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I put that all into practice now for poor Mrs. Turner. I placed my bare hands on her uncovered belly. I sang as loud as I dared though it was hard to hear over her cries. I moved my hands as my mother directed, showing the babe where to go, encouraging him to turn.
My mother and I continued thusly for several minutes, desperately praying and singing like fools in a birthing room. Then Mrs. Turner sat bolt upright and her eyes widened like saucers.
“That’s it, Mary!” cried my mother, who was not fazed by the shift. “It is time. Bear down when you feel the urge.”
Mary nodded and shifted about a bit, then she scrunched up her face and released a guttural moan. It seemed to go on forever until she suddenly slumped back, exhausted.
“You have a beautiful baby boy, Mary.”
My mother beamed and held up the tiny babe. Mary Turner smiled and cried, reaching her arms out for him. Mama placed him gently on her chest and gestured at me with her eyes. I nodded my understanding and placed my hand on the baby’s back, noticing with some concern that his color was a little blue and he had not cried yet.
I looked back to my mother, but she was throwing bloody cloths into a bucket with a worried look on her face.
“Lizzy,” she said, her voice deceptively calm, “come here for a moment.”
I took my hand off the baby’s back and moved to my mother where she sat on a small stool.
“She is losing a lot of blood,” she whispered. “Place your hands on her belly, just below her navel. Send all the energy you can.”
I nodded and did as I was told, worry for Mrs. Turner filling me. I had never helped someone in such a dire situation before. I did not know if my ability had limits, and I sincerely hoped I would not find out today that it did.
My mother continued to look concerned, but eventually she nodded at me and gave me a tentative smile.
“Are you ready to bear down again, Mary?” she asked.
Mary looked up anxiously and I reached for the baby. “I will hold him for you.”
I held the babe to my chest, knowing this was the most effective way to facilitate healing. I said a prayer for Mrs. Turner as she bore down again, wondering if it was another babe or the afterbirth.
“Here he comes! Keep going!” cried my mother.
It was true. There was a second babe. That explained why this one was so small when his mother’s belly had been so enormous.
I kept my right hand lightly touching Mrs. Turner as she pushed and soon there was another babe at her breast.
“Your daughter is lovely,” said my mother, her voice soft. Like a practiced midwife, she dealt with the afterbath and the blood, then helped Mrs. Turner wash and slip into a fresh nightrail while I held both babes in a chair by the window.
“Hill is arrived with supplies,” I said, looking out into the afternoon light. Hill was climbing down from a cart with a maid and baskets of food and clean blankets and who knew what else.
“Good. Sarah can help clean up.”
Sarah made quick work of cleaning the birthing room and changing the linens. Hill had the family mobilized and boiling water in the kitchen in no time. The Turners had a maid-of-all-work, but she had gone home to see her ailing mother a few days before and was not due back before the end of the week. It was rotten timing.
Hill decided that the three older children would do best at the neighbors’ and had the stableboy take them over after she had packed them up and sent a hamper of food with them. She then gave Mr. Turner a stern talking to, ensuring that he knew his wife must be treated with the utmost care for the next fortnight, and she was not to lift so much as a pitcher. He vigorously nodded and agreed, poor man, too terrified of Hill not to. She smiled in satisfaction and I held back my laughter at her show of dominance. Hill did like to be in charge.
After an hour of such doings, all was in order, and I was satisfied that the babes were strong enough to survive without me. They had been blue and breathing weakly, but both were now inhaling deeply and had a lovely milky color, with no blue in sight.
My mother asked me with her eyes if all was well, and I nodded. We placed the babes in their cot and wished Mrs. Turner well, and after they spent entirely too much time thanking us, we made our way back to Longbourn House.
“You did well today, Elizabeth.”
“Thank you, Mama. I was so worried for Mrs. Turner. I was afraid I would not be able to help her.”
She patted my knee. “I know it must have been frightening. You were very brave. And I begin to think there is nothing you can not heal, with enough time and song.”
She smiled reassuringly and I returned it, thinking she would know better than anyone. After all, she was the first woman I had healed of such a malady.
“I hear you had quite the day, Lizzy,” said my father at dinner that evening.
