Free Girl Reading by Katie Ward Page B

as a suitor: poor, widowed, a young son to look after. All he offered Jurina Bos was the prospect, the hint of a prospect, that his talent might be recognized in Amsterdam one day and prestige would follow. Will it do? Then he will give her as many children as she wishes to have, one or twenty or none, it is up to you. Is it enough for you, my sweet? He was artistic and persuasive.
    More than enough. For Jurina this is a love match, and she is glad to share her wealth with him. With him and their children, in the home of her making, with servants of her choosing. She is a diplomat, has waited tactfully for the appropriate occasion. To be clear: the birth of her first child is the appropriate occasion.
    Notice has been given to the girl despite Young Pieter’s tantrums (that Elinga’s son sometimes prefers sign language to speaking normally has grown tiresome). She is a benevolent mistress, intends to help Esther secure a post in a different household, a household more suitable for her.
    That is all there is to it. Let it be done, let the matter be closed. For goodness’ sake!
    The labor starts.
    The venerable doctor (handpicked by Jurina on account of his position within the surgeon’s guild) does not hurry when called for. In this, at least, he turns out to be right. It is difficult, protracted; two nights go by and the baby does not arrive. Jurina has no choice but to be attended to by the silent, inexperienced maid, who blends into the background. The lady sinks in and out of consciousness, barely feels the flutters of attentiveness, licks the water drops on her dry lips, has her hair pushed back from her forehead, squeezes the skinny hand holding hers. Unbearable. Agony. Exhausted, Jurina starts to pray. Not the prayers of the past nine months (let it be a son, let it be a strong, bouncing son, let him be tall and gifted and rich). Those prayers no longer matter. A new prayer entirely erases all the old utterances: Please, God, if you have any mercy, let it be over.
    Does God answer? What, or who, will be his instrument?
    Maybe it is the mercurial doctor who announces it is dead. It is worse than any of them thought; the baby is dead and in order to save the mother the legs and arms must be amputated inside the womb. He is taking the implements from his bag, reverently lays them out; eyes and blades glint with fascinating light.
    Jurina screams, the mere sight of them sending her into histrionics.
    It is normal to be apprehensive under the circumstances, but let me reassure you—
    Elinga is beside himself. Helplessly he paces back and forth, nerves in tatters, allows bloody thoughts to overwhelm him.
    A quack. Sheer quackery. At best the man is deluded; at worst he is a rogue. Yet it is this devil to whom they defer, his perverted expertise, his distorted sensibilities. Lack of sleep and food, anxiety, mortal pain . . . all have taken a terrible toll. Rationality is defeated.
    Fortunately, amid turmoil, a vibration of good judgment canprevail. The shock is wearing off and Jurina succumbs again to her body, disorientated, drowsy, making the surgeon’s job easier so he thinks. But he is dismissed by the deaf-mute maidservant.
    Absurd. He is insulted.
    She cares not a whit for his indignation. Her gestures are unmistakable: Go! It is done before the master and mistress are truly aware of it.
    A warm, nutritious broth rouses the lady, carrots and beetroot and chicken and herbs, with Esther at the bedside gently feeding her. It is accepted gratefully, humbly. Two women from a neighboring house answer the appeal for help (you should have come to us sooner) and the labor is resumed.
    They deliver Baby Lucas, whole and perfect. For a time, Jurina will brook no discussion about Esther leaving.
    Esther and Young Pieter sit by the Singel, feet dangling over the edge, shoes removed and laid beside them so they do not drop into the canal. They are playing their game, which involves pointing at what they can see. They take turns