Monday – early hours of the morning.
Panting raggedly, Helen Santini lifted her head slowly and regarded her reflection in the mirror above the sink. What she saw there made her heart beat even more irregularly.
Pale, wan face, big old green eyes, filled with anxiety and pain.
Oh, yes.
Pain.
Lots of it.
Too much.
Way too much, for this early on.
Not like this before …. With any of the others.
She would remember.
Another pain roared through her abdomen, robbing her of breath once again, and she hung her head over the sink, feeling nauseous and dizzy, clutching at her belly, as another contraction ripped through her lower body.
She had woken a little while ago, feeling the need to use the bathroom, or so she had thought, and aware of a heaviness and deep aching sensation in her lower back and stomach. However as she had crossed the bedroom and made for the adjoining bathroom, trying not to disturb String, who looked so peaceful in slumber, a sharp pain had caused her to double over and gasp loudly in the darkness.
The bedside clock said that it was 2.45am.
She had staggered into the bathroom, just as her waters had broken, and had had to lean heavily against the sink, as she tried to draw in deep, cleansing, calming breaths and make her legs take her weight.
No.
Most definitely not like this before.
When she finally managed to look up once more, her reflection in the mirror over the sink frightened her.
She had been here before.
She knew what it was like to go into labor.
And this time, this time, she knew that it was different somehow.
She panted raggedly as she felt her stomach contract once more, and another pain robbed her of breath, creasing her over once again.
Something wasn't right!. Helen thought frantically to herself in the darkness.
This was different.
Too much pain, too soon.
It was all happening too fast.
The early stages of labor should have been less painful, and her waters shouldn't have broken just yet.
Oh God!
String!
Lurching awkwardly out of the bathroom, Helen Santini made her way carefully back out into the darkened bedroom, where her wonderful husband, home just these past two days, lay sleeping peacefully, and blissfully unaware of her plight.
Not for much longer!
"String," Helen gasped raggedly, leaning heavily against the bed as another pain tore through her and this time she could not keep the pain to herself, shouting out, as her stomach contracted and suddenly her legs would not hold her up.
"Helen?" String mumbled groggily, lifting his head slowly from his pillow, his eyelids still stuck together with sleep.
"String …. Owwwwwwwwwwww! " Helen gasped.
"Helen?"
"Don't just lie there!" She shrieked. "Owwwwwww!"
"The baby?"
String quickly came to his senses, reaching out to switch on the lamp on the nightstand beside their bed, flooding the bedroom with soft yellow light, and finding Helen Santini sitting in a most undignified position on the floor, legs spread wide open, clutching her belly, face red and wet from tears of pain and perspiration, as she panted in a very dramatic fashion.
"Genius! Of course, the baby! Why else would I be sitting here!" she yelled unreasonably. "Ouch! Owwwwwwwww! Owwwwwwwww!" she wailed loudly again.
Stringfellow was out of bed in a flash, dragging sheets and blankets after him, as he stumbled to the bottom of the bed and crouched down before Helen. Immediately her face contorted in a grimace of pain as she reached out for one of his hands and squeezed it with all her might, as another pain gripped her and she closed her eyes and bit her lower lip to prevent herself from crying out in agony.
Stringfellow took his bottom lip between his teeth too and waited out the pain, his fingers feeling like they had been clamped in a vice, white, bloodless, and throbbing violently as she continued to squeeze with all her might.
And he suddenly remembered what Dominic Santini had said, about the day their firstborn son had come into the world.
She had gripped his hand so tightly on that occasion, she had almost broken four of his fingers.
When she let go at last, String wrung his hand violently to try to get some feeling, other than pain, back into his hand, backing away from her, heading for the wardrobe and his pants.
"What should I do?" he asked in complete confusion, as he tried to pull on his pants, but somehow couldn't get his foot into the leg hole and was hopping erratically around the room.
"Don't panic," Helen told him between gasps for breath, trying not to laugh at the hilarious sight of him hopping around the room, now trying to jam both feet into the same leg hole. "Stand still, before you fall over and break your neck," she advised. "Ouch ….. Owwwww!"
"Bag?"
"Closet," she panted.
"Ok."
