Free Riverbreeze: Part 3 by Ellen E. Johnson Page B

knew this was going to be difficult for Hetta and if it didn’t work, Hetta would die.
    Evelyn had heard of cutting a woman’s stomach open to take a baby out, which always resulted in the woman’s death, but Abigail didn’t have that level of knowledge. Consequently that was not an option at this birth, but even if Abigail could cut the baby out, Hetta would still die.
    She continued to hold Hetta’s hand, feeling a fine tremor in her own.
    Abigail placed her hands at a particular spot and bent over the body, pushing down hard using her whole weight. She pushed on the baby’s body, a spot close to the baby’s side, trying to manipulate it into the correct position, head down.
    Hetta screamed and writhed. It was awful to observe. Abigail continued to push, speaking through clenched teeth. “Turn, baby. Please, God, turn this baby.”
    George abandoned his reading. He stood up and watched, wringing his hands and praying.
    The baby didn’t seem to want to move. Hetta groaned and grunted, her breath coming out in pants. Abigail pushed some more, then rested, pushed more and rested. She did this at least ten times and then all of a sudden, Evelyn watched in shock and amazement as Hetta’s stomach rolled and shifted. Thank God, the baby had turned.
    Abigail straightened, took a huge breath and wiped her sleeve across his forehead. “Good job, Hetta.” She said. “Now we get to work.”
    She called George back and told him to bring a candle. When he arrived she instructed him on how to support Hetta’s back and shoulders when the time came. He was glad to do it and gave his wife a tender kiss on her forehead once he was settled.
    It was Evelyn’s job to hold the candle steady so Abigail could see between Hetta’s legs. But she was filled with apprehension and her hands were not so steady. The flame danced and quivered tellingly.
    Just as Abigail was warning Hetta that she was going to touch her, Hetta had another contraction. This one was very strong. She cried out; her face turned bright red, and she rose up and grabbed her knees. Abigail motioned to George that this was the time to support her back and shoulders. He did so, his face taut with tension.
    Evelyn’s hand shook even more. Her heart was pounding. Abigail positioned herself between Hetta’s knees and dipped her fingers into the oil. With gentle fingers she massaged and stretched the flesh at the opening of the birth canal. “It won’t be long now.” She said.
    When the contraction was over, Hetta collapsed back down onto her husband, panting.
    Abigail kept massaging and rubbing, talking encouragingly to her.
    Things sped up then. Her water broke next; the gush of fluid soaked the sheets and dripped onto the floor. Another strong contraction and another long growl.
    The door opened and Jamie appeared, soaking wet, water dripping from his slicked-back hair and muddy boots. When he heard Hetta’s scream, he put the pail of goat’s milk on the floor so fast some of it spilled over and he turned and left, terror on his face. Evelyn smiled to herself. He was so afraid to be near a woman having a baby he would rather be out in the rain.
    She suddenly realized that nobody had even noticed that the dripping from the leak in the ceiling had stopped.
    Back to business. She kept the candle close, watching in fascination as Hetta’s body stretched and contracted a few more times and then the opening stretched impossibly wide and a head eased out along with more fluid and blood. She jumped a little when it happened. Abigail quickly wiped the baby’s face, concentrating on clearing his mouth and nose.
    “What is it?” George asked, trying to see, but he was behind Hetta supporting her shoulders.
    “One or two more pushes, Hetta.” Abigail said. “Hold her up, George.”
    Hetta pushed one more time, letting out a long, drawn-out grunt. With Abigail’s hands guiding the baby’s shoulders, he slid out, flaccid and blood-smeared.
    “It’s a boy!” Abigail