It Takes a Special Woman
Myka's Office…
Myka rushed to the other chair and pulled it closer to Helena. She grabbed her wife's jaw so their eyes could lock – because she wanted…no needed…..Helena to hear her. Glistening dark pools looked back filled with distress and worry. Myka knew for Helena to utter those words about herself, she meant it.
"There is nothing wrong with you," Myka said softly, as her fingers stroked Helena's jaw. "There is nothing wrong with what you're feeling," she assured the Brit.
Helena eyes moistened as part of her wanted desperately to believe that Myka knew best. But Helena Wells survived two life times by being harsh on herself, and it wasn't that easy to pry that history off. "What if I can't…..," Helena asked, her eyes pleading for help to get out of that vice.
"None of us can, Helena," Myka said, her words certain and yet, still tender. "None of us can be sure of anything, Helena. We take precautions, we are diligent, but none of us – not even you – can predict where the danger is all the time."
Myka needed Helena to take that message into her bones and she knew how many layers of stubborn there were until that happened. "One day at a time, Helena," Myka said …..right before the cramp in her abdomen erupted. It was so sharp, that it forced the breath out of her mouth and caused her body to shudder. She wanted to move, but didn't dare because any movement seemed to increase the piercing sharpness. Helena read it immediately and snapped out of the chair.
If any part of Helena had heard Myka's message, it was all about to be shelved.
Outside Paris …the morning of June 9, 1891
"Mother!" came the frantic cry early that morning. "Mother!" It rang in the upstairs hallway as Mrs. Wells rushed frantically to put her robe on and make haste into her daughter's bedroom down the hall. "George! George!" she in turn shouted before leaving. "Get the midwife. It's time."
George Wells immediately woke up his son, Charles and sent him down the road to fetch the midwife. "Bloody hell," Charles muttered as he scrambled out of his cousin's chateau and down the unfamiliar road, tripping more than once in the near darkness of the morning. Minutes later, he arrived back at the house, carrying the bag of the woman trained to deliver babies.
As screams emanated from the bedroom where his sister was finally giving birth, Charles and George Wells paced the floor outside. "Well, at least we can return to London now," Charles said, having missed the social life his notoriety had given him. It had been decided that the fabricated story seemed more plausible if they all vacationed in France that summer.
"And you think things will be easier, son?" George Wells asked in disbelief. "Unless we can explain that this baby's father was killed in the war, we will be the laughing stock of all of London!"
"Of course people will believe us, Father," Charles said, in an unsteady voice. In his mind, he had the most at stake here to lose.
"I pray for all our sakes, you're right," George said.
An hour later, Mrs. Wells reappeared, looking tired and annoyed. "She threw me out!" she stated as she sat down, her pride more than anything else injured.
"Helena?" her husband asked in disbelief.
"No! That midwife. She said I was upsetting Helena and that I should leave. Of all the nerve," Mrs. Wells spoke. "I was trying to point out to my daughter that we should consider the big picture here and perhaps …," and she started to choke up.
"Perhaps what, Mother?" Charles asked, suspicious of his flesh and blood's intentions. Although slightly self-centered, the man did have a protective streak for his sister.
Mrs. Wells looked at her husband, hoping he would back her up. "Perhaps she should ….give the baby up. Oh, George! You know what life is going to be like," she tried to win her family over.
"We're going to say the child's father died in the war," the patriarch explained clearly.
"What war?" Charles asked, in case he was asked.
"Oh, I'm sure there's a war somewhere we can blame," George lamented.
They all heard the screams of childbirth, but none would go near the door. The midwife came into the room once, and asked for more towels. She assured them their daughter was doing fine and the delay of birth might only be explained by the assumption that the baby was as stubborn as her mother.
They were a very odd couple - the mother to be and the doctor turned midwife. It was extremely rare for a woman to have been educated in the medical field in those days; unheard of in Africa. But this woman was trained at her father's side in their village and when they left South African Republic during the First Bohr War, they came to France at the request of the man who recognized their talents. Unable to work in the hospitals because of the color of their skin, Amelia Brown and her father took care of those who could not afford healthcare and did so in the outskirts of the countryside. The Wells family interviewed Amelia and accepted her as the caretaker because they believed she wouldn't ask any questions. She knew Helena only a few weeks before she called her on the missing father story.
"There is no father around, is there Miss Wells?" Amelia asked the patient, looking her straight in the eye.
Helena was caught between being amazed anyone would question her and being impressed with the woman's boldness. The woman explained that she recognized an independent woman when she saw one, because they were so rare, and she was certain Helena was one of them. "I don't need to know the detail, that's none of my business. And you can tell whatever story you want to the outside world. But you and me?" she explained to Helena. "….I don't think it's a good idea for you and me to bring a child into this world under the pretext of something that ain't."
The healthcare provider then extended her hand to the young Brit and shook it when Helena agreed. "I never told him," Helena said and that was more detail than she had given anyone else.
"You just give this baby all the love you can, Miss Wells, and it will do just fine," the wise woman said.
Later that morning, the woman emerged and told them that mother and daughter were doing just fine and that they could go in to meet their first grandchild.
Helena never forgot the kindness of the woman who helped bring Christina into the world. When she tried to find the doctor on her trips back to France, she was told the woman had moved to America.
Manhattan ….Present Day
Helena knelt in front of Myka who squeezed her eyes shut, least Helena be able to see the pain in them. Within seconds or what seemed like hours to Helena, Myka clutched Helena's hand. "It's okay, just a spasm," Myka said when the pain lessened a little. Helena's face drained of color as she reached for her phone and called Irene. The woman appeared in the doorway, Millie not far behind her.
