Home of the White Dolphin - Segment 13

Chapter 61

October 17, 1846 – Aboard the White Dolphin

There next to his wide bed, Mitchell saw Elizabeth dressed in her nightgown, holding on to one of the slender bedposts. She was heavy with child, his child, and panting like an overheated dog. “Baby girl,” he begged, reaching for her arm, “it’s too soon. Let me help you back to bed.”

“Don’t touch me. This is your fault, you son of a bitch!” Elizabeth angrily swatted his hand away, but quickly grabbed it as another contraction started. “Mitchell, make it stop. I don’t want to have a baby.” She started groaning from the pain as it slowly went from her back around to her swollen belly.

The cabin continued to rock wildly as the storm outside increased. Mitchell was able to help Elizabeth back into bed once that contraction ended. “How long have you been in pain?” Mitchell asked, leaning down to wipe the sweat off her forehead. She had returned to panting, and he waited impatiently to hear her answer.

Elizabeth kept her eyes closed when she said, “I thought I had pulled something in my back this morning, but it wouldn’t go away.” She whimpered as she felt another contraction starting. Only a handful of minutes had passed since the last one. Without warning, she reached up and grabbed Mitchell’s hair. Twisting her fingers through the long wet strands, she pulled his head down, forcing him to lay half on and half off the bed.

Mitchell let out a loud string of curses from the pain Elizabeth was causing. He wasn’t able to get free until her contraction ended, and her fingers loosened from his hair. He rubbed his bruised scalp while moving to stand a safe distance from the bed. “Robbie, there’s a book over on the shelf I picked up years ago. Yes, over there.” He watched Robbie hold on to the furniture while heading for the opposite side of the wildly moving cabin. The boy fell once before reaching the bookshelves.

“Can you see the big book? It has a red cover. Okay, bring it back. It’s a medical book and should have something in it about childbirth.” When Robbie returned, the thick book clutched to his chest, Mitchell thought of something. “Can you read?” Seeing the boy nod, Mitchell said, hearing Elizabeth once again panting wildly between contractions, “Find something about what to do when a baby is coming.”

The room suddenly tilted almost on its side, and Robbie once again landed on the floor. Mitchell scrambled to hold onto the bed, trying to keep Elizabeth from rolling to join Robbie. He watched the boy nervously flip through the pages of the large book.
“Sir, I found something called con, con sep shun.” Robbie stuttered, trying to pronounce the long unfamiliar word.

Mitchell shook his head. “Never mind that. We’re way beyond reading about conception. I managed that already months ago. Keep going and look for something like birth or labor. Oh jeez, here she goes again.”

Elizabeth arched her back, trying to get away from the pain of the next contraction. She went from a low moan to a loud scream as the contraction went on and on, intensifying in strength.

Mitchell thought they were coming closer together, and he started to worry. “Robbie, take your frigging hands away from your ears. If I have to listen to her, so do you. Now, find what I need to birth our baby.”

Giving a big gulp and trying to ignore Elizabeth’s screams, Robbie thumbed through the next few pages. “Here’s something, sir, under what the doctor does during delivery. Is that it?”

“Yes, yes, what does it say? Read it to me.” Mitchell’s worry changed to panic when Elizabeth’s contractions started coming with barely any time between them. Her head slammed back against the bed’s headboard as she struggled to get away from the constant pain.

“First, look between the woman’s legs,” Robbie shouted, trying to make his words heard over Elizabeth’s screams. “If the baby has crowned, she is ready to give birth.” Robbie looked over at Mitchell. “What does crowned mean?”

Chapter 62

October 17, 1846 – Aboard the White Dolphin

Mitchell lifted Elizabeth’s nightgown, ignoring Robbie’s shouted question. He figured out what crowning meant when he saw dark hair emerging from Elizabeth’s straining body. “What do I do next?” he called out, pushing Elizabeth’s legs apart to see more clearly what was happening. “Oh jeez, oh jeez, it’s coming!” He reached down to guide the baby’s head out, while trying to block out Elizabeth’s screaming as she pushed down.

“Is it a girl or a boy?” Robbie asked, coming over to see what was happening.

Mitchell wanted to laugh, but said instead, “I can’t tell from the head.” By now, Elizabeth was pushing as hard as she could, and the rest of the baby came out to land in Mitchell’s trembling hands. “Robbie, what does the book say to do after the baby comes? Stop gawking at my baby and read what I do next.”

Robbie found his place in the book and told Mitchell, “You have to tie off the cord, hand the baby to the waiting nurse, and take care of the mother’s afterbirth.” He looked around the cabin, panic in his voice, “There’s no nurse here.”

