Titus was out of patience. He stepped close, close enough so that the man had to tilt his head back to look up into his face. “Patience, man. You said it was the third day he said he would rise, so for the third day, you will have your guard. Not tonight. Go to your house and prepare for your Sabbath, and leave the dead alone.”
He turned and strode away before he could see what response his command got. He found his way out of the palace and headed straight for the house where he could find others who understood the sudden realignment of his world.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The groans had led Tabitha where she needed to go once she was in the house. It was a common enough sound for one used to attending child births, but even so the pain in the voice was obvious. Tabitha entered the bed chamber and looked over to see the pregnant woman lying on the bed, a small boy stroking her brow as she gripped the sheets as though her life depended on it.
She made her presence known with a small cough. When the two looked up, she smiled. “I am Tabitha, a midwife.” She sat down on the side of the bed and took one of the young woman’s hands. “What is your name, child?”
“Abigail.” Even the one word was strained with agony. “Something’s wrong with my baby.”
Tabitha made no comment, just took a hand and ran it over her abdomen. It took little probing to realize the expectant mother was right. But she smiled. “Pain is normal, Abigail. When was your last contraction?”
Abigail shook her head. “They are close. Too close, I think.”
Tabitha nodded, but again kept her silence. She looked to the boy with a smile. “And what is your name?”
“Samuel,” he replied. “Will my mother be all right?”
Tabitha knew well that the woman before her could not have possibly given birth to the boy, but she was not about to argue with the title. She just stroked his hair gently. “Of course she will, Samuel. Now, I need you to help me. Do you know where they store the linens?”
He nodded.
“Good. Go get the oldest things. When you come back, I will go make my preparations. Hurry, now. Your mother will want you back here soon.”
He scurried away, and Tabitha looked back to Abigail, whose eyes had not left her face. “The centurion said he would return soon, but he was called to the governor. He mentioned he was your husband’s friend, and he seemed very concerned for you. But if you are not comfortable with his presence–”
“No, please.” Abigail gripped her hand tighter. “I need to thank him.” She broke off with another moan, but resolutely finished her thought between clenched teeth. “For bringing me home.”
Tabitha nodded. “Before he gets back, I need to check your progress, child.”
She was not dilated very far, and Tabitha knew that the labor would be long and hard. When Samuel returned with the old cloth, she put it nearby to be handy and informed them that she would be in the kitchen for just a few minutes.
She was there still when Titus returned.
“How is she?” the Roman asked immediately upon entering the room. Tabitha was pouring some water into a wooden cup.
She shook her head. “The babe is breech.”
Titus’s brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”
“It means that the child dropped before he turned. His head should come first, but he is not positioned correctly. He cannot be born as he is.”
Titus beheld her a moment in silence, then asked, “What can be done?” in such a way that stated the answer had better not be nothing.
Tabitha sighed. “Right now, we can pray that the babe will turn on his own. I have seen it happen. If he does not, then once she is opened enough, I will reach up and try to maneuver him myself.” Seeing his features pale, she drew her breath back in. “It is painful, yes, but it is the only other option. If the child is not turned, they will both die.”
“That cannot happen. I swore to him she would be taken care of.”
She gave him a smile that she prayed would comfort him. “There is nothing you can do to protect her now. You brought her safely home, you brought someone to attend her. Speak to her, then go home. There is nothing more for you to do.”
*
Titus headed for the room where Abigail was curled up on the bed. Every muscle was so tense that he could feel some of her pain just by drawing near. He sat on the edge of the bed and put a hand on her shoulder to let her know he was there.
Abigail opened her eyes, turned her head to look at him. “Titus. Thank you.”
“I have done nothing.” He took her hand, measured himself. Only compassion flowed through him, a feeling so unfamiliar he was unsure if that was even the proper name. “But I pray for you. I know not if your God even knows who I am, but I am beseeching him on your behalf.”