Free The Midwife of Venice by Roberta Rich Page A

in a grimace; she grunted and pushed, although not as forcefully as before. She slumped back against the pillows, and Hannah feared she was too exhausted to do more. The baby’s head disappeared. Blood obscured the passage. Then Hannah felt Lucia’s belly harden with a fresh pang.
    “Give me another push,
cara
. Please try, for the sake of your infant.”
    But it was no good. She could not be roused. Hannah reached for Lucia’s wrist. Her pulse was thready. She pressed her ear to Lucia’s belly and listened for the baby’s heartbeat, but she heard only the faint echo of the Contessa’s heart.
    It was time to use the birthing spoons. With God’s help, she would not splinter the tiny skull into fragmentsor rip open the birth passage. Hannah reached into her bag and withdrew the spoons from the folds of cloth. She passed them quickly through the glow of the candle so they would not feel cold to Lucia. The silver turned black from the heat of the flame, until Hannah could no longer see her own anxious face reflected in the handles.
    Giovanna stared at Hannah as though she had seen a witch. If only Hannah could have banished Giovanna from the room—but she needed her to support Lucia’s legs and position her belly. It could not be helped. Besides, Hannah could no more stop the gossiping tongue of such a woman than the
shochet
could staunch the flow of blood from a slaughtered lamb.
    As Hannah rubbed the birthing spoons with almond oil, she repeated the prayer she had heard physicians say, “God, if it pleases you, first let me do no harm.”
    She eased the spoons into the narrow passage, slowly and gently, manoeuvring them until she felt them clasp the infant’s temples. She was grateful for Lucia’s unconsciousness.
    Giovanna watched as Hannah worked the spoons up Lucia’s passage. “Is she not dying fast enough for your liking?”
    “Please, a woman’s mind is unstable during her travail. Do not speak so. Let us work together. Your mistress needs you to give her hope and confidence.” Hannah worked the spoons in farther. “Hold her limbs higher.”
    “God may forgive you, but I will not. Neither will my master,” said Giovanna, but she continued to hold theContessa’s legs open, one knee resting against her side. “Better to slit open her belly than torture her slowly. Even the Inquisitioners do not have such an instrument.”
    Hannah had no time to answer, and instead prayed silently,
Please, God, may I not have the murder of this Christian woman on my conscience
.
    “Come on, my child, we are waiting to welcome you. I will bathe you in warm water and rub you with fragrant oils. You will have a life of joy. Come out and meet your mama.”
    With the next weak contraction, she pulled, but she felt nothing until the next contraction, and then she tugged more forcefully, careful not to compress the spoons. Lucia’s flesh ripped and blood splattered onto the bed. Hannah took advantage of this ragged gash to slide the spoons in deeper.
    God, place your hand over mine. Give me the wisdom to know how much pressure to apply and when to pull
. When she pulled again with slow, steady force, she was rewarded with a glimpse of dark, wet hair. With the next attempt, the head emerged, and then one shoulder. She released the spoons and tossed them on the bed. With her hands, she freed the other shoulder, which was caught under the bridge of the sharing bones.
    With a final burst, the slick body fell into her hands.
    The sight of the baby soon extinguished whatever relief Hannah felt. It was the mottled colour of autumn plums, deep purple with patches of white where no blood flowed.
    “Quick, Giovanna, get two basins—one with hot water, the other with cold.”
    “I would do better to fetch the priest,” Giovanna said. “That babe is soon to be Lilith’s.” She hurried from the bedroom.
    Hannah scrambled under the bed, retrieved the knife, and cut the navel string, which felt like cutting through a boneless