“Sisters.” Somehow that said everything that needed to be said. Darcy hugged her tight.
Amelia gasped and her eyes widened. Not another contraction.
“Mum?” Her mother didn’t appear, so Darcy handed Amelia the rope, applied the compress and waited until the spasm passed.
Amelia coughed and gasped, her eyes feverish. “I need to ask you.”
Darcy reached for another compress, but Amelia stilled her hand.
“If I die,” her sister said, clutching at her with bony fingers, “take care of my babies. Un-until Charles remarries.”
The room began to spin, Darcy’s ears buzzed, and her vision grew foggy. No. Impossible. “I…you won’t die. You can’t.”
Sweat beaded on Amelia’s face. “Promise me. Please. Mum will help, but Freddie and Lizzie and Helen need you. They love you.”
“They do?” Her nieces and nephew had never shown any extraordinary affection.
Amelia nodded. “Please?” Her grip tightened.
This couldn’t happen. Dear Lord, please spare Amelia. If not? What if His will was to take her to heaven? Then the children would need her. She couldn’t turn her back. “I promise.”
Amelia’s grip eased, and with a sigh she settled back, eyes closed. She looked peaceful, though wan and exhausted.
Mum stepped in just as the pain returned. “Doc Stevens is washing up to turn the baby, dearest. Hang on. It will be over soon.”
“Turn the baby?” Darcy asked. “How?”
“By hand of course.”
“You mean…inside?”
Mum nodded and Darcy ran from the room, queasy. She stood in the hall, trying to compose herself. She couldn’t go downstairs like this. The men would think the worst.
Mum came out when Doc Stevens returned. “Thank you, dearest. I know how difficult that was, but it set Amelia’s mind at ease.”
“W-will she live?” Darcy steeled herself for the cries of pain that were sure to come when Dr. Stevens turned the baby.
“Only God knows.” Mum squeezed her arm. “Pray without ceasing.”
But Darcy couldn’t seem to pull her scattered mind together. Take care of three or four children, one a newborn? Charles would probably remarry. Most men did. But what if his new wife didn’t want to take the children? What if Darcy had to raise them for the next eighteen years?
She took deep breaths. This speculation was doing no good, and standing here didn’t help. She needed to clean or cook. Cook. She’d get supper ready. The children must be home by now. That’s what she’d do.
The parlor looked much the same as when she left. Papa sat by the grandfather clock. Charles paced. Unlike before, the three children sat on the sofa, quieter than Darcy had ever seen them.
“How is she?” Charles asked.
What to say? “Tired but well.” She forced a smile.
“I should go to her.” Charles looked upstairs with trepidation.
Papa defused the idea at once. “Let Doc Stevens handle it.” He leafed through a farm tool catalog with the vigor ordinarily saved for heart-stopping adventure novels. Charles paced.
At that moment, an anguished cry came from upstairs.
“Mama,” Helen sobbed, tucking a thumb into her mouth.
Charles dashed to the staircase, his naturally somber face even more drawn. “It’s been so long.”
“Not that long,” Darcy said. “Some births can take days.”
“Days?” Charles swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I didn’t know. My mother died in childbirth.”
“Darcy, this isn’t helpful,” said Papa. “Is there something you could do with the children?”
Supper. But not with the children underfoot. “Outdoors you go.” She corralled them through the kitchen, drawing Freddie aside. “Will you please keep them busy with games?”
Freddie absorbed the responsibility, his expression grimly serious. “Is Mama going to be all right?”
“Of course.” Darcy smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “The doctor is here.”
“Would it help if I threw away my treasures? Mama wants me to get rid of them.”
Darcy’s heart broke. The poor boy. “That’s brave of you, but I don’t think that will help. Why don’t you clean them up and give them to her after your baby brother or sister is born? For now, could you keep your sisters busy?”
Freddie nodded solemnly. “We’ll play hide-and-seek.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
Darcy took sanctuary in the kitchen, preparing supper. Every anguished cry from upstairs shook her. She had to lean against the worktable to steady herself. She’d been so wrong about Amelia. She squeezed her eyes tight to hold back the tears. Perhaps she should have invested more time in family and less in flying.