“Mr. Hamilton.” Dr. Jones handed Jane the glass of wine. It had a distinct spicy resinous fragrance that burnt Jane’s nose.
They continued for a moment with formal pleasantries while Jane drank the odd mixture. It made her feel as though her teeth were being sanded with honey. Harder than drinking it was not shouting at them to omit the social forms. She was not her mother, however. Jane could be calm. She could wait until the doctor had something to communicate.
Only when Jane had drained the glass and handed it back to the doctor did the conversation progress. Setting the glass on a side table, Dr. Jones said, “I need to examine you. Do you want your husband to step into the hall?”
“No, thank you.”
Vincent looked startled. “You have not examined her yet?”
“I have been here no more than five minutes.” Dr. Jones pulled Jane’s shift up. “Draw your knees up to your stomach, please.”
Jane tilted her head up and studied the glamour that Vincent had wrapped around the bed. She thought it likely that he was using the Wohlreich variation to create guide threads for the hummingbirds to fly along. Without being able to see into the ether, it was as much a mystery as how anyone could have cold hands in such a warm climate. Jane shifted a little on the bed and turned her attention to the feather pattern on the hummingbirds. He had not individually woven each feather, but when the little creations were in motion they gave every appearance of having real feathers. She would have to ask Vincent to stop one of them so she could examine it more closely.
“Mrs. Hamilton, had you experienced any discomfort before you sent for me?”
“No. Not really.”
Vincent cleared his throat. “Her back has been hurting for the past two days.”
“Oh, but that is normal for a woman in my condition.”
“It has been worse lately.”
Jane stared at him. Though he was correct, she was certain that she had not complained of such. “How could you possibly know that?”
“You have been knotting your hands and pressing at the base of your spine.”
Dr. Jones asked Vincent, rather than Jane, “Has the pain come and gone?”
“I believe so.”
“Have you noted the frequency?”
Jane said, “Pardon me, but the wine has not left me incapable of answering questions.”
With a touch of asperity, Dr. Jones straightened from her examination. “Will you answer with more accuracy than, ‘No. Not really’? Because I will tell you that it is difficult to diagnose a patient who will not discuss their symptoms.”
“I did not wish to complain about something that seemed minor.”
“When a doctor asks you about pain, answering is not a complaint.” Dr. Jones put her hands on her hips and glared at Jane. “Now. How long has your back been hurting?”
“The past two days.”
“And has the pain come and gone?”
“Yes.”
“Have you noted the frequency?”
Jane hesitated, not certain. “No. I was trying not to pay attention to it, to be honest.”
Dr. Jones wheeled on Vincent. “Mr. Hamilton?”
“I was not at home for large parts of yesterday, so cannot account for those, but today it seemed as though she were uncomfortable about once an hour.” He looked at Jane with some apology. “You sighed.”
“That hardly seems worthy of note.”
“Well, you never complain, so I have learned to pay attention to your sighs.”
“There was nothing to complain about.”
Vincent opened his mouth and then snapped it shut again. He nodded, with his lips pressed tightly together around whatever he was not saying.
“What?”
He shook his head and addressed the doctor. “Can you tell us what is—what to expect?”
He was the most provoking man sometimes. She could not even scold him for the bald change in subject, because it was to one in which she had the keenest interest.
“These are irregular symptoms.” Dr. Jones turned the watch over in her hands, opening the cover. “The back pain and the regularity of the bearing pains are consistent with early parturition. But she is showing none of the other signs. Without her history, I would call these false bearing pains and not worry. But with it … with it, I think it likely that she will come to term early. The longer we can delay parturition, the better your child’s chances.”
Jane inhaled sharply at that. An angry part of her wondered what Vincent would make of the breath. Given the tension in his own countenance, she imagined that he was managing a similar terror. Her query of, “How long…?” was met with his: “What can we do?”
Dr. Jones held up her hands to hush them both. “I have read of infants born as early as seven months surviving to maturity. I will feel more secure if we can get you to eight months, but every day will help. So we are going to try to slow the bearing pains, and until the baby comes, you are confined to bed.”