, and rest is tempting. He slept for a few hours during the night, but it was only after knowing Elsie's contractions were not progressing.
You can't sleep now! What if she needs me?
Abigail and Isobel know what they are doing. If I'm needed, they will send Miss Patmore out to get me.
It's Isobel, is it?
A wry smile turns up the corners of his mouth. He tugs at one end of his mustache.
You'd best be careful you don't call her that to her face. Or refer to her by her first name in front of someone else.
He runs a hand through his hair and rubs his itchy eyes, scratches the stubble on his chin. Mrs. Crawley is a fine midwife. He trusts her with Elsie, but he can't help worrying.
He had stayed in the room as Elsie's labor began, but she had eventually asked him to leave. It was not because she didn't trust him, he knew. It was merely she had felt more comfortable with her mother and the midwife.
Understanding that, he has kept vigil with Charles ever since.
The men had stayed in the kitchen until the late morning. The prospective father had become increasingly unnerved by the sounds coming from the bedroom.
Truth be told, so had Richard.
So now they are in the barn.
Oh, he has heard - and seen - worse. Much worse.
But Elsie is his sister, if not by blood, then certainly by love, and he hates with all his medical knowledge he can do nothing to ease her pain.
Perhaps it was a wise insight on her part to keep him at arm's length. He sits and attempts to read as the afternoon drags on. Charles sleeps and continues to snore.
-Can I get you something, Doctor?
Miss Patmore stands in the barn doorway with a plate piled high with ham sandwiches and the other half of the cherry pie she made yesterday. Richard shoots to his feet, the book dropping from his hand and thumping onto the dirt.
-What is it? Is something wrong? He asks, looking past her at the silent house.
-No, nothing like that. Both Mrs. Crawley and Mrs. Clarkson said it shouldn't be too long now. Mrs. Clarkson sent me to see if the two of you needed something to eat.
For a moment Richard is confused, before he realizes that "Mrs. Clarkson" refers to Abigail.
You need to restrain yourself. You've shared a single ride with the midwife from Sonoma, and had one conversation with her. Most of which was about Elsie.
Does Isobel even know your first name?
-That's very kind of her, he says to Beryl. –Thank you. We had breakfast this morning, but nothing since.
He picks up the book and dusts it off. The red-haired woman turns and smiles fondly at the big man leaning against the wall. Charles's black curls are plastered against his forehead. His snoring, if anything, is louder.
-It's about time he slept. Numbskull.
Beryl grins when she sees Richard eyeing the pie after he's eaten three sandwiches.
-If you want some, eat it now. Once Mr. Carson wakes up, he'll eat the rest.
-I will have a piece. You are a fine baker, Miss Patmore.
The two of them sit eating and not speaking. Richard badly wants to ask how Elsie is, but if the women inside think her ordeal won't last much longer, he knows all too well what she's going through.
He has seen it before.
-All right. I lied.
Richard swallows a bite of cherry pie and frowns at her.
-What do you mean, lied?
-Mrs. Crawley practically bit my head off! Beryl exclaims. -I thought she was going to chase me out of the room! Elsie's mother was more polite. She asked me to tend to you and Mr. Carson.
His heartbeat slows down. –What did you do?
-Nothing. She claps her hands together, getting rid of crumbs. Just told Elsie she shouldn't scream so loud. That she should save her strength for when the baby comes.
-Tell me something. He presses his lips together, trying not to laugh. Did Mrs. Crawley shout at you, or did Elsie?
-They both did. The midwife told me to get out, and Elsie swore at me in two languages. I can't understand Gaelic, but I know she wasn't singing me a lullaby!
Thank God. She's going to be fine.
Richard bursts out laughing and falls sideways onto the floor. His peals of laughter echo throughout the barn. A cat meows, then scampers after a mouse who's nibbling at the crumbs.
-It's not funny, Dr. Clarkson. Beryl glares at him. I was only trying to help!
Charles startles awake. His eyes are bleary, and his hair is wild.
