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“This is the first child of my hearth, Fralie. Your baby, born to my hearth.” He kneeled beside the bed and held her hand. “This baby has to live. Tell me this baby will live,” he pleaded. “Fralie, tell me this baby will live.”
“I can’t tell you. I don’t know.” Her voice was strained and hoarse.
“I thought you knew about these things, Fralie. You’re a mother. You have two children already.”
“Each one is different,” she whispered. “This one has been difficult from the beginning. I was worried that I might lose it. There was so much trouble … finding a place to settle … I don’t know. I just think it’s too early for this baby to be born.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Fralie?”
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“What would you have done about it?” Crozie said, her tone restrained, almost hopeless. “What could you do? Do you know anything about pregnancy? Childbirth? Coughs? Pain? She didn’t want to tell you because you’ve done nothing but insult the one who could help her. Now the child will die, and I don’t know how weak Fralie is.”
Frebec turned to Crozie. “Fralie? Nothing can happen to Fralie! Can it? Women have babies all the time.”
“I don’t know, Frebec. Look at her, judge for yourself.”
Fralie was trying to control a cough that threatened, and the ache in her back was starting again. Her eyes were closed, and her brows drawn in. Her hair was tangled and stringy and her face shiny with sweat. Frebec jumped up and started to leave the hearth. “Where are you going, Frebec?” Fralie asked.
“I’m going to get Ayla.”
“Ayla? But I thought …”
“She’s been saying you were having trouble ever since she got here. She was right about that. If she knew that much, maybe she is a Healer. Everyone keeps saying she is. I don’t know if it’s true, but we’ve got to do something … unless you don’t want me to.”
“Get Ayla,” Fralie whispered.
The excited tension communicated itself through the earthlodge as Frebec marched down the passageway toward the Mammoth Hearth.
“Ayla, Fralie is …” he barely began, too nervous and upset to worry about saving face.
“Yes, I know. Ask someone to get Nezzie to come and help me, and bring that container. Careful, it’s hot. It’s a decoction for her throat,” Ayla said, hurrying toward the Crane Hearth.
When Fralie looked up and saw Ayla, she suddenly felt a great relief.
“The first thing we have to do is straighten this bed and make you comfortable,” Ayla said, pulling at the bedding and covers, and bolstering her with furs and pillows for support.
Fralie smiled and suddenly noticed, for some reason, that Ayla still spoke with an accent. No, not really an accent, she thought. She just had difficulty with certain sounds. Strange how easy it was to get used to something like that. Crozie’s head appeared next above her bed. She handed Ayla a piece of folded leather.
“Here’s her birthing blanket, Ayla.” They opened it out and while Fralie shifted, they spread it beneath the woman. “It’s about time they got you, but it’s too late to stop the birth now,” Crozie said. “Too bad, I had an intuition that this one would be a girl. It’s a shame she will die.”
“Don’t be too certain of that, Crozie,” Ayla said.
“This baby is coming early. You know that.”
“Yes, but don’t give up this child to the next world, yet. There are things that can be done, if it’s not too early … and if the birth goes well.” Ayla looked down at Fralie. “Let’s wait and see.”
“Ayla,” Fralie said, her eyes shining, “do you think there’s hope?”
“There is always hope. Now, drink this. It will quiet your cough, and make you feel better. Then we’ll see how far along you are.”
“What’s in it?” Crozie demanded.
Ayla studied the woman for a moment before replying. There had been command implicit in her tone, but Ayla sensed that concern and interest motivated the question. The tone of her request was more a style of speaking, Ayla decided, as though she was accustomed to giving orders. But it could be misunderstood as unreasonable or demanding when someone who was not in a position of leadership assumed a commanding tone.
“The inner bark of wild black cherry, to calm her, and to calm her cough and relieve the pain of labor,” Ayla explained, “boiled with the dried root of blue cohosh, first ground to a powder, to help the pushing muscles work harder to hurry delivery. She’s too far into labor to stop it.”
“Hmm,” Crozie vocalized, nodding approval. She had been as interested in verifying Ayla’s expertise as she was in knowing the exact ingredients. Crozie was satisfied, from her reply, that Ayla was not just dispensing a remedy someone had told her about, but that she knew what she was doing. Not because she knew the properties of the plants, but because Ayla did.
