Mystic Montana Sky (The Montana Sky Series Book 6) (4 page)

He touched the tight muscles in the small of her back. “Here?”

“Yes.”

He began to knead her, softly at first, and when she didn’t protest, he dug in harder.

Maggie let out a moan.

Caleb lifted his hands.

“No, don’t stop. That’s helping, really it is.”

Relieved he could
finally
do something to aid her, Caleb massaged her muscles, feeling some of the tightness leave her posture. “Would you like more water?”

“Yes, please.” She rolled onto her back.

Again he helped her drink, then lowered her shoulders.

Maggie closed her eyes and seemed to drop into sleep, only to stir a few minutes later as a contraction barreled over her. She groaned, squeezing his fingers
’
til they ached. When the constriction eased, she released him and lay back, her body limp. “They are coming faster. I don’t know if I have the strength to do this, Caleb.”

Once again, he mopped her damp forehead with his handkerchief. “So must every woman think at some point in her travail. Yet babies are born all the time, despite their mothers’ doubts. Besides, I already know what a strong woman you are, Maggie.”

“No, I’m not.”

“I’m not going to argue the truth.”

Maggie sipped water, nodding when she was done. “The tea?”

He laid her back down. “I’ll build a fire and boil water. Then you’d better tell me exactly what to expect and what to do.”

She nodded, grabbing her knees, grunting with pain and the effort to endure. When it was over, she caught her breath. “Someone’s filled my insides with prickly pear cactus and is wringing me out.”

Caleb winced. “You certainly have a way with words.”

“I’ll trade places with you.”

Never.
“You’re doing just fine.” Playfully, he tapped her nose. “If men were the ones to have babies, the human population would die out within a generation.”

She chuckled. “True.”

Caleb rocked back on his heels, surprised by how good her husky laughter and their repartee made him feel. He wasn’t a man given to bantering with women—with anyone for that matter. Out here in the wilderness, with a woman about to give birth, he wasn’t the banker or the hotel owner.
I’m just a man trying to hold his guilt and terror at bay and make sure this mother and child survive.

CHAPTER THREE

B
etween Maggie’s contractions, Caleb rushed about the business of setting up camp. He cleared an area near the bed, dug a fire pit, and started a fire to brew her tea. He hiked through the trees to a stream at the base of the hill, filled two buckets with water, and hauled them back to the fire.

Meanwhile, she explained what supplies were needed for birthing the baby—the washtub for soaking bloody clothes, the pot for boiling water, a pile of clean rags, a flannel blanket, the string and knife for tying off and cutting the cord, diapers and soakers, and a little cloth garment for the baby to wear.

He tried to memorize her instructions, terrified there’d come a time when he’d need to know what to do, and she wouldn’t be able to tell him. Once inside the caravan, Caleb rifled through Maggie’s possessions, careless of making a mess.
Or maybe I should say more of a mess.
He bundled everything into a basket that hung from a hook in the ceiling near a corner.

While he worked, Maggie dozed, only to awaken a minute or two later when another wave of pain possessed her. She panted, groaned, and grunted her way through multiple pushes through each contraction.

The next hour passed in a blur. Somewhere along the line, Caleb lost his fear, so intent was he on the birth. His world narrowed to a grim need to get mother and child through this ordeal.

After a contraction, Maggie let out a breath. “I feel better if I continuously push my way through the entire thing.”

“You said Mrs. Tisdale told you to trust your body, so I suppose that is what you are doing. Would you like a drink?” He lifted up her shoulders and offered her sips of the raspberry leaf tea, holding the cup to her mouth while she drank, for he could see she was totally spent. Then he laid her back down and wiped her sweaty face.

Soon the cramping came in swift waves, one on top of the other. Maggie was so inwardly focused, she didn’t respond when he spoke to her, almost as if she couldn’t hear him. To get her attention, Caleb had to lean close to her face when he spoke.

After one long contraction, with intense pushing, Maggie couldn’t seem to get comfortable. She tried shifting her hips one way, then the other. “This isn’t working.” Her eyes flew open. “The baby’s coming out!”

Caleb drew back the nightgown to view the part of a woman he wasn’t supposed to see. Between her legs, a hairy scalp about the size of a silver dollar gradually grew larger. He inhaled the dusky smell of birthing.

At last Maggie found a position of comfort on her uninjured side, legs drawn up to her chest, hands gripping her thighs behind the knees.

Caleb remembered he was supposed to hold a cloth to support the baby underneath her female parts, but he couldn’t seem to move. He felt as if he was looking at Maggie through narrowed vision, breathing too fast, and he became lightheaded.
Keep taking slow breaths. This is no time to keel over, Caleb Livingston,
he sternly told himself. He grabbed a clean cloth and pressed it under her.

The baby’s head emerged, facedown.

“It’s coming!”

She ignored him, taking another deep inhale, and pushed.

