As many of you know, I had my baby May 3rd. 21 hours of natural  labor made possible by a lot of support and education. My mother, my husband, two midwives and two doulas were with me at different points. I’m so grateful for third wave feminism, that allows me to choose when and where and how to have a baby.  You will see more about birth and motherhood and babies in my writing, I’m sure. 😀

In April I finished writing Rocky Mountain Ride, book 7 in the series. Starring a bored British lord on extended hunting holiday in the Wild West and the beautiful and passionate widow who captures his attention (when she walks into a saloon and shoots a man…). Francesca is one of the most amazing heroines I’ve ever written. She is fiery and powerful, a ranch owner as well as a healer in a long line of healing women.

For the book I got to pick my doula’s brain on 18th century midwifery practices. The following scenes are based on REAL midwifery practices, tips and techniques. Let me know what you think!

***

Francesca is a healer from a long line of healer women. Sebastian is a British lord who came to America to hunt for sport, and finds himself drawn to the fiery woman of Spanish descent. After a passionate courtship, they marry.

Sebastian has special plans for their wedding day, but Francesca has her own agenda…

 

***

He found his wife at the butcher’s house. A small boy played in the yard in front of the open door. Sebastian nodded to the lad as he stepped up to the threshold.

Francesca sat across from a young woman sporting a large pregnant belly. As Sebastian paused in the door, a kettle started to boil.

“I don’t know, Señora, this one is so different from my Pepito. The pain comes and goes.”

“Is it pain or stronger cramps deep inside?”

“Cramps. The pain is in my back sometimes.”

“That is normal. The womb makes ready, becoming strong enough to push the babe out.” On her way to the kettle, Francesca gave her husband a brief glance, but kept to her task. She pulled out a packet filled with dried, crumpled leaves and made tea. “I only brought enough of this for one pot. You should drink it every day. I will gather more leaves and bring them to you.”

“Thank you, Señora.” The woman passed a hand over her face. “I cannot sleep at night. So I lie awake and worry. What if something is wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong,” Francesca said with pure confidence. “The child will come at just the right time. There are many things I can do to coax a baby out. But you must rest, Camila. Stay calm and when it is time, your body will open like a beautiful flower.”

Francesca wrapped the woman’s hands around the glazed bowl. “Drink this, and relax.” Still ignoring Sebastian, his wife moved around the expecting mother and started to rub her shoulders.

After a moment, Sebastian stepped outside and lit his pipe to wait. He didn’t feel like it was his place to go inside.

By the time his wife came out of the house, he’d cooled down. She shut the door carefully behind her.

“Everything all right?” Sebastian put out his cigarette.

Francesca nodded. “She is sleeping.”

He offered his arm and escorted her, feeling ten feet tall. Here was an amazing, competent woman, and she had chosen him.

She stopped to speak to the woman’s son. “Pepito, your mother is very tired, but she will sleep and feel much better. You are her guardian, now. Will you make sure no one wakes her?”

“Si, señora.”

“Very good.” Francesca reached into her satchel, and drew out a small, homemade candy wrapped in paper. “Here is your reward for being a brave boy, and looking after your mother.”

She straightened and started into town. After a few steps, Sebastian caught up wrapped a proud arm around her shoulders.

“Well done, darling.”

She arched a brow and gave him haughty look as if to say “I know”, but her mouth held a little smile.

“Come.” She pulled him off the beaten road and took him away from the houses, on a long, meandering path between field and forest.

They walked mostly in silence. Sebastian enjoyed the sights, the blue asters on the edge of the hayfields, the birds flitting across their paths. He’d never felt so at peace.

All of a sudden, he had a flash of the future: him in a straw hat and humbler clothes, his wife in her striped skirt, a little grey in her hair. They’d walk like this, holding hands, headed to their home or to one of Francesca’s patients.

He’d never imagined a picture like that could make him so content.

“What are you thinking of, Englishman?”

“You.”

“Are you regretting our marriage?”

“Quite the opposite in fact.” He put his hand over hers on his arm, noting with disappointment that the hacienda was in view. “I am very happy.”

“It will be a simple life compared to your fancy travels. I wonder if you will become bored.”

“With you, I could never be bored. I was surprised to return to the house and find you gone.”

“I go when my mothers need me.”

“So I gathered. But you did not take a bodyguard.”

She shrugged. “I was perfectly safe.”

“This time.” At the house, Ana was chasing the white goat around the yard, waving a dishrag. They weren’t close enough to hear her.

“I had to go to the butchers to get directions. I ran into your former brother in law.”

“Diego?”

“Yes, and I put my foot in it. He knows we married.”

She cursed.

