Birth of Lucille Scott, part two

"So is she faring well?" Leta asked as she and her brother Aaron bounced along in the carriage.

“The doctor thinks so,” Aaron answered.

“Then why—?”

“—Because Florence keeps asking for you. I think she’s a little scared.”

It was nearly four-thirty in the morning. A deep quiet hung in the air, but the atmosphere in the carriage that carried brother and sister to Aaron’s wife, who was in the throes of delivering her first child, was tense. The horses were zipping as fast as Aaron could drive them, and he was breathing heavily. When she realized the baby was coming, Florence first sent Aaron for the doctor and then urged him to collect her best friend—his sister Leta—to be with her. The siblings lived quite a distance, and then there was the time taken to rouse Leta, convince her husband Ralph that she was needed and return to the farmhouse. And Aaron was a temperamental type, so remaining calm and composed was a challenge for him.

Leta reached over and patted her brother on the knee, a rare gesture of affection between siblings. Aaron seemed to calm and permitted the horses to slow their pace a bit.

When they reached his door, however, he leaped out of the carriage and immediately ran to the other side to assist his sister. She was also excited and nearly out of the carriage by the time he reached her. They rushed into the house and them immediately became subdued. No sounds emanated from the bedroom, so they remained very still.

“Aaron, is that you?” the doctor called.

This was followed by a large moan from Florence, one that sent a wave of anxiety and excitement through the room.

“Yes, doctor,” Aaron called back, “and I brought my sister Leta.”

Aaron gestured for Leta to go into the bedroom.

“Leta!” Florence beckoned.

Just then the doctor appeared at the door.

“She’s very close,” he said, wiping his hands on a cloth. “The contractions are two minutes apart.” He looked at Leta. “If you are going to help, young lady, get in here.”

Even though she had given birth to her own child and had seen dozens of newborns during her 21 years, this was the first one, aside from her own daughter’s, that she had been privy to, and it was far different to assist than to go through the delivery. While the doctor provided instructions and watched for the baby, Leta held Florence’s hand, wiped her perspiring forehead and encouraged her beloved sister-in-law through the process. Just when it seemed like the strain would overtake the mother-to-be, Leta heard a flush, like water when it first hits the faucet, and then the sharp squeal of a baby. A moment later the doctor handed her a bundle, and she saw the wet, red, screaming face. She looked at the doctor, and he said, “girl.”

As the tears started to flow, Leta pulled the newborn close and whispered, “Welcome, little baby girl.”

“Lucille,” Florence croaked. Naturally, she was exhausted, but made a feeble gesture, and Leta took the newborn to her.

“What’s going on in there?” Aaron called from the doorway, and both women registered surprised. They had all but forgotten that there was a man, a father, smoking and waiting outside the door.

“I’ve got this,” the doctor said, leaving the sisters-in-law to share the good news.

Ten minutes later, Lucille was bathed and sleeping with her mother, the doctor was packing up his things, and Aaron and Leta were sitting at the kitchen table, sipping cups of freshly brewed coffee. The sun was flooding the room with light.

“Congratulations,” the doctor said.

“Thank you,” Aaron replied and saw the physician to the door. When he returned, he stopped in the doorway of the kitchen and looked at Leta. “I’m a father,” he said.