"String," she reached out for his hand one more time, and he came to kneel down beside her.
"It's ok," he reassured her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
"No," She panted breathlessly, her eyes wide and filled with anxiety.
"We'll get you to the hospital," he tried to pull his hand out of her grip now, his fingers throbbing and tingling painfully as blood flow was restored to the tips.
"No …. No time," she gasped out, eyes frantic now.
Now, as he looked into her face more closely, String could see panic and fear in Helen Santini's deep green eyes, and it made his heart lurch in his chest.
"What do you mean, no time?" he demanded, hoarsely, fully awake now and feeling his stomach tying its self in knots.
"Too fast …. Happening too fast," she explained on a low, hissed breath between contractions.
"Oh, God!"
"Stay calm," she warned him, realising that it would not take much for him to lose it, and she needed him.
"That's easy for you to say!" he exclaimed, then took another look at the expression on her precious face and knew that it was anything but easy.
"Deep breath, " she told him sternly.
"You, too," he gave her a cockeyed half smile then, telling himself to get a grip.
He could do this.
He was going to have to do this.
The baby was coming, full steam ahead, and there was nothing that he could do about it.
So, he had better get a grip and concentrate on helping Helen.
"I need you to be calm, String …."
"I know …. Ok," he drew in a deep breath through his nose and breathed it out again slowly.
"Again."
"Ok, Ok," he muttered impatiently, but did as he was told, and immediately began to feel a little better. "Tell me what to do."
"Call Mrs Randall …."
"Mrs Randall?"
"Neighbour …. Lady across the street …. Used to be a midwife," Helen explained.
"Why don't I just call an ambulance?"
"No time …. This baby is coming, now …. I need help, now, String …."
"Oh boy!" his beautiful blue eyes grew wide in his pale face, and Helen watched him swallow, hard.
"Hurry!" she prompted. "Owwwwww!" she wailed again her, chin going down toward her chest as she tried to ease the pain by moving forward. "I need to push!"
"The hell you do!" String bellowed.
"Oh, yes, I do …." she replied angrily. "And don't swear at me, Stringfellow Santini! This is all your damned fault anyway!" she raged, somewhat irrationally, he couldn't help thinking.
"My fault?" String stared back at her incredulously.
"Yes, your fault! Owwwww. Don't stand there arguing with me, idiot, dosomething!"
Helen Santini implored him with her eyes, then, her face crumpled as another pain shot through her and she moaned in agony.
String bolted for the door.
There was a telephone extension on the landing, he recalled, just outside their bedroom door and flicking on the landing light, he picked up the receiver and immediately came to a halt.
He had no idea who Mrs Randall was, much less what Mrs Randall's telephone number was and then he heard Helen shouting it out to him and he punched in the numbers quickly, with shaking fingers.
"Tell her, my waters have broken …. Tell her, I need to push …. Tell her, to hurry, String …. Owwwww!! Hurry!" Helen yelled frantically, as he listened to the telephone line ringing out.
It was answered by a sleepy voice on the fourth ring.
"Mrs Randall, this is Stringfellow Haw …. Santini," he corrected himself quickly then. "Helen's in labor. She wants you to come. Her waters have broken. She says it's happening too fast …." he gabbled. "I don't know what to do …. Please come …. Please, come now …."
"All right young fella, stay calm," the sleepy voice immediately sounded more commanding and awake. "How far apart are the contractions?"
"How should I know!"
"Oh boy! You have one simple job to do, and you can't even be trusted to do that," the old woman admonished. "Go time her contractions, boy, and then call me back."
"She wants to push …."
"Tell her, not to do that, under any circumstances …. You hear me sonny, under no circumstances does she push …. Not until I get there."
The line went dead in his ear then, leaving String frowning, his heart pounding against his ribcage as he stared at the phone in his hand.
"She said don't push …. Under any circumstances, don't push!" String informed Helen as he came bounding back into the bedroom and found her in the grip of yet another pain.
"Ok …. Ok …." Helen panted, when she could speak again, looking very small and frightened. "What else did she say?"
"I should time the contractions. I don't know how …." he confided as he came to hunker down before her again.
