“Don’t get any ideas.” But he said it with a grin, and her spirits soared even higher.
“Darcy?” Papa’s voice startled her. He stood stiffly in the barn door, dressed for work in his charcoal gray suit and waistcoat. His black derby sat firmly on his head. What was he doing here? Papa never came to the barn.
“I, uh,” she stammered, checking the watch. “The children are still in school.”
His expression was grim. “Your sister went into labor last night.”
“Already?” Amelia wasn’t due for two more weeks. Icy numbness seeped into her hands and feet. Papa wouldn’t be here unless there was a problem. “How is she?”
“It’s not going well.”
Only then did Darcy notice his ashen complexion. It must be very bad. “Doctor Stevens?”
“He’s with her. Come. She asked for you.”
Darcy’s legs nearly gave way. “She asked for me? Why?” They weren’t close. In fact they fought. A terrible dread filled her. She looked to Jack.
“Go,” he said softly, nudging her toward the door.
“The motorcar is outside,” said Papa.
The motorcar? Papa rarely drove it, not even to Chicago to visit his family.
Darcy wiped her hands clean and followed Papa. Amelia. A wave of guilt washed over her. Every resentment. Every bitter word. Always blaming Amelia. Dear Lord, she’d been so selfish.
Papa’s hand trembled as he opened the passenger door.
No. No. Please God, don’t let anything happen to Amelia. Papa couldn’t take it. Not after all the quarreling. He must be so disappointed.
She should have considered his feelings. She should have spent more time talking to him, rather than demanding.
“Papa?” She put her hand over his. “She’ll be all right.”
He started shaking.
No.
“I’m sorry, Papa.” She could barely fit the words through her constricted throat. “I’m so sorry.”
He pulled her close and hugged her as if afraid she would slip away. That was it. He was afraid of losing her, of losing them both. He shook with stifled sobs.
“I’ll always love you, Papa.”
“Me, too, Darcy. Me, too.”
She wept, and she didn’t care who saw her.
Chapter Thirteen
Amelia’s shuddering cries made Darcy wish she’d never climbed up the stairs. The bedroom door stood ajar, and Darcy could see a pile of damp, blood-tinged bed linens on the hardwood floor. The corner of an oilcloth hung from the bed. To protect the mattress from blood. Blood. Her stomach churned.
She pressed against the wall, taking deep breaths.
“Darcy. Thank God.” Mum pulled her into the room where death crouched in the shadows.
Doc Stevens, his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow, nodded at her. “Call if the baby starts to come,” he said as he left to wash his hands.
Amelia panted, her color even more ashen than normal, her usually perfect hair a matted flaxen mess. A sheet covered her round belly, but the struggle of hard labor showed.
“Darcy.” Amelia turned a haggard face to her. “I’m so glad.” She winced and panted again, short little breaths, as if the pain was too much to even breathe normally.
Mum guided Darcy to the bedside chair.
She shook. This was why she wouldn’t marry. “How are you?” What a foolish thing to say. “Sorry.” She knit her fingers around her knees, feeling out of place in her greasy overalls. “I don’t smell too good.”
Amelia smiled wanly. “I wanted to talk—oh.” Another pain began, contorting her face and sending a spasm through her entire body.
“Hold on, dearest.” Mum put a knotted rope in Amelia’s hand and pressed a cool compress to her forehead.
A rope? Whatever for? Darcy followed it to the foot of the bed, over the end and underneath where it was tied to the bed’s leg.
Amelia yanked. Hard. The rope strained. Amelia’s eyes bulged and perspiration poured off her face. “Aaahhhgggh.” The cry tore out of her, but the baby did not.
After the spasm ended, Amelia lay panting again, exhausted. Mum handed Darcy the compress. “I’ll be just outside. Don’t fret, Amelia. The baby will come soon.” Though Mum smiled when she gazed at Amelia, her confidence vanished the moment she turned away. Mum was worried.
What if Amelia didn’t survive? Women still died in childbirth. Not as often, but it still happened. Every spat and jealousy between them meant nothing now. How foolish she’d been. How trivial her complaints. Flying didn’t take half the courage of childbirth.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, grasping Amelia’s cold hand. “I’m sorry for not understanding, for everything.”
Amelia squeezed tightly, and Darcy feared another contraction was on the way. What if the baby came while Mum and Doc Stevens were gone? She looked around for her mother.
“I’m as much to blame,” Amelia said. “Sometimes I provoked you.”
“I know. I shouldn’t have let it bother me.” She laughed a little. “I probably deserved it.”
“Sisters,” Amelia sighed.