The Birth

Storm clouds gathered over the plains, wind whipping the barley stalks around. The horses and hens had been stowed in the barn, awaiting the weather’s return to sunshine. Altheya and her sister, Blue, had been up since six, seeing to their mother’s needs. Their father had taken the wagon and gone to town to fetch the midwife, for all of them sensed that the end was near. Altheya (or Theya, as she preferred) had heard the cries in the night, barely able to sleep as the rain pelted down past her window. She’d spent as much time as any of them, counting backwards and forwards as her mother’s stomach grew heavy with the child. Her mother looked fit to explode, any time.

Thunder rumbled and cracked, driving Theya’s thoughts away from her mother for a moment. “How long do you think Daddy will be gone, Blue?” she asked her younger sister, a frown settling across her face.

“Not much longer, I hope,” Blue said. They both winced as their mother let out a horrible cry. Blue took her hand and tried to soothe her. “I don’t think we can hold that baby off much longer.”

Theya shook her head. She dampened a cloth and pressed it to her mother’s forehead. “We may have to deliver it ourselves.” She was frightened by the very thought of it.

Any words Blue might have said on the matter were interrupted by another scream of pain from their mother. Her frantic eyes met Theya’s. “Do what you have to do,” she whispered, her fingers tightening their grip on her mother’s hand.

Theya nodded, and set her teeth determinedly. She went about gathering the things she’d seen the midwife with. The duty took her from the room, though the cries of pain followed her out through the bedroom door and into the cramped kitchen. She put water on to boil, gathered clean rags, then poked her head through the bedroom door again. “You all right?”

“Hurry,” Blue said, wincing as her fingers were crushed in their mothers’ hand.

Theya took the word to heart and rushed back to find her water boiling in the pot. She took it from the stove and carefully made her way back into the room, rags slung across one shoulder. “I’m going as fast as I can,” she muttered, when her mother let out another of those cries. She moved down toward the foot of the bed and lifted the blanket. “I think…” she said, her eyes lifting to Blue, “I’m going to be sick.”

“There’s no time for that now, Theya!”

Theya nodded and looked down again, both amazed and horrified as she saw what looked like the child’s head emerging from her mother. “Oh, Gods, there’s blood everywhere!” She grabbed one of the rags and dipped it in the hot