Page 140 of The Frozen River

“I didn’t want you to be here because…”

Doctor nods to me and I set the heel of my hand on the top of Rebecca’s stomach.

The moment her belly slackens, Doctor leans forward, whispers, “Je suis désolé,” and slides first one, then the other hand into Rebecca’s body.

She pushes and turns, and I can see the small muscles in her forearms begin to tremble with the effort. For her part, Rebecca splits the air with the kind of scream that is rarely heard off a battlefield. We are all sweating from the exertion within seconds, but when Rebecca’s belly ripples from one end to the other, I think that perhaps the wrestling match is won. A gush of water floods the bed, soaking the quilt.

“Bien,” Doctor pants. “The head is down, but backward.”

Oh God, I think, that will double her pain.

“She doesn’t have the strength for that.”

“She does not have to. But we must work quickly. Turn her over. Hands and knees. I can do the rest.”

It takes both of us to roll Rebecca onto her side, then get her up on all fours. She hisses and spits through her teeth, like a wounded cat. Rebecca’s arms shake, and I fear she will fall face-first into the pillows. Her strength is gone. But this position seems to help immediately, gravity pulling the baby’s head away from her tailbone and into the birth canal.

The groan comes, deep and ragged, and I know that another contraction ravages her body. At its peak, Doctor slides two fingers inside Rebecca’s body.

“I am lifting the head,” she says. “In a moment I will guide it out. But you must lift Rebecca’s shoulders up. Her body will do the rest.”

I climb onto the bed and pull Rebecca up so that her arms are draped over my shoulders and her head is pressed into my breastbone.

“Now,” Doctor says, sliding her other hand inside. It is immediate. Rebecca’s stomach deflates as the head drops farther into the birth canal. “Push.”

She has no choice in the matter. Her body recognizes that this journey is almost over. It seizes as though being compressed by some external force, and as she bears down, the baby’s head emerges halfway.

“Again,” Doctor demands.

Rebecca obeys with the last of her energy, and the baby slides, slick and angry, into Doctor’s hands. Even from where I kneel at the other end of the bed, I can tell that the cord is far too short. Twelve inches where it should be twenty. No wonder the child hadn’t turned.

Doctor slices through the cord with a small pocketknife and I ease Rebecca down onto the bed once more, then roll her onto her back. Below us Doctor hums as she inspects the child for injuries or defect. Finding none, she lifts the baby.

“Vous avez une fille.”

I move to the bottom of the bed to clean the child as Doctor tends to Rebecca. As I’m wrapping her in a soft linen cloth, I notice that she has a strawberry birthmark behind her left knee. It is identical to the one on Joshua Burgess’s temple. It is proof of Rebecca’s claim. It is heartbreaking.

“Hello, little one,” I tell the red-faced, squinty little thing. Then I look up at Rebecca. “You have a daughter.”

I bring the bundle to Rebecca and hold her out. But she does not reach for the child. Instead, she looks to the tiny, squalling girl once, then turns her face into the pillow, and says, “Throw it in the river.”

THE KENNEBEC RIVER

I pull Brutus to a stop in the middle of the boardwalk outside Cole-man’s General. The snow is all but melted in town, there are muddy tracks cut down the center of Water Street, and the snowdrifts are shrinking on either side. The Kennebec groans on my left as the ice splits and forms small glaciers that crash against one another in the building current. It is an astonishing thing to behold, though not altogether safe. The river often floods when it opens, and the banks have been known to shear away as those blocks of ice roll and tumble downstream.

The squirming infant in my arms cries out again. The child is hungry and cold and fussed all the way here as I held her against my chest, snuggled in tight beneath my riding cloak. She needs a mother but has none. And I have been asked to do the unspeakable.

We begged. Cajoled. Both Doctor and I did all we could to urge Rebecca to put the girl to her breast, but she refused. Would neither look at nor hold the baby. An hour, then two. Surely, we thought, Rebecca would relent. But she hadn’t.

“We cannot hide this much longer,” Doctor whispered, placing the writhing bundle in my medical bag. “You must go. Now.”

We stood in the hallway outside Rebecca’s room, listening for Isaac.

“I cannot… I have never…”

“The child is not safe here. You told me as much when you came to my cabin in January. She does not want this baby. Nor can we blame her.”

“It is wrong.” I shook my head. “I cannot—”