“I know. I had hoped we would have tonight, at least, to enjoy ourselves.” Even though they were almost at the house, in plain view of everyone, he couldn’t resist slowing and stroking away some flyaway hairs at her temple. “Do you think he’ll come by?”

“I do not know. He used to be close with us, as a brother and a friend, but he went away for a few years, and when he came back that all changed. I feel I no longer know him.”

“Whatever happens, I’ll be here.” He took her arm again, a thrill going through him as she leaned on him.

“We should go help Ana with her goat.”
He sighed. “I suppose we’ll have some time alone tonight.”

She cocked her head at him. “Why? Do you have big plans?”

“Oh, I intend for us to have a fine time. Or at least I will. You will, perhaps, after your punishment.”

She gave him a sharp look. “Punishment?”

“I told you to take a guard with you when you went out.”

“I thought you meant at night.”

“Night or day. Until I know it’s safe.”

“I am protected. No one would harm me.”

“I’m not arguing about this, Francesca. When you need to go out, you will take a bodyguard. Promise me.”

She huffed. “I will not.”

He glanced over at Ana, who was bending over a garden bed, plucking herbs. He lowered his voice. “Then whenever I catch you at it I’ll turn you over my knee and you won’t sit for a week. I mean it, Francesca. You’re too important to risk your life.”

She cursed under her breath. “Cyro would never restrict me so.”

He crossed his arms with the look of a man who was settling into wait out the storm.

“Sebastian, I must come and go as I please. I must to do my work. There are herbs to be gathered, unguents to be made by the light of the moon. I do not want some clumsy fool plodding along behind me. You cannot keep me here.”

“No, but I can blister your bottom when you return.”

“You would not dare!” she hissed.

He bent down to eye level. “Try me, little wife.”

She tore away, still muttering under her breath to disappear into the kitchen.

Sebastian decided it was time for another walk. He’d inspect the fields, perhaps stop to cut some more switches to make a birch. His new bride wasn’t going to make it easy on him. And he was just fine with that.

*

Francesca and Sebastian enjoy a passionate start to their marriage, including a lot of BDSM sex (Francesca’s favorite). 😀  Inside the bedroom, Sebastian dominates his wife. Outside, he supports her work.

*

One night, a hard rap on the door in the middle of the night roused them.

“My lady, you are needed,” Ana whispered.

Francesca was out of bed and pulling on her boots before Sebastian even realized what’s going on.

“Sebastian. The baby.”

He hurried to follow.

Outside the young butcher’s son, Pepito, waited with an anxious face.

“How is your mother?” Francesca asked.

“Señora, she is not well. She has been crying out since earlier today.”

“What? Why did you not come for me?”

“Papa would not allow it. But mama is ill, she needs you.”

Francesca swapped worried glances with Sebastian, but took the boy’s hand.

“I will go to her quickly and we will make her better.”

They ran all the way to the house. From the street, Sebastian could hear the laboring woman’s moans. Francesca paused. “Pepito, your mama is going to be alright. Do you have friends nearby who you can stay with?”

“The señora there offered mama help, but papa turned her away. She said I could stay with her family.”

“Good. You are a good boy to come and get me. You did the right thing and helped your mama.”

Francesca waited until the boy was out of earshot before entering the house. Sebastian could see her shoulders square as she geared up for a fight.

Inside, the butcher sat frowning while his wife labored in the corner.

“How long?” Francesca asked.

“Since this morning,” Camila said. The woman’s sweaty hair stuck to her face, and Francesca cast about for a water bucket and cloth. Sebastian found one and brought it to her and the midwife helped the mother drink before sponging her brow. A contraction hit and Francesca counted. Her brow furrowed.

“Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

“He doesn’t want to pay you,’ Camila panted.

The butcher said nothing.

“Come onto your hands and knees. You will feel better.” Francesca helped the woman, then scowled at the husband.

“You fool. I would do it for free, to help my friend. Where is her family? Where are the people?”

“She has already had a child,” the butcher finally spoke up. “We don’t need you. She should know what to do.”

Camila let out a moan. Francesca put her hands on the woman’s belly.

“The baby is facing the wrong way. That is why there is trouble. I can turn him. Come.” She motioned to Sebastian. “Go find a wide board. Ask the neighbors. Pry it away from a wall if you have to.”

“I do not like asking for help,” the butcher protested.

“You are an idiot,” Francesca said.

“Come on,” Sebastian drew the man out of the room, afraid what his wife would do to the foolish husband if left alone.

When Sebastian returned with the board, Francesca was massaging the woman’s belly, whispering comforting things. She paused to direct Sebastian to set up the board, leaning it against the bed.

