Читать книгу Breakaway Creek - Heather Garside - Страница 6

Central Queensland, 1871

'It shouldn't be long now.'

Sarah wiped the woman's sweating brow with a damp washcloth and hoped to God she was right. They were eighty miles from the nearest doctor with only an Aboriginal midwife and herself, newly married and ignorant. Things were looking desperate. After twenty-four hours in labour, Eliza was exhausted. The hot sun pounded on the tin roof of the maid's tiny room and the heat from the kitchen next door exacerbated the stifling conditions. Sarah fleetingly pressed a hand to her own stomach and vowed her baby would be born in Clermont.

She flinched when Eliza screamed and threw her head back, dusky features clenched in agony as she writhed with another spasm. Sarah watched helplessly as the Aboriginal midwife made an exclamation in her own language and bent between the patient's legs.

'Is it coming, Mary?' The woman didn't answer, but Sarah heard the first tiny cry and her heart leapt in dizzy relief as the baby slid free. She moved closer to check. 'You have a little boy, Eliza. Well done!'

For a moment euphoria pushed aside Sarah's revulsion. She hadn't realised what a messy, terrible business childbirth could be. The midwife grasped the wailing infant and cut the cord with the kitchen knife Sarah had provided, before wrapping him in a blanket and laying him against his mother's breast. Weakly, Eliza fumbled with her nightgown, so Sarah helped her open it and guide the nipple into the child's nuzzling mouth. Then she stiffened. For the first time she noticed the baby's skin through the coating of blood and mucus. Her stomach cramped.

'Missus!'

Her gaze jerked up to the black midwife's frightened face.

'What's wrong, Mary?'

Mary pointed and Sarah stepped cautiously closer, nostrils twitching at the metallic smell; blood. It gushed from the birth canal, staining the bed linen in an ever-widening tide. She grabbed some towels and pressed them against Eliza's body, but they did little to staunch the flow. Mary ran to the doorway and grabbed her dilly-bag, then moved the towels aside to pack handfuls of leaves in their stead. Sarah watched in dismay, wondering if the woman had any idea what she was doing. But who was she to stop her?

A touch on her arm made her look down at Eliza's greying face.

'Missus, will you look after my baby?'

The voice was reduced to a whisper, the dark eyes dull. Eliza was slipping away as surely as the blood poured from her body. Sarah glanced at the suckling infant.

'Who is the father, Eliza?'

Eliza's lips moved and Sarah bent closer to hear the whispered words. She froze, all her suspicions crystallising into grim knowledge. Wave on wave of pain and disillusionment lashed her like the sting of the stock whip her husband used on unruly cattle.

Could she possibly take responsibility for this child? She wondered if she had a choice. Sarah straightened, drew her breath in deep, and said the words - God help her - she knew the dying woman needed to hear.

'Yes, I'll take him for you, Eliza.'