Helen reached out and grabbed his wrist, but he had taken his watch off when he had retired early that evening, and she gave him an impatient glare as he gave her an apologetic look, then crossed the room to retrieve it from the nightstand and slipped it on to his left wrist.
Helen Santini waited for the next contraction to begin and forced herself to ride it out as she watched the second hand move quickly around the face of String's watch.
The look on her face, when Helen finally managed to drag in a ragged breath, told String that all was not as she expected.
"Call her back String, tell her …." however, Helen could not continue as another pain roared through her, and she again reached for her husband's hand, crushing it in her grip as the pain exploded through her.
"Tell her what?"
"Tell her, they're coming too close together. Lasting too long. I think they're what the doctor calls, owwwwww! Double peak contractions," Which, she also knew, meant that she had skipped the first stages of labor completely, and had gone straight to the second, hard stage instead.
"Hello upstairs!"
A voice String vaguely recognised hollered from downstairs and String nearly screamed with relief.
The cavalry ….
"That's her! Up here, Mrs Randall!" Helen Santini screamed.
A few moments later an elderly woman clad in a tartan housecoat, matching fur lined slippers and curlers appeared in the bedroom doorway and immediately took in the scene before her.
Helen Santini, sitting slightly propped up against the foot of the bed and her hunk of a husband, the formerly comatose airline pilot, squatting down beside her, looking completely non plussed, ill at ease and terrified out of his mind.
"Found the front door key under the plant pot," Mrs Randall explained how she had managed to gain access, as she entered the room, and immediately moved String out of her way. "Let the dog see the rabbit there, young fella," she intoned, putting herself between String and Helen Santini as she awkwardly got down on to her aged, creaking knees.
"Ok Helen, I'm just going to have a little look-see," she told the younger woman, then turned back to regard String with a cool expression.
"Double peak contractions," Helen Santini ground out, leaning forward once more. "I need to push …. Owwwwwww …."
"No, you don't honey. You hold fire just a minute, and you," the older woman pinned cool brown eyes on the young man who was staring in open mouthed shock at his young wife, as she endured the pains ripping through her frail body.
"You can make yourself useful by getting me some things. I'll need a towel, some string and a sharp pair of clean scissors. Well? What are you waiting for? Hop to it! This baby isn't going to wait for you!"
"What about hot water?" String demanded.
He knew it was a pre- requisite for the birthing of babies.
In the movies they were always calling for copious amounts of boiling water ….
"We don't have time to worry about making coffee now, sonny," the old woman snarled at him. "Now, skedaddle!" she waved him away unceremoniously, then turned her attention back to the most important person in the proceedings, Helen Santini.
"Ok, honey. Let me see. Oh my, impatient little bugger, this one …."
String heard the older woman say as he made his way into the adjacent bathroom to find the towels in the airing cupboard beside the toilet and fished out a handful of soft, fluffy, sweet smelling towels and hurried back into the bedroom with them.
"What? What?" Helen was demanded of the old woman, as he returned and deposited the towels on the bed.
"It's crowning. I can see the head, honey. Won't be long now," Mrs Randall advised. "Now, with the next pain, I want a really big push. Need to get the shoulders out, so give it all you got, baby. You still here, sonny?" Mrs Randall glowered at him. "String and scissors," she reminded him succinctly and he darted out onto the landing and down the stairs to the kitchen, in record time, taking a wrong turn into the den before finally getting his bearings, and locating the kitchen at the back of the house.
He found a roll of hard, grey string and a pair of clean scissors, but not wanting to take any chances, after filling the kettle at the sink and lighting the gas ring to put it on, after all what did the old woman know …. They might need hot water after all …. String held the scissors in the flame briefly, before putting the kettle on to boil and rushing back up the stairs.
"Just in time. C'mere," Mrs Randall demanded as she registered the look on String's face, as he was confronted with the sight of Helen Santini, now lying on her back on the floor, knees up and legs apart, the head and one shoulder of her nearly newborn child clearly visible.
"Close your mouth sonny, there's a bus comin'," Esther Randall smothered a grin, and sighed in exasperation.
Esther Randall had been doing this job for years, and the reactions of every husband who had witnessed their child being born was different, and never failed to amuse her.