With her second push, as the baby’s face turned toward Maggie’s knee, Caleb supported the head. He took his hand and wiped the infant’s nose and mouth, pulling away the fluid, flicking it to the ground.

She took another deep breath and pushed. Labor seemed to have taken over her body, compelling her to do nothing but thrust out the baby.

With the next push, the lower shoulder slipped through into Caleb’s hands, and he intuitively moved the baby downward to make room. The top shoulder squeezed out next, then the rest of the body glided out.
A girl.

A splash of clear fluid followed. The tiny body was slippery, and he held her tightly, afraid she’d slither out of his grip. He rotated the infant faceup, holding her about ten inches away from his face.

The top of her head had a slight cone shape. Her blue-tinged hands pinked. The baby’s eyes were open, alert and seemingly amazed. They connected with his.

A jolt of intense feeling, of
recognition
,
flowed between them. As he gazed on the scrunched features of the infant, love surged through him. He’d never felt such a feeling before, and his chest ached with the joyful pressure. Caleb wanted to curl her to his chest and keep her safe. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, inhaling a scent that surprised him with its sweetness.

“My baby?” Maggie asked.

The infant broke eye contact with Caleb and turned her face toward the sound of her mother’s voice.

He blinked back moisture from his eyes and grinned. “You have a beautiful daughter.”

Maggie let out a cry of joy.

Goose bumps swept over Caleb’s skin, and his voice shook with emotion. “She’s so little. So perfect.”

A huge smile broke out over Maggie’s face. She looked at him in obvious elation. “Let me have her.” Completely unabashed, she pulled up her nightgown to her shoulders, and then stretched out her arms for her daughter.

Careful not to jerk on the cord, he handed over the baby.

Maggie kissed her daughter and laid the infant face down between her breasts.

Caleb grabbed up the flannel blanket warming by the fire. Moving to Maggie’s side, he laid the cloth over the baby.

The baby’s head turned toward her mother.

Her expression glowing with maternal love, Maggie explored the infant’s face with fingertip touches. “Oh, sweet baby, you have my mother’s nose.” She continued to examine her daughter, unfurling miniature, delicate fingers and obviously delighting in the child’s perfection.

The baby turned her head toward a breast and pushed her feet on Maggie’s stomach, slowly moving sideways.

Caleb watched in astonishment as the baby inched toward the nipple.

The infant reached her goal and, lifting her head, made several attempts before she maneuvered the nipple into her mouth and latched on.

“Oh, look, dearest. You found your first milk by yourself. Clever girl.” Maggie crooned. “I knew you could. You’re going to make your way in the world and find what you need.”

Caleb couldn’t take his eyes off the baby. “That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I never would have thought she’d be so alert, so active, so able to search and find—” he lifted his gaze to meet Maggie’s “—her dinner.”

“My grandmother believed that a vigorous crawl to the breast means resiliency in life. I remember my mother talking about how strong I was as a baby, how fast I latched on. But. . . .” She glanced down at her suckling daughter. “She’s a miracle.”

“She is indeed. And so are you,” Caleb told her with the upmost sincerity. “With what you’ve just gone through, you’ve proven your grandmother’s belief.”

Maggie lifted her gaze to his. “Thank you, Caleb, for being here. Helping me through this. Delivering her. You’ve saved our lives.”

He shook his head, denying her praise. “I’m the one who’s grateful to you, for I know I’ve had an experience that would have been denied me. Even if I have children someday, Dr. Cameron will deliver them, and I’ll be pacing the parlor. I won’t see the mother and child for a while afterward. I never would have known what I’d be missing by not being there the whole time.”

Maggie smiled and nodded, seeming to understand, and returned to watching her baby.

Caleb had never seen anything so beautiful.
Madonna and child.
A mystical feeling of awe touched him, and he felt connected to the divine, indeed, to all of humanity—generations upon generations of fathers who watched their wives nurse their newborns. In that moment, he forgot the mother and child didn’t belong to him.

Finally, Maggie finished studying the suckling baby and smiled at Caleb.

“Do you have a name for the baby?”

“We’d discussed Oswald—horrible name—for a boy, of course. For a daughter, Anna after Oswald’s mother. I wanted Viktoria, with a
k
, for my mother and grandmother. It’s Hungarian. But my husband wouldn’t hear of it. In fact, he barely considered that we’d have a daughter. He was so sure the baby would be a boy.”

“Are you going to keep the name Anna?”

Her eyes glinted. “I don’t have to use it.”

“Victoria is a lovely name.”

She rubbed her belly and shot him a considering glance. “Maybe I’ll name the baby after you, instead. Caleb is a fine name for a boy. There’s no feminine version of Caleb, is there?”

“Caleba?” he teased. “Calebina? I know. Calebimity!” Her throaty chuckle was a reward far richer than money.

“You must have a middle name.”

“Two actually. Charles and, if you can believe it—” he smiled “—Victor.”

