Kire6

Madeline stood with her back to us and rocked the swaddled infant in her arms. The creak of Charles' wheelchair alerted her and she turned, still gazing down at the baby in her arms. She gave the newborn a kiss on the forehead, then smiled when she saw Charles, her face more bright and youthful than she'd appeared in years.

"Your daughter," Madeline said as she stepped forward and settled the baby into Charles' arms.

"Am I holding her correctly?" Charles asked as he sat stiff as a board with his elbows jutting out and his daughter awkwardly cradled in his grasp.

"Yes, yes, just like that," Madeline praised. "Don't worry, you can relax. She's safe with you."

Seeing Charles hold his newborn daughter reminded me of seeing Alex for the first time and how I had desperately wanted to have him all to myself, yet I had no idea what to do with him once Madeline placed him in my arms. Elated and afraid, I never wanted to put him down, but still feared hurting him. I had taken such care when picking him up from his cradle or setting him down for a nap. Each move was precise and gentle as though he was made of porcelain and he would shatter with the slightest bump.

"She's beautiful," Madeline cooed. She had said the same about Alex, but this time her voice resonated truth and sincerity, the words of a proud mother and grandmother.

Madeline looked at me and stepped closer, placing her hand on my shoulder. "Isn't she a beautiful baby?" she questioned.

I nodded, though in truth I had no idea why people considered newborn infants beautiful. Fresh into the world, this child had her eyes pinched shut, face wrinkled and contorted, flesh blotchy red as though she had just finished a bout of tears. Her face looked swollen, her head somewhat elongate, and her expression one of discomfort.

Alex had been the ideal infant when I had first set eyes on him. Being three months of age, he had lost all of the qualities that apparently Madeline found endearing. Perhaps I was partial as he was my son, but I thought he was the portrait of infant beauty.

"She looks just like her mother," Charles whispered.

I furrowed my brow. This seemed like a completely false statement. She resembled neither parent as she hadn't more than a wisp of dark hair and her eyes were so tightly closed that she had no expression or discernible features.

Charles suddenly looked up at me and I nodded despite not yet being addressed. "I cannot believe she's here," he said. "Oh, Monsieur Kire, I know why you adore your son so much. How can it be that you hold something so small and perfect in such a brief time and yet you are in love?"

His words voiced how I had felt when Madeline handed me Alexandre. There had been no feeling quiet like the sensation of holding him and knowing he was mine. When he opened his eyes and looked at me, I was certain I had never felt love until I had him—and I felt that when he looked into my eyes, he loved me as well.

Only one other person had looked at me in such a way, a father to a child—and from him I had named my son.

I cleared my throat and stepped away, overwhelmed by the amount of emotion Madeline and Charles produced. "I will leave the two of you alone," I said, excusing myself.

The moment I walked into the hall, Ruby nearly ran into me. "Monsieur, are you preoccupied?" she questioned as she motioned me down the hall. Her face was quite flushed, her words spoken hastily.

"Not at the moment," I answered, following a step behind.

"Madame Lowry had her son," Ruby explained. She glanced back to make sure I followed, which I had not. "Have you ever stimulated a puppy or kitten?" she asked.

I turned my head to the side. "I beg your pardon?"

"Madame Kire said she needs someone to assist her."

"Assist her in what duty?" I asked, knowing I was not qualified much less willing to participate in any form of midwifery.

"The baby," Ruby answered.

My heart stuttered. "What is wrong with him?" I asked, dreading the answer.

Julia opened the bedroom door and appeared with the second baby in her arms. "Take him," she ordered, nodding toward me.

I gaped at the infant in her grasp. "And do what with him?"

"I don't like his coloring," she answered as she walked toward me and pushed him toward my chest, forcing me to take him. He looked identical to his sister, though I doubted there was much difference between one healthy infant and the next.

"He should be pinker," Julia explained. "He needs stimulation."

All at once she grabbed my hand and told me to continue rubbing the baby and making certain he cried.

"Stay out here," she ordered. "I don't want Meg or Charles upset." She thought a moment. "Actually, take him to your room or into the kitchen."