"Now, put a towel over my left shoulder, that's it," she coaxed, as String unfolded a towel and draped it over her shoulder as instructed, anxious eyes darting between Helen's pain contorted face and the head and shoulders of the child emerging into the world.
"Push Helen, as hard and as long as you can! Atta girl! You, get me a length of string …. I don't care how long …. Oh for crying out loud man, just cut a length of string, and do it now!"
As she spoke, Helen Santini let out a loud shriek of triumph and the older woman was suddenly drawing out the child from between Helen Santini's open legs, and pulling the towel he had draped over her shoulder around the little bundle.
For a moment, String thought his heart had stopped.
It wasn't crying.
The baby wasn't crying.
Shouldn't it be crying?
Then almost at the same moment, a thin, high pitched wail filled the room, as the newborn child began to exercise its lungs.
"String!" Mrs Randall demanded. "Give me the String, Stringfellow," she said in a slightly softer voice, as she took in the look of complete awe on the young man's face, as he waved a length of the tough grey string under her nose.
"Thank you."
She sighed softly as she used the string to tie off the umbilical cord in two places and the newly sterilised scissors to cut between the ties, to sever the child's connection to its mother, cradling the newborn very carefully against her shoulder as she tucked the soft warm towel more closely around the child.
"Here you go, sonny. Meet your new daughter," she beamed as she gently offered the child to String. "Go on, boy! She won't bite you," she chuckled, as he reached out with unsteady hands to take the carefully wrapped, squealing bundle from the midwife.
"Go show her to her Momma. Girl needs to know she's ok," Mrs Randall told him in a low voice. "Needs to know all that hard work was worth it."
The look he gave to the older woman spoke volumes.
"She's fine. They're both fine," the old woman assured him. "Baby's a little bit shocked though, so when you and her Momma have had a few minutes to get acquainted, you will need to go call an ambulance. They'll both need to be checked out."
String nodded mutely, still dumbstruck by the sight of the red faced bundle wriggling in his hand, and then, forcing legs that felt like lead weights, to move, he carefully carried the newborn baby girl to Helen Santini, and placed her gently in her mother's waiting, open arms.
The look that settled on Helen Santini's face was more beautiful and peaceful than anything String had ever seen in his life before.
And no sooner had the child been placed in her mother's arms, she stopped screaming and struggling and reached out to grab Helen's little finger, as she tried to pull down the towel to get a closer look at her daughter's angry little red face.
"Hello little one," Helen cooed lovingly, all the pain and fear of a few moments before completely forgotten, as she gazed down at the child in her arms. "Say hello to your Papa. String, say hello to …. Constance Maria. Connie, this is your Daddy," Helen Santini beamed up at her husband, who looked completely thunderstruck, as he took in the significance of the names.
Constance, for his birth mother, and Maria, for his adoptive mother.
Constance Maria Santini.
"Hello Connie," String cooed too, fighting back tears and leaning in to get a closer look at the child nestled in Helen's arms, and who looked so much as though she belonged there, while the old woman fussed over tidying Helen up and making her comfortable.
His child.
His daughter.
But was she?
If, he truly was Stringfellow Santini then yes, and he had every right to feel elated. On top of the world.
So full of joy and pride and love.
But , if he was Stringfellow Hawke.
At that moment, he did not want to think about it.
"I love you," Helen Santini spoke in a low, soft voice, but she was looking up into his face as she said the words, and there was no denying the look of love and admiration and peace on her face, as she reached up with gentle, shaking fingers to caress his cheek, briefly. "Thank you. I couldn't have done it without you."
String opened his mouth to say that he loved her too, but then stopped himself.
Would he be saying it because at this moment, between these two people, it was what would be expected?
Or would he be saying because it was true?
He had no answer.
"I'll say," Mrs Randall chuckled softly. "Ok, son," she gave him a gentle nudge now, breaking the moment, and he lowered his gaze from Helen's slightly flushed face to look at the child once more. "Go make that call."
"Yes, Ma'am!"
"And you'd better call your father too," she advised. "Someone will need to stay with the other youngsters, while you go with Helen to the hospital."
"Yes, Ma'am …. And thank you. Thank you so much."
