When it was over, she wilted. "That was a strong one. They’re comin’ faster this time than when Thomas was born."

"Here. Kneel down."

She knelt and he rinsed her back, arms, breasts, relieved to be doing something concrete. He held her hand as she stepped over the rim of the tub, then dried her back.

"Thank you, Will. I can finish." While he carried the tub away she dressed in a clean white nightgown and beneath the bed found a white cloth sack from which she drew several large folded dried leaves. Taking them, she followed Will to the kitchen. She stood a moment, watching him spill her bathwater at the sink. With the dipper he rinsed the tub, then mopped it with a rag. Only then did he turn and find her standing behind him, watching.

"Should you be out here?"

"You mustn’t worry so, Will. Please. For me?"

"That’s not an easy order."

"I know." She could see on his face how difficult it was for him to remain stalwart, and loved him for his valiant effort. "But now I need to talk to you about what to expect, what to do."

"I know it all." He set the tub down. "I read it in the book so many times that it might as well be branded on my arm. But reading it and doing it are two different things."

She moved close to him and touched his hand. "You’ll do fine, Will." Calmly she found a kettle into which she put the leaves, covering them with water from the teakettle. She set them to simmer on the rear of the range.

Will watched, feeling his stomach tensing more each minute. "What’s that?"

"Comfrey."

He was almost afraid to ask. It took two tries before his throat released the sound. "What for?"

"Afterwards, if I tear, you got to make a poultice of it and put it on me. It’ll draw the skin back together and help it heal. But you got to remember-don’t waste no time on me till you seen to the baby, understand?"

If she tears. The words shook him afresh. It took an effort for Will to concentrate on the remainder of her instructions.

"Only use the sterilized rags I laid on the dresser. Everything else you need is there too. Scissors, strings, pledgets, alcohol and gauze for the baby’s cord, and Vaseline for under the cotton when you bandage her. You’ll do that after you give her a bath. Make sure you keep enough warm water for that, and a tubful of cold for the sheets, ’cause you’ll have to change them when it’s over. When you give her a bath don’t use the yellow soap, but the glycerine. Make sure you hold her head all the time-soon as it comes out of me, and while you’re waiting for the rest of her body to be born, and when you give her a bath, too. But, Will, you got to remember, through it all, the baby comes first. The most important thing is to get her breathing, then bathed and dressed and warm so she doesn’t get chilled."

"I know, I know!" he replied impatiently, wishing she wouldn’t talk about it. He’d read the birth attendant’s instructions until he could recite them verbatim. It was the very images they conjured that rattled him.

Quietly she said, "Now walk with me."

"Walk?"

"It’ll bring it on faster."

If he could choose, he’d postpone it indefinitely. The thought brought a spear of guilt for her plight, and he did as bid. He had never felt as protective as during the following two hours while they strolled the length of the small rooms, back and forth, stopping only for each new contraction. She was intrepid; to be less himself would have made him a burden rather than a support. So he held her hand in the crook of his arm and accompanied her as if they were out for a sojourn on the town green at the height of the season. He teased when she needed brightening. And soothed when she needed support. And talked when she needed talking. And learned what a pledget was when he saw a stack of carefully formed rectangular cotton pads bound in gauze.

At half past two the boys woke up and he dressed them in their warm jackets and sent them out to play, hoping fervently they’d stay out till sunrise.

Shortly past three Elly announced quietly, "I think I’d like to lay down now. Bring the tug straps, dear." In the bedroom, with a sigh she rolled onto the clean white sheet and ordered, "Tie them to the footrail as far apart as my knees."

His stomach lurched, his salivary glands seemed to kick into overtime and his hands felt clumsy. When the leather straps were knotted, leaving ample leads and loops for her legs, they appeared like trappings in a medieval torture chamber. He found them hideous as he waited for her next contraction. When it hit, it seemed to hit them both. With acute shock, Will felt the sympathetic pain rip through his groin and down his thighs just as it did down Elly’s. It was a hard one, and long, lasting nearly a minute, markedly advanced from those before.

When it ended, she rested, panting, then whispered, "Wash your hands again, Will, and trim your nails. It won’t be long now."

Trim his nails? This time he didn’t ask why. He feared he knew. In case trouble developed and he had to help from the inside.