“Caleb Charles Victor Livingston. Quite grand.”

“I believe it suits me,” he said with a mock arrogant air. His gaze dropped to the baby. “Will you call her Viktoria with a
k
, then?”

“I will call her Charlotte Victoria, without a
k
, after you—your two middle names.”

Before he could speak, Caleb had to swallow down a rise of emotion. “I’m honored. The name fits her well. Far better than Caleba.”

She chuckled. The gold flecks in her brown eyes sparkled like stars. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you, Caleb.”

“Not been in this situation.”

“No,” she retorted. “One far worse. My pains coming. . .only Oswald to help deliver the baby. . .if he would have even stopped. The baby and I might not have survived.” Her voice lowered. “And I doubt he would’ve even cared.”

“More fool he. Your husband missed out on—” Caleb gestured to Charlotte “—the most wondrous experience a man can witness.”

“I think you did more than stand as a witness.”

“Not in comparison to you, Maggie. You were marvelous.”

Her eyes widened. “I have another urge to push. The afterbirth, I think.”

Caleb grabbed a basin he’d brought for the task and placed it between her legs. With a gush of blood, the placenta slid out.
So much blood. Is it normal, or is something wrong?
The thought made his stomach clench.
After all we’ve been through, I can’t lose Maggie or the baby now.
He set aside the basin, planning to later take the placenta and dig a hole for it near where he’d bury Oswald. Hopefully the distance would protect them from any animals who might smell the blood.

After he used a warm cloth to clean Maggie, Caleb washed his hands and face. His body still felt shaky after the birth experience, but his heart was full. When he returned, the baby was still nursing. He sat down next to them, Indian style, content to watch.

After a while, Charlotte pulled her head up like she was ready to stop. Then she seemed to change her mind and continued to suckle for a minute. The next time the baby lifted her head, she relaxed her mouth so the nipple slipped gently away. She turned her face and nestled her cheek against her mother’s soft breast.

“I suppose we should clean her up.”

“Just a little.” She ran a finger over Charlotte’s head. “This white coating is supposed to be good for her skin.”

Caleb stood, his legs aching, and shook them out before walking to the fire. Grasping a corner of a washcloth, he dunked it into the pot of water, and then raised it, holding it aloft to cool a bit. The cloth flapped in the wind until he judged the temperature to be the perfect warmth for Charlotte’s delicate skin. He returned to Maggie’s side.

She held out the baby for him to wash.

He crouched and dabbed at Charlotte’s cheeks.

The infant scrunched her face and turned away.

“Your first bath, my love,” Maggie crooned.

Feeling like a clumsy oaf, Caleb persisted, moving as gently as he could.

“She won’t break, or so Mrs. Tisdale assured me. Rub her head clean.”

Caleb obeyed, slicking the washcloth over Charlotte’s head and causing some of the baby’s downy dark hair to swirl in tufts.

Maggie guided him in applying a diaper and dressing her in the baby bunting. After being swaddled inside her blanket and full with her mother’s milk, Charlotte fell into her first contented sleep.

Caleb wondered if the babe had a sufficient wardrobe. He felt an urge to rush to Sweetwater Springs and place an order for baby clothes and such. “I should attend to the cord.” He used his pocketknife to fish the string and butcher knife out of the pot of boiling water and held them aloft to cool.

“Remember,” she instructed. “Tie off the cord about an inch and again at four inches. Cut between.”

Caleb knelt by her side and followed her instructions, tying the strings tight. The umbilical cord surprised him with how soft it felt, yet he still had to apply a certain amount of pressure to cut all the way through. He wiped off the blood, and the task was done. “There.”

“Well done, Dr. Livingston,” Maggie said, her eyes bright with exhilaration.

For the first time, Caleb became aware of his hunger. He’d been so focused on Maggie and Charlotte, he’d failed to heed the call of his body’s needs. “I’ll fix us something to eat.” He went to wash up again, then moved to the campfire, opening a can of corned beef hash and one of peas. He set them at the edge of the fire to heat for dinner. From a basket he’d taken from the surrey, he brought out the last of the bread and cheese his housekeeper, Mrs. Graves, had sent along with him for the journey.

One of the horses nickered as he waited. Probably thirsty. He’d water them soon.

When the food was warm, he dished some up and brought the plate to Maggie, along with another mug of tea. “I’ll hold the baby while you eat.”

Maggie gave the dozing infant a kiss. “It’s hard to let her go, even to you.”

Caleb chuckled. “I’ll be right here under your eye the whole time.” He bent to take the baby.

“Support her head.”

“I am.” He brought the infant to his chest. Charlotte was so tiny, seemed so fragile, yet he’d already witnessed her strength. This time Caleb was the one who explored the baby, softly touching her button nose and running a finger over the petal-soft curve of her cheeks. “I think she’s going to have your cheekbones,” he told Maggie.