-Wha? What's going on? He then sees the woman sitting by the door.
-BERYL! Why didn't you wake me!?
-Steady on, Charles! Richard grabs his arm. She wanted to let you sleep. You needed it. Nothing's happened yet, anyway.
-Really? Nothing yet? He looks at Beryl for confirmation, and his face falls when she nods. -How long will this last?
-The first birth is always difficult. Richard sits on the floor while Beryl hands Charles the sandwiches. He tears into them, ravenous.
While he eats, Richard tries calm his fears. To the doctor's relief, his brother-in-law listens.
-But she's in pain. And there's nothing I can do for her. Charles sags against the wall, distress in his eyes.
Richard tells the two about a recent medical discovery.
-A doctor in Edinburgh noticed the benefits, but it was only earlier this year that its use had a greater influence, he says. -Her Majesty Queen Victoria was given chloroform before the birth of her son, Prince Leopold. It was a great success, apparently.
-Too bad she didn't have it for her previous seven births, Beryl mutters.
-Could Elsie use it? Do you have some? Charles asks eagerly. Richard shakes his head.
-I don't have any, unfortunately. And if she is as close to giving birth as Miss Patmore says, I think it might be too late for it to be of use to her, even if I did have it. Maybe for the next child, God willing.
-I doubt there will be another child after this one.
Both men turn to stare at Beryl.
-What in hell do you mean by that? Charles asks in a dangerous voice, obviously trying to control himself. Richard closes his eyes.
Not helpful, Miss Patmore.
-Elsie was still shouting loudly when I left, the woman says. –Mostly at me. I couldn't understand all of it, but I clearly heard her say that after she got out of bed, she's going to murder you, Mr. Carson.
-She didn't mean it, Charles. Richard quickly says. -Women…say a lot of things during labor.
He bites his tongue to keep from laughing. He can only imagine what's come out of Elsie's mouth in the last few hours.
Charles covers his face with his hands, unconvinced.
They sit talking of other things. The vineyard, Beryl's mother and Aunt Ida and their ongoing rows. The yellow fever decimating New Orleans.
Richard is giving them news from San Francisco when Isobel appears in the doorway. Her eyes show exhaustion, and her bun has come loose entirely, leaving her dark hair tumbling down her back.
The doctor tries and fails to keep from staring at her. Fortunately, her attention is elsewhere.
She smiles at Charles.
-Elsie wants to see you, Mr. Carson.
The words have hardly left her mouth and Charles is past her, flying through the yard and into the house. He doesn't shut the front door, which swings open, squeaking madly.
-Is she all right? And the baby? Beryl asks, her voice high from worry.
-They are both fine. Isobel breaks into a brilliant smile.
-Thank Heaven, Beryl murmurs under her breath. She looks down, overcome with relief. –And thank you, Mrs. Crawley. I expect you and Mrs. Clarkson are famished, not to mention Elsie. I'll make something for you all.
She picks up the empty plate and heads into the house.
Richard feels his heart beat again. Thank you, his light blue eyes say to the tired brown ones before him. If only he could thank her properly. But words seem inadequate to the task.
He silently takes Isobel's hand and pulls it to his lips.
The midwife does not look away from the doctor's gaze. Or remove her hand from his.
Charles runs into the house without feeling the floorboards beneath his feet. He almost knocks into Abigail, who is shutting the door behind her.
-Oh! Sorry, he gasps when she stumbles.
-No matter. She laughs, puts a hand on his arm. Congratulations, Charles. She was wonderful.
She gestures toward the half-open door and pats him on the back. –Go in.
He wipes his sweaty hands on his trousers and catches his breath.
Before losing it when he enters the room.
Elsie sits up in their bed. Holding a bundle in her arms, her expression is one of rapturous wonder. Strands of auburn hair stick to the side of her face, her skin is blotchy and red, and her nightgown is off one shoulder.
"Are you all right?" He manages to gasp out. I thought she was beautiful before, but it didn't compare to this.