He scrubbed his knuckles until they stung, and snipped his nails to the quick with the sterilized scissor, fighting down panic. Oh God, why hadn’t he gone against her wishes and driven into town for the doctor the minute she’d had her first pain? What if the cord was wrapped around the baby’s neck? What if Elly hemorrhaged? What if the boys came in in the middle of it?

As if his very thought conjured them, the pair clattered into the kitchen, calling for their mother.

Will went out to waylay them, soiling his sterilized hands as he stopped Donald Wade and Thomas with a hand on each chest as they charged for the closed bedroom door.

"Hold up there, buckaroos!" He went down on one knee and gathered them close.

"We got to show Mama somethin’!" Donald Wade held a bird’s nest.

"Your mama’s resting."

"But, look what we found!" Donald Wade strained toward the door but Will tightened his arm.

"You remember when your mama told you about how that baby was gonna come out someday in the basket?" They stopped struggling and gazed at Will with innocent curiosity. "Well, the baby’s gonna be born pretty soon, and your mother’s not gonna feel so good while it’s happening, but the same was true when you guys were born, so don’t be scared, okay?" He gently squeezed their necks. "Now, I want you to be good boys. Donald Wade, you get some cookies and take your brother outside, and don’t come back in till I call you, all right?"

"But-"

"Now listen, I ain’t got time to argue, ’cause your mama needs me. But if you do like I say I’ll take you to the movie house one day soon. Deal?" Donald Wade vacillated, glancing from Will toward the bedroom door.

"To Hopalong Cassidy?"

"You bet. Go on now," Will gave them each a little shove toward the kitchen and the cookie jar. As soon as they were safely outside, he rescrubbed his hands, jogged back to the bedroom, closed the door with his boot and pushed it tight with a shoulder.

"The boys-I bribed them with a trip to the movie house and sent them outside with a handful of cookies. How’re you?" He moved to the side of the bed and sat on the hard wooden chair.

"I hurt." She chuckled and cradled her stomach.

He reached as if to brush Elly’s brow.

"Don’t touch me, Will. You mustn’t."

Reluctantly he withdrew his cleansed hand to sit in misery, waiting, feeling useless.

The next pain lifted her midsection off the mattress and brought Will from his chair to lean over her, watching her face contort as her knees parted and she reached up to grip the iron rails above her head. When she held her breath, he held his. When she grimaced, he grimaced. When she bared her teeth, he bared his. The sixty seconds during her contraction felt longer than his stint in prison.

At its end, she opened her dazed eyes and rolled her head to look at him. "It’s t-time, W-Will," she managed. "Wash me with alcohol n-now, and h-help me find the t-tugs."

His hands trembled as he moved to the foot of the bed, folded back her nightgown and stared. Oh, Lord. Lord o’ mercy, how she must hurt. She was swollen, distended, distorted beyond anything he’d imagined. He could actually see the bulge caused by the baby’s head just above the apex of her legs. Her genitals appeared inflamed, as if bee-stung, and they were seeping, staining the bedclothes a dim pink. He gulped, but came from his stupor when she reared up and a great gush of transparent fluid flowed from her body, wetting a wide circle on the sheet. The sight of it galvanized him into action. He knew what it was, knew it meant the baby was pressing low, preparing for its arrival into the world.

Suddenly his purpose here became crystal clear, and as it dawned all Will’s fears disappeared. His stomach grew calm. His hands grew steady. The jitters fled, chased away by the realization that he was needed by both the baby and its mother. But they needed him competent.

With a pad of cotton he generously swabbed her stomach, thighs and genitals with alcohol. It stung his own fingers where he’d broken the cuticles with the scrub brush, but he scarcely noticed. For good measure, he swabbed the tug straps before gently lifting her heels and slipping the leather loops snug behind her knees. Then he placed an additional clean folded flannel sheet beneath her.

"W-W-Will," she panted as another contraction began.

"Yes, love," he answered quietly, but stood at his post, eyes riveted on her constricting belly, watching it slowly begin to arch, watching her dilation grow with the pain.

"W-W-Wiiiiill!" It tore from her as a rasping cry while the contraction built and peaked. He placed his palms beneath her thighs and helped her through it, feeling her muscles tighten as she lifted. Only when she relaxed did he raise his eyes to her face. Beads of sweat stood on her brow. The fine strands of hair at her hairline were damp and darkened to the color of aged cornsilk. Her lips looked dry and cracked. She wet them with her tongue while he thought of the jar of Vaseline he dared not touch. Before her lips had dried, another pain arrived and with it the sight of the baby’s dark scalp.