She started to usher me down the hall, but I turned around and attempted to hand the baby back to her. "What about Ruby?" I asked, desperate for another option in keeping this child alive. Most certainly there were far more competent hands than mine within this house.

"She's helping me with Meg."

"What about…" I worked my jaw without words, unable to think of another person who would be able to tend to something so small and helpless. "Hermine," I suggested in a moment of severe and irrational desperation.

"She's clear down the street if she's even home at all. Please, Erik, just take him and do as I asked. There is no time to spare."

"I can't," I argued.

"This is simple," she replied. "Just keep him stimulated and make sure he's protesting."

"What if…?" I couldn't bear to finish my sentence. I cleared my throat. "What if I hurt him?"

"You won't," she assured me.

"How do you know?" I challenged her.

I feared my own inadequacy, worried I would do more harm than good. He could not hold his own head upright and I worried one hard move would break his neck. Perhaps too rough of a pat would leave him bruised. Nothing this small and helpless should have been placed in my hands. Nothing at all.

"You found a kitten that could fit into the palm of Alex's hand and she survived," she reminded me with a gentle smile. "Just like I showed you, just like with a puppy or kitten," Julia said as she took my hand in hers.

"This is hardly a kitten," I said sternly.

"Erik, please," she said, growing impatient.

I noticed blood on her knuckles and the creases between her fingers. The sight gave me pause.

"Is she dying?" I asked quietly, horrified by the thought of Meg giving life and losing her own.

Julia caught me staring at her hands and shook her head. "No, no, she's fine. Exhausted and in some pain, but she's fine otherwise."

"She's bled too much," I insisted, dreading what would happen to the people who lived within my home.

This baby she had placed in my hands was far too weak and his mother, who was in the bedroom down the hall, was bleeding profusely from the ordeal of giving birth twice in a matter of hours.

If Meg passed—if her son died, Charles would be devastated. He couldn't feasibly raise two infants on his own, not when he was confined to a wheelchair. Madeline didn't have the strength or patience to raise two children and I wasn't certain Charles would ask for or expect help from me or Julia. I doubted he would be able to make a rational decision if he lost Meg and I knew without a doubt that Madeline would be beside herself.

If I had any say in the matter, the surviving children—and I had every hope both would survive—would remain with their father if something were to happen to Meg. I couldn't fathom the thought of them sent away or raised within an orphanage.

Looking at this child placed in my care, I thought of my own parents and how easily they had considered sending me away, casting me into an asylum. I wondered what my own father would have done if I had killed his wife in the process of my birth.

Suddenly I looked to Julia. "Would you tell me honestly if she was very ill? If you thought she would die from this?" I asked, desperate for an answer. "You realize what would happen? They would need a place to live, caretakers, they would need—"

"Erik," she interrupted.

"What will happen to them?" I demanded.

"You've spent too much time reading medical textbooks," she scoffed. "Now please, Erik, take him and get some color back into his flesh. Please just do as I ask."

She walked away, leaving me with no choice but to obey or watch the child in my hands possibly perish. Like a kitten or puppy, she had said to me, though I had never stimulated an animal in this manner, much less an infant.

Charles and Madeline were speaking and laughing in the parlor and as much as I wished to hand his son to him, I had no desire to enter the room and upset a new father and grandmother.

I gently tilted him, rested his small head against my shoulder as I rubbed the length of his spine. He squeaked, an unexpected musical note from untried lungs.

"That's it," I said, keeping my voice low as to not startle him. Holding him, attempting to comfort him, brought a swell of unexpected emotions. I wondered who had held Alex in such a manner, if he had been coaxed into taking his first breaths or if he had wailed and thrived—and then continued to scream until he was out of breath, as was his nature.

The baby continued to squeak and whine, a melody of life conducted with a sweep of my hand along his tiny body. I took the stairs slowly, carefully, and heard Alex and Lisette in the back garden, keeping a miserable dog company. Once I entered my bedroom and closed the door, I peered out the window and saw the two of them sitting on the ramp, both attempting to avoid an exuberant yet filthy dog. Tucked beneath his arm, my loyal son still held fast to the box I had given him.

