16
He blinked his eyes to make sure he wasn't seeing things, after looking for her for so long. It took a moment before he was certain she was real and not a ghost conjured by desperation. Nothing could have kept him from her, not if he had to jump through the fires of St. John, for he'd already been put through the fires of hell these past months.
Skirting the outside of the flames, he ran to her, pushing through the crowd of dancers and spectators, nearly knocking them over in his need. When at last he reached her, he stopped to stare mouth open, eyes misting, and heart trembling in his chest. It was she who went the final step, who pulled him to her; it was she who wrapped her arms around him pressing him close to her body so that the weight of her pregnant belly pushed firmly into his own body. Afraid to let her go he held her fast, terrified in this bizarre arena she would disappear from him in a pouf of black Magick. He'd have held her like that forever given half a chance, but her body stiffened and he heard her moan, a guttural growl originating low, from deep within.
He was no stranger to fear, for it is the stuff brave and gallant souls are made of. With a dauntless mind-set, he kept the worry free from his voice, "We got to get you back to Dr Chapman's honey, there's a bad storm coming."
"Ze bad storm not ze only thing coming." The black girl beside Kitty said, "Ze baby coming too."
He'd always prided himself on his ability to act rather than react in difficult situations. However now, despite all his thinking on the train, his mind was a complete blank. It was the black man who took over the task of rational thought, "Renee, I see Monsieur Doctor's horse tied to yonder tree, please fetch him and bring him to the carriage. You sir, I believe it might be most advantageous if you were to carry Madame, I shall lead the way."
She had another contraction while he was carrying her to the conveyance, he waited for it to pass before he placed her in the back seat and climbed in to sit beside her. After tying the black gelding to the back of the carriage, Renee took the seat next to Zebulon. The crowd seemed to be taking note of the changing weather conditions. Black folks and white made dashes for their own carriages. A sense of alarm started moving through the mob. Lighting strikes came ominously near.
The team snorted and reared in their traces, but Zeb was an experienced driver who knew his horses well; despite the unsettling conditions, a firm hand on the reins was all it took to getting the animals moving in the right direction. The same could not be said for the other carriages attempting to leave the lake front. It was an unorganized situation that only became more frantic. The road was blocked with nowhere to go. Zeb finally turned his team from the road and onto a grassy park like area, "We shall take the shortcut." He explained as they plowed through a finely manicured flowerbed. It took one crack of the whip before the open vehicle took off leaving the chaos behind them.
Like the storm, her body seemed ruled by forces of which she had no control, indiscriminate seizures rocketed through her nervous system. Muscles tightened and relaxed of their own volition. Her bowels rumbled with the need to be freed, sweat mixed with rain and tears. They were flogged by blinding gusts of wind. They were lashed by the downpour, which fell to their faces with the sting of a whip. The streets had already adopted the appearance of wide muddy rivers, as the first of the tidal surges washed against the surface. In the distance the Mississippi River was being converted to a mighty raging torrent, which would soon overflow its banks and sweep away everything in its path. Clap followed clap, flash followed flash, contraction followed contraction.
They drove under the portico at Mayhaw with Zebulon still in control, "You sir, take Madame inside, I'll tend to the animals."
Addie Pittlekow stood waiting at the open door, urging them into the house. As she passed through, Renee advised her, "Ze baby it coming."
"I vas afraid of that. With this storm, it is too dangerous to get her to the hospital, and that is where my father is. We'll have to make do here." She pointed to the staircase, "Take her upstairs, the second door to the left."
Matt Dillon didn't seem to notice the extra load of her weight in his arms. He kept talking to her as they climbed the stairs, "It's alright Kitty, it's gonna be alright." He promised as he carefully deposited her on the bed, "I'm staying right here with you, I'm not going anywhere."
That he was with her, seemed part of a dream, but she had more urgent matters to deal with, "I'm going to be sick."
He looked around the room for a slop jar and found a basin on the washstand. He got it to her just in time. It was, she thought the final degradation to throw up in the bowl he offered. She didn't know how wrong she was.
The fury of the wind had picked up. They could hear it howling like a crazed coyote. They could hear the rip of shingles as they were being torn from the porch roof outside her bedroom window. The rain hit hard, hammering against the glass panes and despite the hurricane shutters, water poured in through the cracks and wet the floor.