"It's okay," Myka said, suddenly aware of the crowd.
"I've called the doctor," Irene said, because she instinctively knew what Helena would want her to do.
"Where is she?" Helena asked, her eyes widened, expecting that the woman had somehow transported herself there.
"She's at the hospital. An attending will call us…," Irene broke the news when Helena rose from her crouched position. "Get-that-woman-here," she growled, her upper lip curing so fiercely that Mille held her breath.
"Myka, what is happening?" Irene asked, looking down at Myka who didn't look nearly in as much pain as Helena did.
"It was just a bad cramp. It's mostly gone away," Myka said, still out of breath from the intensity.
"Do you feel anything else?" Irene asked and Helena knew exactly what the woman was trying to find out. Why hadn't she thought of asking Myka that?
"No," Myka said, trying to tune into her lower body. "Could I have some water?" she asked and Millie rushed out towards the door.
The last thing that Millie needed right now as she scrambled for water was for someone to ask for directions to the Human Resource department. Millie spilled the water over when the woman interrupted to ask.
"Irene Frederic?" the roundish woman, dressed in a multicolored blouse and blue skirt asked.
"She's…busy," Millie said, trying to open the water bottle a second time.
"Oh, would you be able to tell her that Gloria Brown is here? I have an appointment, but I'm very early. I came from the hospital…," Gloria was saying and only the last word made sense to the secretary.
"Are you a doctor?" Millie asked, thinking the prayers to God she said on the way out of the office were being answered.
"I'm a nurse practitioner…," the woman said and found herself being dragged by the hand before she could say another word.
"She's a nurse!" Millie shouted and averted Helena's glare when she got inside, instead bending down to give Myka the water. Myka had to put both her hands around the glass as it shook from Millie's trembling hands.
"I'm sorry, you are…?" Irene asked wondering how she was going to protect this unsuspecting victim.
"A little surprised," Gloria said, out of breath from the sudden propulsion into the room. "I'm sorry," she said, catching her breath. "Do you need a nurse?"
"I'm Irene Frederic," Irene said, now placing her full frame in between the stranger and what could easily be her cause of death.
"Gloria Brown," the shorter woman answered and looked at the women in front of her. "Is she sick?" she asked and was looking at the wrong woman.
"Ms. Brown," Irene said, finally getting that this was the woman who was an hour early for her interview. "This is Myka Bering, Helena Wells. Myka is pregnant and just experienced a terrible cramp. We called the doctor, but she's in the delivery room," Irene explained.
"May I?" Gloria asked Irene politely and when Irene stepped forward, not back, it gave the nurse enough room to at least face Myka.
"Ms. Bering? I'm Gloria Brown. Can you tell me what your symptoms are?" the nurse asked in a calm voice.
Helena looked up at the woman who was asking the question, as she held onto Myka's hand. "A cramp just came on. It's better now," Myka said.
"Any discharge that you know of?" Gloria asked, because it could be a sign of a miscarriage.
"No, none," Myka said, sipping the water.
"What exactly are your credentials, madam?" Helena asked, now rising up slowing to stare the woman down.
Gloria Brown arrived that day with two things - a pocketbook and all the information she needed on the CEO of Wells Corp. Vanessa Calder had done her best to paint an accurate picture of Helena without scaring the woman off. The doctor had seen this nurse subdue six foot 250 pound men simply by talking to them calmly, but sternly. She talked a patient out of shooting himself in the Emergency Room by asking if she could pray with him before he went to meet the Lord. The man broke down in tears and surrendered. She was one of the kindest people Vanessa ever worked with, but that wasn't why she thought she was fit for the job. Gloria also took no nonsense from people and never dabbled in drama.
"I'm a nurse practitioner at New York University Hospital with experience in pediatrics and obstetrics," Gloria said as she went to place her hand on Myka's wrist to check to see if there was an elevated heart rate.
And then…. she got a firsthand look at what she was dealing with. Literally.
The woman, whom Helena had never met before, felt the tight grasp on her wrist almost as soon as she touched Myka. Millie gasped and covered her mouth and Myka jumped in her seat. Helena's nostrils flared, her breathing labored.
"Helena," Irene said gently and placed her hand on the Brit's arm to withdraw it.
Gloria never flinched. She didn't look harshly at Helena or seemed surprised. She kept her finger on Myka's pulse which now jumped. "I …do apologize," Helena said because she knew she was supposed to. Irene put her hand on Helena's shoulder and left it there.
"What you might be experiencing could simply be cramping as the muscles prepare to hold the baby," Gloria explained. "Especially if there are no other symptoms. Can you lie down and keep your feet up for an hour? If there's no other discomfort, I think you can rest assured it's nothing."
Millie ran and got a pillow from a closet and put it on the couch. Helena helped Myka stand up and walked with her to the couch, where Myka laid down. Helena sat on the coffee table in front of the couch, holding Myka's hand. "I'm really okay, sweetie," she said to Helena.
"Mrs. Frederic," the nurse, who just demonstrated why she should be hired, said, "I don't care if you hire me, but I'm begging you to get someone."
"I thought you said Ms. Bering was okay," Irene said, her voice almost in a whisper.
Gloria Brown picked her up pocketbook and put it over her arm as she looked over at the couple across the room. "That ain't who I was talking about."
And with that, the woman walked out of the office to give them some privacy.