"Well don't just stand there," she grinned at him cheekily then. "Anyone would think you never had a baby before."
Esther Randall chuckled, as he rolled his eyes heavenward and moved toward the bedroom door, almost tripping over his own feet, as he could not take his eyes off the wondrous sight before him, Helen Santini, cradling Connie lovingly in her arms, wishing as he did so that he had been able to tell her that he did indeed love her.
For at that moment, he knew in his heart that he did..
But, he also knew that it would be the wrong time to make such a confession, and for all the wrong reasons.
He couldn't tell her anything about how he was really feeling …. Not until he was absolutely sure who he was and what his life was really all about.
Not until he was absolutely sure that he had the right to feel that way.
Mrs Randall relieved Helen of the child now and leaned in close to say something to Helen as she lay the baby girl down carefully in the center of the big bed.
On the landing, String used the phone to call an ambulance, and then the hospital to advise them that they would be arriving shortly. He picked up the telephone receiver one more time and tried to remember Dominic Santini's telephone number.
As he stood there, completely lost for a moment, String saw the door just down the hallway to his left open, just a crack, and a sleepy little red face emerge to peek out onto the landing, big blue eyes blinking rapidly in the harsh light.
Dom Junior.
Aroused from his slumbers, no doubt, by the commotion coming from his parent's room.
"Hey, Dom," String greeted the child with a cheesy smile, as he pushed the door open just a little wider and regarded his father, who was clad only in his jeans, which he hadn't managed to fasten up and which were threatening to fall down around his ankles, holding the telephone to his ear and grinning at him like a fool.
"Hey Dad," The child replied somewhat sheepishly.
"Guess what?" Hawke grinned.
"What?"
"You got a new baby sister."
"Ah, no," the little boy let out a deep groan of disappointment.
"Yeah," Hawke tried to smother a chuckle then. "She's beautiful. Just like her Mom. We're calling her Connie."
"Connie?" The child tried the name for size and then opened his mouth wide in a big yawn.
"Maybe you better go back to bed."
"Who you calling?"
"Grandpa Dominic," String told him, then had an idea. "Here, you wanna do it?" he asked with a grin, holding the telephone receiver out to the child.
"Yeah!"
Dominic Santini Junior, trailing a scruffy looking yellow teddy behind him, and clad in Winnie The Pooh pyjamas, looking for all the world like Christopher Robin himself, emerged onto the landing, and came to stand beside String, who carefully hoisted the child up into his arms and gave him the telephone receiver.
"Can you dial? You know the number?"
"Of course I do!" the child told him with undisguised indignation. "I'm not a baby, Daddy."
Again String struggled not to laugh out loud as he cuddled the child and watched him dial Dom's number and tell him in a very excited little voice, that he had a new sister, called Connie.
"Why didn't you call me sooner!" Dominic Senior grouched once String finally wrestled the telephone from the child and swatted him carefully on the backside, pushing him gently down the landing to encourage him to return to his bed.
"No time, Dom, er, Dad. It all happened so fast," String explained breathlessly.
"And?"
"And what?"
"And did you faint dead away?"
"No. Didn't have time to think about it."
"So?"
"So, it was …. Amazing," String felt tears sting in the corners of his eyes now, knowing that he had never seen anything more beautiful or miraculous in his life.
And that he probably never would again.
"How's Helen?"
"I'm not sure. Mrs Randall kind of bundled me out of there while she finished taking care of Helen, but she says they're both ok. I think the baby might be a little shaken by how quickly she came into the world, so I called an ambulance any way. I guess what I really need is a babysitter. How about it Grandpa?"
"I'm walking out the door as we speak, son. Congratulations!"
"Thanks, Dad."
"Make yourself useful," Mrs Randall said when String returned to the bedroom, and handed him the wrapped bundle that was the newborn baby Santini. "Go get better acquainted with your daughter while you wait for that ambulance. Helen and I still have a little work to do. You did remember that that was what you went out there to do?"
"Of course I did," String gave her one of his patented glowers, but the older woman ignored him and smiled indulgently at him.
"And how was Dominic? Like a dog with two tails, no doubt!"