She looks up, a smile blooming across her face. "I am now. Your son takes after you. Stubborn. Arrives precisely when he intends, and not a moment sooner. And that certainly wasn't my voice I heard when he finally got here!"
A lump forms in his throat. "A son?"
Tears shimmer in her eyes even as she smiles. "Yes. Samuel." Her voice wobbles when she says their son's name for the first time. The name they had agreed on.
She nods at the side of the bed, beckoning him closer.
He sits down gingerly on the calico quilt, thinking of how different this moment is from yesterday evening when her contractions worsened.
A day ago. A lifetime ago.
She shifts the bundle in her arms, a little clumsily, he thinks. Still better than he would, he is sure.
"Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?" She whispers.
Samuel's face is red. And wrinkly. He has a tuft of dark hair on his head.
For the second time in his life, Charles falls in love at first sight. He touches impossibly soft skin on the infant's cheek. Marvels at his own forehead reflected in front of him, his hands in miniature. Elsie's nose. He smiles when the baby twitches, his little brow furrowed.
"He wrinkles his nose like you." He meets Elsie's eyes, and they kiss. "I love you."
"I love you, a ghraidh," she sighs as he pulls her braid over her shoulder, kisses her temple.
"May I hold him?" he asks softly.
Elsie grins. "I've held him for long enough. Now it's your turn."
They laugh a little at the awkward transfer before Samuel is cradled in Charles's big hands. He bends over and brushes his lips against his son's hair, his heart overflowing with pure joy.
"He's so…light," he says, mesmerized. Elsie snorts out a laugh.
"Eight-and-a-half pounds is not light," she runs two fingers down Samuel's arm. "And look at his shoulders – once they were out, the rest of him was easy. He'll be a big man when he's grown."
A cold chill runs down his back. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"Yes, Charlie," she leans against him. "Just tired. Mam said Isobel is the best midwife she's seen." She tucks her chin over Charles's arm. "She helped me very much. Even when I…thought I couldn't go on."
She closes her eyes in weariness.
-I can't! Tears stream down her face. The pain makes her double over, and she grabs at the foot of the bed, to grip something. Mam catches her hands.
-Yes you can. I know it's hard, lass, but you can do this. You can.
But Mam's words do not reach her.
She is afraid. Afraid her strength is giving out. Afraid that the baby is stuck, will never come out. That she and the little one will die.
Afraid she will never see Charlie in this life again.
-Elsie. Isobel wraps an arm around her, keeping her from falling. The midwife's voice is right at her ear. Stand up. Stand up.
-I…can't… She gasps, taking a gulp of air. Her legs are like water.
-I won't take no for an answer, Elsie Carson. You will stand up, and you will deliver your child.
Somehow she finds the strength to stand, to shuffle back onto the bed. And within the hour Samuel takes his first breath outside her body.
To see him now in Charlie's arms, she thinks, is nothing short of miraculous.
"I must thank Mrs. Crawley before Richard takes her home," Charles says. "I thought she would surely ask for his help, but she surprised me."
"She would have, if she thought she needed it," Elsie touches Samuel's head. She cannot seem to stop touching him. To know he is here, that he is real. "She respects doctors, but she trusts her own experience as well. And I trust her."
"With good reason. She-" Charles stops when the baby blinks and moves his mouth. "Hello, lad. Are you awake?"
He lowers his voice. Anyone else, Elsie thinks, would sound like they were whispering, but Charlie's firm baritone never seems to go below a normal person's speaking voice. But she loves hearing it. She always has.
To her delight, their son seems to like it too. He blinks again, holding one eye open.
"Hello, Samuel," Charles holds him closer, breathing in his sweet scent. More than once in the past few months he had tapped gently on Elsie's belly and felt a kick in return.
But now the baby is here and he's looking at him. "Do you know me?"
"Of course he does. He knows his Da," Elsie kisses Samuel's head, traces his tiny ear with the tip of her finger. "Do you want him to call you Da, or Papa?"
