‘Time to let Mammy Bath help you out of those clothes,’ Saint said, smiling at Byrony. ‘Call me when you’re in bed.’
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Byrony’s lips tightened as a contraction grabbed her belly. She saw Brent’s white face, and tried to smile at him. It was she who said, ‘I’m just fine, love. You mustn’t worry.’
‘Let’s get this chile into the world, little missis,’ Mammy Bath said, and tugged at Byrony’s arm.
Saint watched until Byrony disappeared from view at the top of the stairs. He turned to Brent. ‘If you like, you can stay with her for a while. Talk to her, distract her. First, though, let me examine her.’
Brent nodded, his throat too tight from fear to let words out.
‘That’s right,’ Saint said on a grin, and clapped Brent’s back. ‘You think celibate thoughts.’
‘Just wait until Jules is pregnant,’ Brent managed.
Saint was silent a moment. ‘It’s a sobering thought.’
This would be a long labor, he thought a few minutes later, gently easing his fingers from Byrony’s body. Dammit! He forced a smile. ‘Just continue breathing easy, Byrony. That’s it. Now, let me get your husband for you.’
The pains were coming more quickly some three hours later, but still she was long from delivery. Brent was talking at his wife
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nonstop, nonsense, really, but it did distract her a bit.
Byrony gasped suddenly, a small cry tearing from her throat. Her body arched upward.
Brent sent Saint an agonized, helpless look, and Saint said quickly, ‘Breathe slowly, that’s it. Now, Byrony, did I tell you about what was done to the expectant fathers in a long-ago civilization? No, I guess I didn’t. You listen to me now, and you too, Brent. You see, these folk were very advanced. For every hour the woman was in labor, her husband was hung upside down by his heels beside her bed. Even after the baby was born, the father had to look at his son or daughter upside down and nod in approval before he was released.’
‘Talk about celibate thoughts,’ Brent said. ‘You made that up, Saint!’ Byrony gasped, her laugh cut off by another contraction.
‘Nope, I swear. Now, the Siamese had an interesting method. After the birth of a woman5s first child., she continued in her bed, exposing her abdomen and her back to the heat of a blazing fire not two feet distant from her. It was kept going night and day for an entire month, the husband in charge. The practice had at least one virtue – it allowed the woman all the rest she needed. What do you think of that?’
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‘I prefer Brent hanging by his heels,’ Byrony said.
‘I’ll hang myself by anything you want,’ Brent said as he gently wiped the perspiration from her forehead. ‘Well, not anything,’ he added.
Saint rose and stretched. He was racking his brain for more stories when he heard a shout from downstairs. ‘Stay put, Brent,’ he said. ‘I’ll see what’s going on.’
He bounded down the stairs. Just inside the door lay Thackery at Mammy Bath’s feet. His shirt was soaked with blood. Saint felt himself go cold.
He lifted the man in his arms and carried him to the dining table. ‘Mammy, get me hot water and my bag from upstairs. Quick!’
He cut away Thackery’s shirt and saw the bullet wound in his chest.
‘Dr. Saint.’
‘You just lie still, Thackery, just lie still.’ ‘He got Mrs. Saint, he shot me and left me for dead, I guess. God, I let you down.’
‘It’s all right – ‘ Saint began, only to watch Thackery slump again into unconsciousness at the same time a piercing scream came from upstairs.
Brent appeared in the doorway a few moments later, his face white. ‘Saint, what the hell
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‘Wilkes has Jules. He shot Thackery.’ ‘Damnation! Oh God, no!’
Saint closed his eyes a moment, trying to think clearly, calmly. ‘Brent,’ he said at last, ‘listen to me. Byrony’s hurting, but the baby won’t be here for a while yet. I want you to stay with her … hell, man, make up stories, anything. I’ll patch up Thackery.’