Mitchell yelled at the scared young boy, “You’re going to be the nurse. Before that, get my knife and a piece of string from my desk. Hurry up.” When Robbie found the items and handed them to Mitchell, he started gagging at the sight of the baby between Elizabeth’s bloody legs.

“It’s all slimy, sir, and looks funny.” He almost threw up when Mitchell thrust the baby into his arms after cutting and tying off the umbilical cord. He yelled in terror, “I’m not a nurse. I’m going to drop him.”

“It’s a her, Robbie, not a him. I have a daughter.” Mitchell’s gloating male pride at creating a baby disappeared when he saw what taking care of the afterbirth meant. While Mitchell finished the messy but necessary business, Robbie sat down on the cabin’s floor to keep from falling. Mitchell tossed him one of the pillow cases, and the young boy started to wipe off blood and what he called slime from the wiggling infant.

“She’s almost as noisy as Miss Elizabeth was, sir.” Robbie took a closer look at the baby, who had started crying. “And she’s not too funny looking either.” With his panic disappearing, Robbie cradled the baby in his arms and whispered, “I’m sorry I said you were funny looking.” He grinned when the baby stopped crying and stared at him with wide-open blue eyes.

Elizabeth was silent while Mitchell gently carried her over to a chair, being careful to time his slow steps to the irregular swaying of the ship. After he removed the bloody sheets and replaced them with clean ones, Mitchell returned her to the bed. Only then did he turn his attention to Robbie and the baby girl.

With a voice hoarse from screaming, Elizabeth said, “Mitchell, is the baby all right? I don’t hear her crying now.” She tried to look down where Robbie was sitting on the floor. The storm still was going strong with the ship rolling from side to side, and Mitchell caught her before she fell off the bed.

“Let me finish cleaning her up first, baby girl.” Mitchell began to laugh. “I guess you’re no longer my baby girl, are you?” He took the soiled pillow case from Robbie and wrapped the squirming baby in a clean one. After handing her to Elizabeth, he helped Robbie to his feet.

“Mitchell,” Elizabeth whispered, pulling the material away from the baby’s face, “we never did come up with a girl’s name, did we? You kept saying there was no need since you’d planted a boy in me.” She kissed the damp hair on the baby’s head. “I like the name Blythe. I read somewhere it means cheerful, and I pray she’ll be that all her life.”

Mitchell nodded. “I like that. Blythe Whiting has a nice ring to it.”

“You mean Blythe Templeton, don’t you?” Robbie innocently corrected him. “You two ain’t married, so the baby belongs only to Miss Elizabeth.” Proud to have learned a new word, Robbie ended with, “You only concepshuned little Blythe. Miss Elizabeth was the one who birthed her.”

Chapter 63

December 18, 2008 – Midafternoon in Walker’s apartment

One week before his wedding found Walker relaxing in his living room. He stretched out his body the length of the long sofa, resting his tired eyes and aching back. After working in his office on the mansion’s financial accounts all morning, he was enjoying a few quiet moments alone. No long-distance phone call was demanding his attention; no fax machine was spitting out documents needing his signature; no mansion pager was vibrating in his shirt pocket signaling a new challenge for him.

Walker let out a deep sigh of contentment, and let his mind wander to the upcoming wedding. Rather, he began imagining his wedding night when Samantha finally would be his. Since promising her a Christmas wedding, he had kept his second promise to wait until they were married to make love to her. Walker thought back to that night when he’d held her in his arms. He knew she didn’t realize the effect her nearly naked body had on him.

Sam, you are so wicked to hold me to that promise.thought Walker. Since that night, he had to fight for control every time he was alone with Samantha, even seeing her dressed in prim business outfits. As he lazily reclined on the sofa, Walker still could feel her breasts rubbing against his naked chest. Damn, I’ve got to stop reading that blasted log. That fierceness of the storm Whiting wrote about is nothing compared to how fiercely I want Sam.

Hearing the front door open, Walker watched the object of his lustful thoughts coming down the hallway toward the living room. Samantha looked exhausted and in need of a quiet time-out.

“Walker,” she said when she spotted him, “can you help this damsel in distress?” Her playful words didn’t match her frazzled appearance. Her dark red hair, usually worn in a neat French twist, was hanging in a mass of auburn curls around her shoulders. Walker saw dark circles under her beautiful hazel eyes, and he wondered if she was getting enough sleep. Even her usually neat clothing looked wrinkled.

“My Lady, come sit with me and let me know what dragon you want me to slay.” Walker patted the sofa on his left side and waited for her to join him.

Chapter 64

December 18, 2008 – Midafternoon in Walker’s apartment

Samantha sat down and didn’t complain when Walker moved closer so they were sitting hip to hip. “There are two dragons, and their names are Edith the Terrible and Sophia the Small.” When Samantha gave a groan of relief while kicking off her shoes, Walker noticed another difference in her usually perfect appearance. She wasn’t wearing nylons. This, more than anything else, worried him.

