“Good…” She seemed completely inured to the violence of Jane’s responses. “Good. And—yes. You are having a boy.”
All the frustrated anger of the labour dissipated with those words. Jane found Vincent’s hand and clutched it. Turning her head, she leaned back and kissed his bruised cheek. He appeared completely inarticulate, mouth open and eyes wet.
“In the usual course, when I say that, the child has been delivered, but the hard part is next. Shoulders.”
The hard part? Nothing about this had been easy. Setting her jaw, Jane returned to work.
“Wait—wait. Do not push for a moment while I draw the arms down.”
Jane sagged back in the chair, closing her eyes as she tried not to strain against Dr. Jones’s efforts. This was the surest confirmation of original sin that she could think of, but surely after so many generations there was no need to continue revisiting the punishment. Her whole being was fixed upon a core of agony. As things below shifted, Jane clenched Vincent’s arms. Sound tore from her throat, completely outside her volition. Vincent held her steady.
“There … Nkiruka, will you support his body while I turn the head?”
The rustle of cloth told of Nkiruka taking her position, but Jane could only sit and pant with her head propped against her husband’s chest. Why in the name of heaven did any woman consent to have more than one child? This was beyond stupid. At a new sensation below, she tightened her grip on Vincent.
Some part of her was aware that her fingernails were digging into the skin of his forearms, but she could not relax her grip.
“All right. Now, you may resume pushing.”
The bearing pains of the last quarter hour of Jane’s labour made her fully abandon any attempt to not cry out. She screamed without regret. Even the gaps between the pains hurt as her body felt stretched and burnt and torn all out of proportion.
But at last, on the eighth of August, with one final push, Charles Byron Leopold Vincent fully entered the world.
The sudden relief, the hollowness, almost made Jane faint. She swallowed, still breathing heavily, and used Vincent’s strength to stay upright in the chair. Leaning forward as best she could, Jane looked down.
Her son lay in Dr. Jones’s arms, with his eyes screwed shut. He was wet, and bloody, and beautiful. Squirming, he drew breath, and let out a cry of glorious outrage. Dr. Jones handed him to Nkiruka, who had a clean linen ready to receive him. With practised movements, Dr. Jones quickly dealt with the cord that still bound him to Jane, while Nkiruka wiped the blood from his small, perfect body.
And then she was laying their son in Jane’s arms.
So little. He was an exquisite miniature, red and squalling and angry. The nails on his fingers were wonderfully formed. She touched one delicate finger, and he wrapped his hand around her finger with an implacable grip. A fine tuft of dark hair lay plastered against his skull. His brows were drawn together in a scowl of protest, already recognisable as inherited from Vincent.
She turned to her husband. “Charles, meet your papa.”
Vincent’s eyes were red and he was weeping without shame, staring in wonder at their son. He opened his mouth, but no sound came. Clearing his throat, Vincent made another attempt, but his voice was still rough. “How do you do.” Tentatively, he brought one hand up and, with a blunt finger, traced the curve of their son’s cheek. “Charles.”
There were a few more indignities for Jane to suffer through, but the pains seemed insignificant in comparison.
When her labour was at last fully completed, Nkiruka carried Charles back over and returned him to Jane’s arms. She had tied a red ribbon around his left wrist, and now she tapped it, smiling as she did.
“What is that?” Jane was so tired that even Charles’s slight weight seemed almost beyond her abilities.
“Keeps the evil spirits away.” She touched the baby’s nose, wrinkling her own at him. “But with good parents like aryou, I don’t know that he need much help.”
“Mm…” Jane very much wanted to go to sleep. “May I lie down?”
“Not just yet.” Dr. Jones still crouched in front of her, frowning.
The fatigues of the past day seemed to crash over Jane all at once. It was all she could do to keep her head up. “Vincent, will you hold Charles?”
“Of course.” As he took her son, she thanked heaven that he had been so involved with their nephew and already knew how to hold a newborn. Even with the bruises on Vincent’s cheek, his smile was so open and full of joy that it made her light-headed.
She rubbed her hands together. “May I have a blanket? I am a little chilled.”
“Nkiruka, take the baby from Mr. Hamilton.” Dr. Jones straightened, her face tight. “Sir, I need you to transfer your wife to the bed.”