Farnham’s Freehold By Robert A. Heinlein

Hugh went to the table where his equipment was now opened out, got his one scalpel, took the camp lamp in his other hand. “All right, boys. As soon as she starts, pick her up.”

They had only seconds to wait. Hugh saw the contraction start, nodded to Duke. “Now!”

“With me, Joe.” They started to lift her, each with an arm under her back, a hand under a thigh.

Karen screamed and fought them off. “No, no! Don’t touch me-I can’t stand it! Daddy, make them stop! Daddy!”

They stopped. Duke said, “Dad?”

“Lift her up! Now!”

They got her high in a squatting position, thighs pulled open. Barbara got behind Karen, arms around her, and pressed down on the girl’s tortured belly. Karen screamed and struggled; they held her fast. Hugh got hurriedly to the floor, shined the light up. “Bear down, Karen, bear down!”

“Ooooooh!”

Suddenly he saw the baby’s scalp, gray-blue. He started to lay the knife aside; the head retreated. “Try again, Karen!”

He readjusted the lamp. He wondered whether he was supposed to make the incision in front? Or in back? Or both? He saw the scalp show again and stop; with his hand suddenly rock steady and with no conscious decision he reached up and made one small cut.

He barely had time to drop the knife before he had both hands full of wet, slippery, bloody baby. He knew there was something else he should do now but all he could think of was to get it by both feet in his left hand, lift it and slap its tiny bottom.

It let out a choked wail.

“Get her on the bed, boys-but easy! It’s still fastened by the cord.”

They made it, Hugh on his knees and burdened with a feebly wiggling load. Once they had Karen down, Hugh started to put her baby in her arms-but saw that Karen was not up to it. She seemed to be awake-her eyes were open. But she was in total collapse.

Hugh was close to collapse. He looked dazedly around, handed the baby to Barbara. “Stay close,” he told her, unnecessarily.

“Dad?” said Duke. “Aren’t you supposed to cut the cord?”

“Not yet.” Where was that knife? He found it, rubbed it quickly with iodine-hoped that it was sterile. Placed it by two boiled lengths of cotton string-turned and felt the cord to see if it was pulsing.

“He’s beautiful,” Joe said softly.

“She,” Hugh corrected. “The baby is a girl. Now, Barbara, if you-”

He broke off. Suddenly everything happened too fast. The baby started to choke; Hugh grabbed it, turned it upside down, dug into its mouth, scooped out a plug of mucus, handed the baby back, started again to check the cord-saw that Karen was in trouble.

With a nightmare feeling that he needed to be twins he got one of the strings, tied a square knot around the cord near the baby’s belly, trying to control his trembling so as not to tie it too hard-started to tie the second, saw that it was not needed; Karen suddenly delivered the placenta and was hemorrhaging. She moaned.

With one slash Hugh cut the cord, snapped at Barbara, “Get a bellyband on it!”-turned to take care of the mother.

She was flowing like a river; her face was gray and she seemed unconscious. Too late to attempt to take stitches in the cut he had made and the tears that followed; he could see that this flood was from inside, not from the damaged portal. He tried to stop it by packing her inside with their last roll of gauze while shouting to Joe and to Duke to get a bellyband and compress on Karen herself to put pressure on her uterus.

Some agonized time later the belly compress was in place and the gauze was backed by a dam of sanitary napkins-one irreplaceable, Hugh thought tiredly, they hadn’t needed much. He raised his eyes and looked at Karen’s face-then in sudden panic tried to find her pulse.

Karen had survived the birth of her daughter by less than seven minutes.

Chapter 9

Katherine Josephine survived her mother by a day. Hugh baptized her with that name and a drop of water an hour after Karen died; it was clear that the baby might not last long. She had trouble breathing.