Walker felt the tension in her body and realized she was close to crying. “Sweetheart, tell me what’s wrong.” He gently moved her head down onto his shoulder, and soon his shirt was damp with her tears. He let her cry so she could get what was bothering her out of her system.

Eventually, Samantha raised her head to look at him with a weak smile. “I didn’t mean to drown you. I guess everything just got to me today, and I had to get away.” She moved away from Walker, embarrassed at losing control of her emotions.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Sam. If my mother and Sophia are too much for you to handle, I can speak to them.”

Samantha shook her head. “No, I’m okay now. When I asked you for a Christmas wedding, I imagined a simple ceremony.’ She gave Walker a rueful look. “I should have known nothing about you would be simple. After you announced we were going to get married, even before you and Jack behaved like cowards and left the room, Edith was going on and on that three weeks wasn’t enough time to plan her son’s wedding.”

Walker couldn’t help but smile. Edith had caught him one afternoon and made the same complaint to him. He’d also been tracked down by the little elderly woman Samantha called Sophia the Small. “How is your bridal outfit coming along?” The women involved in planning the wedding refused to let Samantha wear a plain white dress to her wedding.

Sophia had immediately volunteered to design and make the wedding gown. The former fan dancer was a brilliant seamstress, as she was the first to let everyone know. All during her dancing career, Sophia had made all her exotic and erotic costumes. Walker was curious to see what she created for his bride and started laughing when he heard Samantha groan.

“I’d rather not talk about that, if you don’t mind. Sophia has stuck so many pins in me while making alterations that I feel like a bloody pincushion.” Samantha’s good mood was returning. When she spotted Elizabeth’s diary on the coffee table, she knew what she needed to take her mind off the madness of the upcoming wedding.

Chapter 65

December 18, 2008 – Midafternoon in Walker’s apartment

After picking up the book and opening it to the next entry, Samantha got comfortable by cuddling up next to Walker. She felt his arms go around her and smelled the warm scent of his body, an intoxicating mixture of soap and male sweat. She shook her head to clear out the sudden sinful thoughts, and started reading. “Oh, Walker, Elizabeth had a baby. Listen to this.”

“My two-month-old Blythe Whiting-Templeton is perfect, sleeping throughout the night. Mitchell swears by that blasted red medical book where it’s written a woman should stay in bed for three weeks after childbirth. Of course the author of the book was a man, so he wouldn’t understand how frustrating being kept at bed rest can be. The only time I’m allowed out of bed is to relieve myself in the head next to our cabin. Even then, Robbie took it upon himself to walk with me the short distance, just in case I swoon and fall. If I’m inside more than a few minutes, he’s calling through the closed door, ‘Miss Elizabeth, are you all right? Do you need anything?’ Very frustrating, but not as bad as Mitchell’s treatment of me when I need a bath.

“After the sailors have filled the big tub with hot water from the kitchen and left, Mitchell insists on coming in, stripping me, and dumping me into the hot water. Last night when he did this, I heard him muttering, ‘Another month to go. Don’t know if I’m going to make it.’ Curious about this odd statement, this morning I returned to read more in the red book’s chapter on childbirth. There in black and white, I read the rule that was upsetting Mitchell. According to the book’s author, a husband must allow at least three months after the delivery of a child before resuming his marital duties.”

Samantha heard Walker chuckling and lightly pinched his arm. “What’s so funny? Poor Mitchell, you should feel sorry for him.” She decided she didn’t get the joke and went back to reading the diary. “I almost forgot to mention the important news. When we docked in London last month, there were two letters from Jane waiting for me at Mr. Tucker’s office. After I read them, Mitchell said he’d keep them in his ship’s log for me. Not the official log filled with dull notations, but the one I’ve seen him writing in now and then. There was a thick cardboard pocket inside the back cover, and I watched my thoughtful almost-husband tuck Jane’s letters inside that pocket.”

“Walker, did you know there were letters in the back of Whiting’s log?” Samantha didn’t get an answer, but knew this was news to him when she watched him get up and head toward his office. When he returned a few minutes later, he was holding the ship’s log. Even before he sat down next to Samantha, he’d opened the book to the back cover revealing a pocket stuffed with about a dozen letters. Walker pulled them out and quickly thumbed through them.

Samantha was excited to see the Edgeworth family crest at the top of every wafer-thin piece of parchment notepaper.

Continued in next segment

Home of the White Dolphin - Segment 14  (GC) Chapters 66 thru 70 #2091639 by J. A. Buxton