Page 70 of Hold Fast

They galloped through the gates and down the road that wound through the village, riding as quickly as they could through the driving rain, the dogs close on their heels. Una leaned over Calman’s neck, his mane and the reins clutched in her fists, urging him faster. Duncan shouted directions behind her but was otherwise silent, gripping the saddle behind him.

“It is just there, m’lady,” Duncan yelled gesturing at a croft with barn in the near distance. Una pulled on the reins, and Calman stopped in front of the house. Outside, a man who looked like an older version of Duncan paced frantically, soaked by the rain and starved of the good sense to seek cover. This could only be Mary’s husband, a man without a country, banished from the birthing room but unable to leave her completely.

Duncan threw himself off of Calman’s back and Una followed, forgetting for a moment how far away the ground was. She stumbled but caught herself on the saddle.

“Take him and the dogs to the barn, please,” she said, handing the reins to Duncan before running into the cottage.

A blast of heat shocked her. The room was stifling, the fire burning as high as was possible for the hearth. A brown-haired young woman lay in the bed weeping loudly, her shift soaked with sweat so that it clung to her shape. An older woman, likely her mother, bathed her face and crooned to her while another, barely grown, stood in the corner, her face ashen, her lips moving in a litany. Una rushed in and immediately uncovered the far window.

The older woman shrieked, “Dinnae open that window! A faerie will come and take the child, or she’ll die of the vapors!”

Una ignored her. She was well accustomed with superstition. She worked amidst it every day.

“How long?”

The older woman blinked at her.

Una washed her hands in a basin of clean water. “How long has she labored?”

“Since yesterday morning,” the older woman replied hoarsely.

At that moment, Mary moaned loudly. Una rushed to the bedside, gently touching Mary’s bent knee.

“Mary,” she said, “Mary, my brave darling. My name is Una. I’m the healer, and I’m going to have a look at you. Can I do that?”

Mary nodded, and Una placed her hands on Mary’s swollen belly, pressing gently. The problem was readily apparent. The babe was not completely turned, which explained Mary’s stalled progress. Una needed to turn the baby, or it would never be born.

“Mary, darlin,’ I need you to get up.”

“She is meant to labor in bed! ’Tis improper to do otherwise!”

Una turned to the older woman. “What is your name?”

“Margaret.”

“And hers?” Una asked, gesturing to the panicked young woman in the corner.

“My youngest daughter is called Elsbeth.”

“Margaret, I ken you may never have seen a woman labor out of bed, but I promise you that it is the only way to get things moving along. We must encourage the babe to turn. Will you help me?”

Una was no stranger to women like this. Well-meaning women who wanted the best for their daughters but had been raised a certain way and were afraid of deviating. Una was never cruel to them, but she did not pander to their stubbornness or fear either. She was direct and firm, and she found usually the woman in question was grateful to not be in charge any longer.

If Margaret had any such qualms about relinquishing control of the room, she certainly did not let on and scuttled over to help Una coax a resistant Mary from the bed. Una led Mary to the eating table in the center of the room and told Elsbeth that her responsibility was making sure that there was water boiling at all times. Elsbeth jerked to attention and rushed outside with a bucket, obviously glad for a job to do.

Some said that idle hands were the devil’s tools, but Una knew better. Idle hands were the fastest way to a total collapse in one’s ability to function. Better to give a person a job lest they focus too long on worst-case scenarios. This, of course, including laboring women.

“Now, Mary, I want you to hold onto this table. Aye, just like that. That’s good. Now, I want you to make circles with your hips. Big, smooth circles. Dinnae stop. Aye. Aye. Just like that. Verra good.”

“I’m going to die,” Mary wailed. “I know it. Just leave me to die!”

Una had never once attended a first birth where the mother did not scream that she would not survive it. Agatha never even dignified the claims with a response, but Una was not Agatha. Like it or not, and though she would never admit it, she was made of softer stuff. Una rounded the table to stand across from Mary. She took Mary’s cheeks in her hands, drawing the young woman’s gaze up.

In a quiet, firm voice, she said, “Mary, mo cridhe,I know you are exhausted. You have been working so hard for so verra long. But you cannae give up on me now.”

Mary’s lip quivered, and fresh tears welled in her eyes.

“Are you with me, Mary? You can do this. You can and you will,” Una said, gently pressing her thumbs into Mary’s cheeks. “We will do it together.”