2. Infant Sorrow
“LET ME die!” Bri screeched.
The pain racking her body was that of a thousand hells, pushing its way through her like a demon.
“Mrs. Hookwell, try to breathe,” came a voice.
“Don’t tell me to BREATHE!”
The midwife could be heard huffing as she dipped a rag into a bucket of cold water. It was slapped onto Bri’s head as her screams began to build again. She felt as though she were slowly being split in two by some monster that clawed out of her from the inside.
“Where is Orion!” she demanded. “Where is he?”
“We don’t want to bring him in here!”
“Yes I do! Where is my husband goddamn it! Where’s my muffin?”
Amidst the pain that lasted an eternity, Orion’s deep voice spoke to Bri, guiding her through it. The mid-wife did little but irritate her in her already sweating, writhing state. The blankets were soaked in her fluids and the stench of blood hung in the air.
A small panic budded in her heart and began to open wider.
Delirium set to its work in making the woman a fool. At forty-four, would she survive from this gift she had tried to give? Would the gift survive?
She felt her husband’s hand in her own, never moving or pulling from her sharp grip. Her nails dug into his flesh. She loosened the hold and she could hear him shift beside her, a hand on her head.
“Darling? Are you alright?”
“Is it over?”
“Yes. You don’t remember? We have a little girl.”
“Where are they taking it to, Orion?”
“Nowhere. She is in the room. They are cleaning her.”
“If I give her…” she spoke these words without knowing their meaning “If I give her to strangers how do I know they will love her?”
“What? Brigid, what are you talking about?” Orion asked.
“Her chances are better with someone else than with me…” she slurred.
“Brigid…”
“My lord,” the nursemaid’s voice arrived. “She’s delirious. Let us leave her to sleep.”
Bri was half aware that what she spoke made no sense. But the other half was lying on the bed of some cargo ship, surrounded by sailors and a few dark-skinned women. The smell of her own sweat and blood overwhelmed her. She buried her face into the pillow and passed off into another nightmare.
The dark-skinned women had helped her to birth that child. When they showed her the infant girl she believed its crying was grief. Grief in its first moments. She grieved being dropped into this world. The Indians could not make Bri nurse the baby for she feared it. She was only a girl of fourteen and this infant knew it. It resented her for this. It always would…
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