The baby quieted and I drew him back from my chest and examined his wrinkled, blotchy face. He looked pink enough by all accounts, but I patted his back and jostled him as Madeline had showed me with Alex so many years ago.

His eyes slit open, his lips parted as he released another cry, this one stronger than before. He flicked his tongue out of his mouth and began moving his arms in sharp, uncoordinated moves. He reached out, hands remarkably, indescribably small. I offered my index finger and he grasped hold tightly as he gazed up to meet my eye. At first I wanted to look away, afraid the mask would startle him, but he didn't react.

"You have no idea, but I am incredibly impatient," I murmured. "Every person within this house is waiting for you to open your lungs and wail as loud as possible," I said as I tapped my fingers on his back. "If you are anything like your mother, you have a dramatic streak as large as a theater."

We stared at one another for a moment before he did as I hoped and began to cry louder.

I had never been so relieved to hear a baby cry as I was in that moment. With a sigh, I placed him over my shoulder and patted his back, feeling him squirm with newfound strength.

"Let this be your first voice lesson," I said as we stood near the window and I continued to tap his back. "Fill your lungs," I told him, encouraging him.

He cried harder than before and I cradled him in my arms again to have another look at his coloring. His face was a healthy shade that matched his sister. Satisfied, I turned, preparing to deliver him to Julia, who in turn would bring him back to his mother.

Madeline opened the bedroom door before I reached it and her eyes widened. "I swore I heard a baby crying," she said as she looked me over. "I was correct."

"He wasn't pink," I explained, fearing what she would think of me stealing away with an infant that was not my own. "Julia handed him to me."

"A girl and a boy," Madeline mused as she walked closer and pulled the blanket down from his face. I expected her to question me, to demand why I had him in my possession and what in the hell I was doing.

"He looks better now," I offered, feeling as though I owed her more of an explanation. "He was struggling…I apologize."

She looked at him for the first time with tears in her eyes. Smiling, she kissed his forehead and put her arm around me.

Her words and gesture startled me and I shivered. "Here," I said as I settled him into her grasp. His rightful place was with her.

"Why do you apologize?" she asked.

"He needs his mother, not me. Take him." I was nothing to him; no blood relation, no immediate relative. I had been handed him purely because I was the only option remaining.

"That doesn't answer my question," she pointed out.

"He should not have been handed to me. He should have gone to you," I answered firmly.

Madeline shook her head. "He's healthy and pink as can be," she pointed out. "If not for you…he might still be struggling. You did very well by him."

She offered a smile and cooed at the baby as she rocked him back and forth. "Let's return you to your mother," she said as she embraced him tighter. "I believe she misses you already."

I held the door open as she passed through, humming to the baby, who had started to cry once more. She seemed oblivious to the rest of the world now that she held her grandson. Seeing her reminded me of how I had felt with Alex in my arms.

Before Madeline left, she turned and studied me one last time. She looked at me differently then, proud rather than disappointed. The baby in her arms settled down a bit, his tiny fist reaching up to his grandmother.

"You did very well," she praised, once again placing her hand on my arm. This time I didn't move away from her. "Meg will be grateful."

"She doesn't need to be grateful," I grumbled. "After the nonsense of handing me a helpless creature, he needs back with his mother at once."

"You were worried about him," she said quietly.

Terrified, I wanted to tell her, frightened beyond belief that I would watch him take his last breath. I doubted Meg and Charles would forgive me and I certainly would have never forgiven myself if he died at my hands.

"Well, of course I was worried about him," I snapped. "Look at him. He's a helpless, squirming, wailing infant."

Her smile widened. "Your wife knew you could handle him well enough," she argued. "Even when you doubted. She knows you well, even better than you know yourself."

"Indeed, Madame," I murmured, irritated by her pointless ramblings.

She chuckled to herself. "Uncle Erik," she added before she walked from the room.