Winter Fire

The snow is very deep so we park the car by the road and walk the rest of the way. The laneway is long and we see far in the distance, the faint orange glow of the lantern light. 

As we get closer, I see two figures – she is short and quick and is carrying a big bag over her shoulder. The midwife. He is standing in the doorway, dressed all in black. 

“She’s inside; follow me,” he says. 

We stomp the snow from our boots. He is holding the lantern about his head and I look up into his eyes. There is a sweet smell of bread, spilt milk and wood smoke. 

“How long ago?” the midwife asks as we walk through the kitchen into a tiny room. It is warm and my boots start to make little puddles on the floor. 

A black pot-bellied stove sits in the middle of the room and I can hear the hiss and crackle of the fire. A wooden rocking chair sits in the middle of the room. I move to sit on the bed and then I hear the soft moan coming from across the room. 

She is lying on another bed; she makes a sudden movement and her long navy blue dress falls away to expose her bare thighs. She is moaning softly, the man standing by her side putting the lantern on the table beside the bed. Her hair is pulled back under a white cotton cap and her forehead glistens with sweat. The midwife moves towards her side and Adam places a hand on her belly. 

The man is standing, his hands hanging limply by his sides. 

“The baby come pretty fast dis time Dr Adam,” he says, a Low German lilt to his speech. “She’s bleedin’ pretty hard though,” he says shifting his weight to the other foot. 

Where is the baby? When I turn around I see the rocking chair on the other side of the stove tucked away in the corner. A little dark bundle squirms on top of a cushion made of multi-coloured rags.

“Why don’t you pick her up,” the midwife says to me, her hands on the woman’s forehead, mopping gently. The woman is now writhing on the bed making noises like a cat, scratching at the sheets. 

I have never held such a tiny thing and I notice her lips are like little rosebuds. I sit in the rocking chair by the stove and pull back the black linen cloth that is loosely draped over her blanket. A tuft of dark hair appears and she yawns and I can see her pink tongue. She smells like cinnamon and we rock gently back and forth in the chair, the woman’s moans now rising to a crescendo from across the room. 

“We have to get it out,” says Adam’s from across the room. “I’ve given her the injection but she’s still losing a lot of blood. I’m going to have to reach in with my hands and pull.” 

I hold the baby up close to my cheek and she turns her face towards me and starts to make little sucking sounds, the rosebuds opening and closing. I put the tip of my little finger inside her mouth and she begins to suck on it. 

The woman is wailing now; great gasps and spasms escape from her body and fill the tiny room. The midwife moves to squeeze her hand. 

“Oh, dear God,” the woman cries. “Oh, dear God.” And then she is silent. 

The room goes quiet, the only sound the creak, scratch, creak, scratch of the rocker on the wooden floor. 

The woman on the bed is silent now, sleeping, and the midwife squeezes out a sponge into a white ceramic basin. The fire in the belly of the stove burns hot. 

#####

Years ago Gideon and Delilah gave their three children cups of cocoa and went out to the barn to do the evening chores. The cow needed milking and the pigs had to be fed. The horses thrashed around in their stalls, stomping their enormous hoofs and shaking their heads, black mains flying and tails swishing. Hay and oats and fresh water came their way; two buckets pumped from the well sloshing as they walked from the back of the barn. 

The night had been still and cold, the moon full and bright, so bright it had almost seemed like it wasn’t evening at all. Gideon still remembers how bright the moon was that night, casting a golden spray of light on the frozen fields. It was the moon that had played tricks with his eyes that night he says or he would have noticed sooner. 

The smoke billowing up from the chimney was a usual sight as was the smell of smoke in the air. But then the first flames, long past tiny sparks landing on the kitchen curtains, the gingham fabric Delilah had saved from the log cabin quilt that she had sewn for the dentist’s wife. 

They had run of course, their buckets sloshing and water spilling, freezing on the path. The fire trucks came in a screaming procession after their neighbour Murray called to report the blaze. 

“The children, the children, save the children!” 

But Gideon could not. 

#####

Tonight, their children Joseph and Jacob are upstairs sleeping soundly in their beds. I am still holding the bundle and the midwife is standing up and walking towards me. 

“It’s time for us to go, “ Adam whispers to me. 

I pass the baby over to the midwife, a little piece of my heart etched onto her tiny sleeve. 

I shake Gideon’s hand and he is smiling broadly, two even rows of teeth. Delilah is sitting up, leaning slightly on her elbows. Her face is as white as the pillow behind her head. She looks faded like an old photograph but she is smiling. The lantern guides us towards the door and out into the stillness of the dark night.