Samuel is still looking at Charles with one eye. He blinks again, and opens the other slowly. His eyes are not focused, but slightly crossed.
"Da, since that's what you will call me when you talk to him." He smiles, then suddenly feels tears coming. He hands the baby back to Elsie.
"What's wrong?" She asks as he presses his hands to his eyes. Charles lets out a sob and forces himself to breathe.
She is fine. Samuel is fine.
His relief is overwhelming. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.
"I was so scared," he whispers. "Even with Richard explaining what was happening. I felt like tearing the wall down this morning when we were in the kitchen, and you-"
He swallows and looks at her through red-rimmed eyes. "You were in such pain. And I kept thinking it was all my fault. It is my fault you went through that. I'm sorry."
They sit close together, but Elsie scoots closer. Brushes her forearm against his. "It was not all your fault, Charlie. I seem to remember certain events of last autumn." A slow smile forms on her lips. "I know I was very enthusiastic. So were you." She sighs. "Yes, it was painful. But truly, it doesn't matter now."
She leans forward, and Charles kisses her, feeling some of his worry ebb away.
They are interrupted by a noise from Samuel. Breaking apart, they both laugh looking down at him. The infant wraps his tiny fingers around one of his father's big ones.
"I see how it will be," Charles rumbles, wagging his eyebrows. "You won't let me have a spare moment alone with your mother. You'll keep her all to yourself!"
"But after you sleep," Elsie whispers, "you won't mind if I'm with your Da now and again, will you? We mustn't let him get lonely."
Letting Samuel grip his finger, Charles shakes his head. "I…I can't believe he's ours."
A single tear trembles in Elsie's eye before running down her cheek. She kisses her son's forehead. "You are our gift. We love you," she whispers, kissing him again and rubbing her cheek against his.
Charles listens as she begins to hum. Samuel peers intently at her, his fingers gripping Charles.
Elsie's mother holds her newest grandson only a short while. Beryl is much too impatient, and is not afraid to demand her turn.
-I will have plenty of time to hold him, Abigail smiles as she hands him over. –That is, if Charles and Elsie still want me to stay for a while.
Elsie squeezes Charles's hand. –We do want you to stay, Mam. Biting her lip, she gives her mother a knowing glance. –We will both breathe easier having you here for a while.
-Welcome, young Samuel Hughes Carson, Beryl says. –You don't look like a numbskull to me. Then again, you have Elsie as your mother. Most likely you have her brain. Definitely her wits.
Charles groans theatrically. –Your Auntie Beryl doesn't think very highly of me.
-I think better of you now, she replies. –Of course I hope the vineyard is a great success, but he-
She gestures at the squirming infant –he is the best thing to grow in this place.
The wagon rolls quietly down the road in the warm evening, clouds blocking the sun. Isobel is glad she let the others convince her to eat, then go home. Part of her wants to stay, to make sure that Elsie is all right, that the first few days for mother and child are smooth.
But she needs to go home, too. She is exhausted and needs a good night's sleep in her own bed. And she needs to see Matthew.
-Are there many other women due soon? Richard – Dr. Clarkson – asks, flicking the reins again.
Numbly, she tries to think. -Senora Dolores, Mrs. Williams, and Mrs. Benziger, she says.
And someone else that she cannot think of.
She would be able to think of who it is if she was not so tired.
And if the memory of the doctor kissing her hand did not fill her mind so.
It did not feel untoward, or inappropriate in the moment. And yet she felt something.
Something she did not think she would ever feel again.
A/N: Soooo...this chapter ended up being more about other people than about Chelsie, even though they were the center of everything. Sorry...
Nods to both of my siblings in this chapter - they both have kids, and I don't. When my sister was in hard labor with her second child, a nurse at the hospital literally told her to stop screaming so much.
Yeah, that didn't go over too well.
And when my brother's first child was born, my mother didn't stay over the first night my sister-in-law came home with the baby. He told me he had never been so relieved as when Mom got to their house the next morning.