"I have John's medical bag," Addie stated as she hurried into the room, "Have you been through a typhoon before Mr. Dillon?"
"Not like this."
"I think we shall be safe up here, the downstairs is already flooding, but this is a solid home, it should stand steadfast." As if in answer the home rocked and groaned against the insistent attacks of the enraged elements. She studied him for a moment by the light of the flickering flame. "I am going to need your help. Are you de squeamish sort? I Will have no time to tend two patients tonight."
He'd never been more scared, but as a mark of his bravery he replied, "Just tell me what to do."
He did as she ordered; glad to have someone direct his actions. He fought back the thoughts of the absolute ludicrousness of this entire experience and concentrated on Kitty. He helped remove her clothing, quickly learning to wait for the brief interludes between the all-consuming contractions. He saw the way pregnancy had vandalized her beautiful body. He viewed with thinly controlled horror the blood and mucous between her legs. Addie told him to distract Kitty's attention as she prepared to do an internal exam. He winced himself as Kitty twisted at the invasion, "Do you know what you're doing?" He asked.
"I should, I'm a doctor Mr. Dillon, although I must admit I've not delivered a child in dis manner since my medical training."
"What other manner is there?"
"I'm a surgeon, I've been called upon to deliver by cesarean section."
Kitty groaned as Addie's fingers delved deeper inside of her, more blood spilled out as she removed her hand. "We're in for a long night I'm afraid."
"What's wrong?" he asked.
The German woman smiled against the shadows, "I didn't say anything was wrong, but this is a first baby and dere is bad storm outside."
The typhoon resounded like a freight train. It raged both outside and inside her body. She was like the blowing windstorm, rampant, out of control, she was consumed by the tempest, drawn into the eye of a hurricane and her only connection with safety was Matt's hand holding hers. That he was with her now when she needed him seemed a miracle she couldn't question and an answer to all the prayers she'd not had the faith to pray.
The night wore on in an endless envelope of pain. It came to her in the brief lulls as her body rested from one surge and prepared for another that she wasn't doing well, she'd see the fear in Dillon's eyes and the worry in Addie's. The power of the primal spasms intensified setting her lower back aflame. With the pain came a new sensation, the urge to push. As overwhelming as the contractions had been this need took on a power of its own, which despite her exhaustion continued with unrelenting force.
Each internal exam marked a failure to progress, until finally Addie was forced to declare her diagnosis, "The baby is in left occipital transverse."
"What!" Dillon asked.
"His head is down, but curved sideways like a "c" facing left to stomach." She ran a hand along Kitty's belly to illustrate her words, "His spine is facing to right side, und he is completely tucked over into the right side of her body. De broad side of his head is presenting, and with contraction is pushing against pelvic bones. He is not able to descend into birth canal as he should." Addie placed her hands on Kitty's cheeks and turned her face to meet hers, "I must try to turn baby, do you understand, if I cannot, I vill have to operate, I may not be able to save you both."
Kitty gave a slight nod of her head, as Addie's hands moved to her stomach, and she began applying force to coincide with the contractions in an effort to change the baby's position. The pain was unbearable, setting every nerve ending in her body on fire. But she had not the strength to cry out and even her hold on Dillon's hand had become nothing more than a weak grasp.
Perspiration dripped from Addie's forehead, and her arms shook with the force of her effort. Finally, she felt a shift in Kitty's womb and she released the pressure and stood upright. Grabbing her stethoscope she pressed it to Kitty's belly and listened for the fetal heartbeat.
Matt Dillon was helpless; and it was not an emotion he was familiar with. "I love her, please don't let her die." He begged.
The rampant beat of her own heart throbbed through her body, drowning out all but Matt's voice. The meaning of the words she'd read in the Bible weeks before, at once became clear. She understood. `Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails.' Her speech was disconnected, broken, "No … the baby … must live." There was little she could offer this child whose existence she had fought against since the moment of his conception. She had denied him a secure future, a home and family and the most unforgivable of all, a mother's love. Life itself was all she had to offer her baby, and she was willing to give up her own to do so.