She looked across her father’s grave at Jamie, and their eyes met. Jamie’s glance was cool and impersonal, as though she were a stranger. Margaret hated him then. You stand there feeling nothing, and you’re as guilty as I am. We killed him, you and I. In God’s eyes, I’m your wife. But we’re partners in evil. She looked down at the open grave and watched the last shovelful of dirt cover the pine box. “Rest,” she whispered. “Rest.”
When she looked up, Jamie was gone.
There were two wooden buildings in Klipdrift that served as hospitals, but they were so filthy and unsanitary that more patients died there than lived. Babies were born at home. As Margaret’s time for delivery drew closer, Mrs. Owens arranged for a black midwife, Hannah. Labor began at three A.M.
“Now you just bear down,” Hannah instructed. “Nature’ll do the rest.”
The first pain brought a smile to Margaret’s lips. She was bringing her son into the world, and he would have a name. She would see to it that Jamie McGregor recognized his child. Her son was not going to be punished.
The labor went on, hour after hour, and when some of the boarders stepped into Margaret’s bedroom to watch the proceedings, they were sent packing.
“This is personal,” Hannah told Margaret. “Between you and God and the devil who got you into this trouble.”
“Is it going to be a boy?” Margaret gasped.
Hannah mopped Margaret’s brow with a damp cloth. “I’ll let you know as soon as I check out the plumbin’. Now press down. Real hard! Hard! Harder!”
The contractions began to come closer together and the pain tore through Margaret’s body. Oh, my God, something’s wrong, Margaret thought.
“Bear down!” Hannah said. And suddenly there was a note of alarm in her voice. “It’s twisted around,” she cried. “I—I can’t get it out!”
Through a red mist, Margaret saw Hannah bend down and twist her body, and the room began to fade out, and suddenly there was no more pain. She was floating in space and there was a bright light at the end of a tunnel and someone was beckoning to her, and it was Jamie. I’m here, Maggie, darling. You’re going to give me a fine son. He had come back to her. She no longer hated him. She knew then she had never hated him. She heard a voice saying, “It’s almost over,” and there was a tearing inside her, and the pain made her scream aloud.
“Now!” Hannah said. “It’s coming.”
And a second later, Margaret felt a wet rush between her legs and there was a triumphant cry from Hannah. She held up a red bundle and said, “Welcome to Klipdrift. Honey, you got yourself a son.”
She named him Jamie.
Margaret knew the news about the baby would reach Jamie quickly, and she waited for him to call on her or send for her. When several weeks had passed and Margaret had not heard anything, she sent a message to him. The messenger returned thirty minutes later.
Margaret was in a fever of impatience. “Did you see Mr. McGregor?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you gave him the message?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What did he say?” she demanded.
The boy was embarrassed. “He—he said he has no son, Miss van der Merwe.”
She locked herself and her baby in her room all that day and all that night and refused to come out. “Your father’s upset just now, Jamie. He thinks your mother did something bad to him. But you’re his son, and when he sees you, he’s going to take us to live in his house and he’s going to love both of us very much. You’ll see, darling. Everything is going to be fine.”
In the morning when Mrs. Owens knocked on the door, Margaret opened it. She seemed strangely calm.
“Are you all right, Maggie?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” She was dressing Jamie in one of his new outfits. “I’m going to take Jamie out in his carriage this morning.”
The carriage, from Madam Agnes and her girls, was a thing of beauty. It was made of the finest grade of reed, with a strong cane bottom and solid, bentwood handles. It was upholstered in imported brocade, with piped rolls of silk plush, and it had a parasol hooked on at the back, with a deep ruffle.