Читать книгу The Tarnished Necklace - Trish Inc. Duffin - Страница 3

It was as if all his dreams were dying in front of him. Dreams of a family, pushing a child on a swing, splashing in puddles and growing old with his wife by his side. Instead of these dreams becoming a reality, a nightmare was unfolding. His wife lay in his arms, each contraction pushing her closer to deadly exhaustion as the baby remained firmly wedged in a breech position.

Peter’s neighbour was there and he could tell by the furrows on her brow that she was deeply concerned. Susan had been such a good neighbour. She had come over several times a week to help Chenoa prepare for the birth of their child, as well as teaching her how to run a house, cook meals and tend to the many needs of a home. For two days now Susan had remained firmly by Chenoa’s side as she tried to bring the baby into the world. She had catnapped, as had Peter, and was now exhausted while trying to offer Chenoa strength, but it wasn’t working.

The doctor was unavailable, and there was no midwife in this sleepy little settlement on the edge of the Great Plains. The local women often helped each other bring their babes into the world, but no-one had any experience with a breech birth. Even if they had been able to, few women would have wanted to help Chenoa. She was, after all, a savage, an Indian woman, and most of the women treated her with disdain. Yet here was Susan, one white hand wiping the brow of his dark-skinned wife.

Susan’s daughter, Maria, was in the other room preparing lunch. Chenoa and Maria were of similar age and had become close friends since Peter and Chenoa had bought the neighbouring farm in early spring. She had provided the friendship that Chenoa so desperately needed. They had spent hours together making small sheets and blankets. Now Maria was watching the probable death of her friend and her baby. Despite her fear Maria was still calm, showing her inner strength.

Chenoa moaned as yet another contraction hit her, her wide eyes filled with pain and fear. She looked deep into Peter’s eyes as he leaned forward to gently kiss her forehead.

He accepted the food from Maria, his eyes not moving from Chenoa’s face as the bread and cheese was passed his way. “Susan, how much longer will this go on for?” he whispered.

She simply shook her head, not wanting to recognize the obvious.

Before the sun had dropped below the horizon Chenoa had died. She had finally given birth to the lifeless body of her son and then slipped away a few minutes later. Peter gazed at the still warm face of his wife and cradled the child that never lived to see the light of day. His heart broke.