John had not left the house since his mother had taken pneumonia, and would not do so until she was either well enough to walk out or be carried out. It was also he, therefore, who found Margaret on her knees in their bedroom, one hand braced against the wall and the other clutching her stomach. She had been fighting the pain all morning, and now, just past mid-day, she collapsed while folding the bed linens. The silky evidence lay forgotten on the hardwood, and the newly folded night clothes were discarded, now wrinkled and unimportant.
Without thinking, John swept to her side and his hands went to her face. She was pale white and sweat ran like tears down her cheeks. Seeing that something was clearly wrong, John asked her the question that had hung between them since the beginning of her confinement.
"Is it time?" he asked.
Margaret nodded and bowed to another painful spasm. John moved to carry her to their bed, but she stopped him with a sharp "No!"
"Not the quilt!" she hissed, "take it off! It—," another contraction gripped her and caused her to moan, "is my mothers!"
Eager to please and anxious for his poor wife, John hastily ripped the coverlet off the bed and tossed it aside. Then, without waiting for Margaret to show concern for their mattress or the state of their pillows, gingerly scooped her up and lay her down on the sheets. He fumbled with the pillows, and when he was sure she was leaned into them, her lower back supported, he dashed from the room.
Almost stumbling down the steps, he shot like a bat out of hell down the street and to Dr. Smithson's, where he hammered on the door until the man himself, dressed for the day and moustache perched in a curl atop his lip, met him and went to look for his bag.
"Just a moment," the good doctor replied to John's frantic pleas, "let me just get prepared. She has been like this for how long, you say?"
"Since morning," John paced, running a hand through hair. "For Christs sake, man, she's having a baby!"
"Yes, yes," Dr. Smithson nodded, "but it shant be this moment, Mr. Thornton. Run home and I will meet you."
John gave him a hopeless, yet somehow murderous glare. "No," he said, "come along! She's lost one already, I can't come back without you."
"As you will," Dr. Smithson, apparently at his leisure, replied, finally closing his door behind him and following John into the street. "Now, run ahead. I am sure your wife would like it if you brought her a cool cloth and a glass of brandy. It dulls the pain and helps to relax the muscles."
John nodded, and with that rushed past curious passersby back to the house. He took the steps two at a time, and when he was on the landing, hastily wet a cloth and called to Mary to bring Margaret a cup of brandy.
When he arrived, however, he was pushed unceremoniously out the door by a glaring Fanny, her little features pinched into a face of disapproval.
"Your doctor isn't here yet?" she demanded.
"No, he's coming," John panted, lost.
"Well I saw you run down the street and I came over with Nanny, my nurse. She's with Margaret now."
"...How?" John was mystified.
"We came not ten minutes ago. It took far longer for you to reach the doctor than it did for me and Nanny to get here. We even have all the supplies, you know. I told Nanny to get them ready ahead of time. Smithson's slow," Fanny said the last part with a hint of derision, "and now Margaret is in the hands of the right person. Go downstairs and see mother. Tell her she will have a new grandchild."
Dumbly, but marvelling at Fanny's authority, John handed his sister the cloth with a mumble of 'I thought she needed this,' and wandered slowly down to his mother's room, the urge to rush to Margaret's side growing with each step.
Mrs. Thornton was lucid when he pulled up a chair beside her, and on her face she held an expression he had never seen; something close to peace. Her cheeks were hollow, and her eyes stood out against her pale skin, but her mouth seemed to be relaxed, as if she had nothing to say.
Aunt Julia was on the other side, dark circles under her own eyes, and when she heard John called for Edgar. Her valet helped her out, and closed the door behind him.
"Mother," John took her hand in both of his, "mother, we will have a baby."
"I heard," Hannah gave her son a wan look. She closed her eyes, and the hot burning licks of panic touched John's heart. She was breathing shallowly, and her hand shook in his. It broke his heart to see her this way, his good little mother, her spirit and determination making him what he was, even after the life they had.
"You'll see me right, John," she rasped, "you always do." Again she closed her eyes and John tightened his grip.
"Mother no, please," he chocked, "please. Don't go."
"Don't be silly," Hannah shook her head weakly. "I won't. Not until I see my grandchild. God can wait a little longer."
Torn, John sat with her until he saw the sliver of light under her curtains fade and disappear, and when she had fallen asleep, quit the room. He had a change of clothes on the ground level, thankfully, and put them on. He then went up the stairs, slowly now. He could hear his wife in their room, her whimpers almost too much to bear.
He was then stabbed with a pang of guilt. He had been so glad when she told them they were expecting, but he had not thought so far ahead as to what it would be like for her in the end. He had been so consumed with his joy that he had been oblivious to her fear, putting it up to her nerves over losing her other baby. She had, of course, known a similar pain when she lost the first one, and must now have some small part of her fearing that the same fate would befall her second child.
Dr. Smithson stood by the window, speaking quietly to Fanny, and when he approached the two turned to him, exhausted looking.
"I will go home now," Dr. Smithson said, "she has not progressed since five. It takes some women longer than others, but you have that woman in there with her, so when she gets a little closer I have instructed that I be called."
"Then he'll deliver the baby," Fanny explained unnecessarily.
"Quite so," Dr. Smithson nodded, doffing his hat, "and for now, relax Mr. Thornton. All is going well."
Feeling completely helpless, John begged Fanny to grant him admittance to their room, and, like last time he was denied. Refusing to do nothing, however, he went to the liquor cabinet in the parlour and poured himself a generous measure of whisky. He was not a fan of hard alcohol since Spain, but decided it was what he needed to calm his shattered nerves.