"You can see for yourself, he's on his way over."
"Good."
As String took the child from the midwife and smiled lovingly down into her now sleepy little face, he could hear the distant shriek of an ambulance siren.
With the baby still cradled in his arms, String let the ambulance crew in and they immediately made their way up the stairs to check on Helen and Mrs Randall.
A few minutes later one paramedic came back down the stairs and sought String out, finding the young man rocking the newborn child lovingly in his arms in the kitchen, cooing softly at her and gazing down into her beautiful blue eyes with such love and devotion, no doubt making silent promises to keep her safe and protected and loved all the days of her life, it tugged at even his embittered old heart.
"Sorry, pal …. Need to check her over too."
"Ok."
String reluctantly handed the child over to the medic, who lay her down unceremoniously on the kitchen table, and began to unwrap the towel from around her small warm body, checking that the umbilical cord had been cut correctly, and that the child had all her fingers and toes and that she seemed to be breathing easily and was alert to both sound and movement.
"How is Helen?" String asked as he watched the medic checking Connie over, listening to her tiny, racing heart and taking her temperature and noting them down on a clipboard.
"She's fine. She's tired and bit shocked by the speed of how it happened, but she'll be fine when she gets this little one back, and they both get a good night's sleep."
"Is the baby all right?"
"Right as rain. Good colour, good strong heart beat, temperature is ok. Maybe a little small and under weight. Nothing to worry about though. Still we need to get her to the hospital so that they can put her in an incubator for a little while," the medic explained. "I guess you'll want to put some clothes on, if you're coming along in the ambulance," he hinted, smirking at the younger man's state of undress.
"If, its ok, with you guys?"
"Sure. The old lady upstairs said she would stay with the other kids until your father arrives."
"Thanks. Should I take her now?" String offered his open arms to take back the baby, but the medic shook his head.
"Go put your duds on man, and I'll finish up here. We'll be wanting to bring your wife down and put her in the ambulance in a few minutes."
"Ok."
String bounded up the stairs two at a time and was greeted at the bedroom door by Mrs Randall, holding out a shirt, socks, shoes and a clean pair of black pants to him, and he peered around her to see that Helen was ok.
Helen Santini looked exhausted now, but she smiled brightly back at him, a look of peace and triumph in her beautiful green eyes as the other medic took her blood pressure and noted it down on another clipboard.
A few minutes later they were all loaded into the back of the ambulance, and it was just pulling out of the Santini's driveway, when Dominic Santini arrived in his battered old jeep, and Mrs Randall greeted him on the doorstep with a big hug.
"They all right? Really?" he asked anxiously, as she slipped her arm around his shoulder and guided him in out of the night.
"They're fine, Dominic. She's a real beauty," Esther Randall grinned up at him. "They're both fine," she assured. "It happened much quicker than I would have liked, but they came through it."
"And how was String?"
"Next to useless. Pretty much like I expected," Esther chuckled then. "Looked like a house had fallen in on him, when I got here, but I soon set him straight."
"I bet you did, Esther, I just bet you did!" Dominic Santini chuckled then.
"He's a good boy, Dom. A real looker, too. Must run in the family," she winked suggestively at him then. "I heard so much about him, all these months, from you and Helen. It was good to see him up and on his feet."
"Yeah," Dominic smiled softly down at the older woman. "Thank you, Esther," he grew solemn then, wondering just how different things might have turned out, if she hadn't been there to help out.
"It was my pleasure, Dominic."
"They're calling her Constance."
"Constance, Maria," she amended, and saw the startled look in his rheumy old grey eyes.
"Constance, Maria," he echoed, and she could not mistake the tears that suddenly welled up in his eyes. "I should have known Helen would have thought of something like that."
"Beautiful names, for a beautiful child," Esther Randall squeezed his arm gently them.
"Named for both of her beautiful grandmothers. String's real mother, Constance Hawke, and my beautiful wife, his adopted mother, Maria Santini," he explained
"Then she is doubly blessed, Dominic. C'mon, let's go make some coffee. One thing that boy of yours managed to do right. Putting the kettle on, even though I told him I didn't need gallons of hot water, I tell you, Hollywood has a lot to answer for!"