He dragged a kitchen chair to their door, and called in to his wife, after a little progress report from his sister.
"I love you, Maggie," he said, "it will be alright. I'm right here."
"I—ah!" Margaret shouted back, "love you too! Ah..." there was a little break, and John heard the nurse coaching her through the pain.
This, naturally being too much for a man such as he who loved his wife more than his own life, took a hearty swig from his glass, and seeing that it was mysteriously empty, went to get another glass. In the parlor he found his aunt and her valet. Edgar bowed to him when he entered, and, feeling in generous spirit, John offered him a drink as well.
With a nod from Aunt Julia, Edgar accepted the offer, and John motioned for him to sit.
"This is a trying business," John said to the youth who held a slightly green appearance. "You must make sure she is a good strong woman to do this. Remember that."
The boy nodded, and Julia interrupted them with a cough. Both turned to her, and she gathered her nightgown closer to her chin.
"Speaking as one who has never given birth," she said, "I cannot say, but my dear, I am sure your wife would like you to get some sleep. Take my room, and I shall wake you when your child is here." John was about to protest, but Julia shook her head, "I will be up all night with my sister, so I will not sleep a wink."
"I cannot either," John argued, "I am just as well to stay up."
"With drink," Julia parried. "You do not want to be drunk when you welcome your baby into the world. Go, and I will see to your mother. Fanny is with your wife too." John looked at her for a moment, feeling rather out of place in this new all female scenario where his input was water, but instead turned to Edgar, the youth's face betraying that he was used to his mistresses strong formal tone, and thought it a treat that she used it on someone else rather than his juvenile self.
"Edgar," John made one last plea for male decision making, "Do you smoke? I don't but I could use a cigar right now."
"Cigars sir?" Edgar gave him a funny look. "I have never had one of those before. Just a pipe."
"Excellent," John shot a glance at his aunt, who now wore a slightly bemused expression. "Oh I forgot! Find Mary, and tell her to bring her father."
Edgar bowed and when Julia was ready, took her arm with the promise that he would do all and more.
Slightly relieved, John went to his study and picked a few of the cigars. He lit one in the desk candle, and went outside on the front porch to wait for Nicholas. The old man was there in record time, and without a word John passed him a light. Edgar refused the one John offered him, and went back inside with the excuse that he had to see to his mistress.
Nicholas took his cigar without complaint, and peered at John through a puff of smoke.
"So, you'll be a father soon," he said, "and to think, it's like yesterday the lass moved here and took care of my girls."
"I know," John replied miserably, not cheered by Nicholas's mood. "And now she's up there all alone, without me. I'm not even allowed to see her until after the baby's born."
"Aye, its the way for men," Nicholas shrugged, taking a long drag, "women seem to think we're too delicate for such things." John turned to him, and his voice was strained.
"Mother says she'll hold on until the baby's born, but the doctor says Margaret won't have the baby for some time. I'm not certain she can hold on."
"She'll hold on," Nicholas replied assuridy, "give her credit and God's faith. Its midnight now, and if she's anything like my woman was, she'll only go on, despite whatever heaven wants. That's the thing about women, sir, they do not let men, not even God, control what they do. If she wants to go she will, but if she doesn't, then she won't. You've had a rough go with this, I know but keep hope."
"I don't know what to feel!" John laughed humorlessly, "my mother is sick and my wife is having our child as we sit here, not helping anyone."
"Have another cigar, and when you are done we will go inside," Nicholas said, "we will see then, sir."
After again correcting Nicholas that his name was John to him, he took the older man's advice, and smoked until the fire burnt his fingers. He took out another, and lit that as well. Nicholas also took another, and they stood in companionable silence until the last cigar was done and they began to see the sun rising over the hill.
When they finally came inside, it was to Fanny beaming, her hair a mess around her face and her clothing wrinkled, but otherwise completely well.
"Where is the doctor?" John demanded of her, "I never saw him come back."
"Oh him?" Fanny laughed, "we did not need him. Nanny delivered... well you'll see! Come up. Margaret's with the baby now and then Mother will get a quick look."
His heart in his throat, John followed his sister into his room, and found, inside the hot and stuffy place, his wife and a small bundle wrapped tightly in her arms. Without thinking, he rushed to Margaret's side, and peered down at his child.
"John," she whispered, clearly exhausted, "it's a boy."
"A boy?" John suddenly felt faint, and he squinted his eyes to get a better look at the child. It had dark hair like him, and his eyes, but its little nose, like a button, was definitely his mother's.
"I must tell mother," John said, "what... what is his name darling?"
"Like we planned," Margaret gave him a little smile. "Owen."
"Owen," John repeated, unable to tear himself away from the bundle, or his wife. "Are you well my darling?"
"Oh yes," Margaret had tears of joy in her eyes. "Take him to see her, John. She needs to meet him."
Knowing what she meant without asking, John took the child gingerly in his arms, and Nanny, who had been cleaning her hands in the wings, adjusted his hands around Owen. She then escorted him down to Hannah's room, and the old woman looked upon the child with a joy that bordered on ecstasy.
"He looks like you, lovey," she smiled, "he's perfect. See me right John, and tell him about me."
"I will mother," John replied, "but you will recover, and when you do you can tell him yourself."
"I won't recover, John," Hannah replied knowingly. "But for now, get some sleep. I love you, son."
"I love you too mother," John kissed her gently, and went out, little Owen now in the nurse's arms.
...
Hannah Thornton was right. She did not recover but died that night quietly, with Julia by her side to the end.
AN: so what do you think? I thought that would be suiting for her to see her grandson. R&R for more!