“I will try cold compresses, and then we will have her lay with her feet up. The baby must turn.” Francesca ducked her head, whispering to her husband. “This labor…it is hard. The baby is turned and will not go. But I have more tricks up my sleeve.”

Sebastian gripped his wife’s shoulders, massaging them for a second. “Tell me what you need.” So he became a birth attendant, finding clean cloths and cool water to soak them in, boiling water to clean the ones that had been used. Dawn broke, and the butcher left, saying he could not miss a day of work.

“She should have family here,” Francesca whispered while the laboring woman was snatching a few minutes of sleep. “At least a sister. But the butcher has kept her here without family or friends. I do not think it is a good situation. I suspected something was wrong, but she never shared.”

“One thing at a time,” he said, kneading her stiff shoulders. “Let’s get the baby out.”

Biting her lip, Francesca nodded.

The sun climbed in the sky, and still the woman labored. Francesca alternated between having the woman move into different positions, or eat a little and rest. Sebastian made several trips for water, stopping to talk to the concerned neighbors. Whenever they offered help, or food, he thanked them. By noon, the butcher’s hut was filled with good food, and another two neighbors had taken the laundry.

Around dusk, the butcher returned.

“How is she?” he asked, standing on the threshhold. Inside his wife rested between contractions.

“Things are progressing,” Francesca said shortly. “The baby is being difficult, but your wife is very strong.”

“Where is Pepito?”

“Your son is with the neighbors.”

The man nodded absently. “I’m hungry,” he announced, as if his laboring wife would get up and cook him dinner.

“There is food. The neighbors brought some stew.”

The butcher frowned. “I do not want people coming around. Camila knows I don’t want to owe anyone.”

Sebastian wanted to hit him. “You already owe my wife a debt of gratitude, for remaining at your wife’s side all this while. She hasn’t even taken a break to eat.” Striding to the stew, Sebastian dished it up for the butcher, then handed it to him.

“Come on, old boy. Let’s fill your belly.”

As the butcher ate, Sebastian couldn’t resist lecturing him.

“Your wife needs your support. She is working incredibly hard.”

An angry flush crossed the man’s face. “My wife is usually a good worker, but not lately.”

Biting back a retort, Sebastian looked up to see a man in long robes coming up the road.

“Bishop Bernardo.” He stepped in front of the door. “So kind of you to visit.”

“Hello,” the priest greeted the butcher, with only a glance at Sebastian. “I heard Camila is still in labor.”

“Si, padre,” the butcher started. He was cut off by his wife’s cries.

“Sebastian,” Francesca called.

“Excuse me,” Sebastian entered the house, shutting the door.

His wife knelt in the corner with the woman. “I have done all I can. It is time to try the board.”

Nodding, Sebastian started to help Camila into place, upside down lying on the board.

“You let this man put his hands on your wife?” Bishop Bernardo said from the door. He and the butcher entered the house to watch.

“It should be you,” Francesca said to the butcher. “But you have not been any help.”

“I am here, if you need me,” Bernardo told the butcher. “And I have heard, if a woman is not strong enough, it is better to cut the baby out. She will die, but the baby will live.”

“But your wife will die,” Sebastian’s mouth dropped open. “What sort of barbary is this?”

“Oh, Dios, let me die. I am so tired. I cannot do this,” The woman cried out.

“You are doing it,” Francesca said fiercely. She moved to the woman’s head. “Listen to me, Camila, you are strong, and powerful and your body is already birthing your son. It is all natural, even the pain.”

The contraction ended and Francesca turned a furious face to the bishop and butcher. “Get that fear monger out of this house,” she bit out. Her body shook with rage.

Sebastian snapped to it. “Every male, out of this house.”

His fingers itched to find a whip and drive them out, like Jesus with the temple moneylenders, but they went without a fuss.

“If you need me,” the bishop told the husband. “I will remain close. I can be at this house quickly, for the procedure or for the last rites.”

“For heaven’s sake,” Sebastian lost it. “You tonsure-pated fool,” he addressed the priest. “You know nothing of birth, of babies or of women. Go into a closet and pray, if you truly want to help.”

He didn’t give the bishop a chance to answer before turning to the butcher.

“Start acting like a husband and a father. Your wife needs you, if not at her side, then out here gathering support, not talking about her death.”

Unable to stand them any longer, he went back into the house.

Francesca was squeezing out a wet cloth. He could tell she was still fuming. “She is strong enough to live for this baby and push it out. Making her afraid will do nothing.”

“I know, my darling.”

Together, they worked to help the mother. Francesca put cold compresses on the highest part of Camila’s belly, and instructed Sebastian to find a wide board to lean against a chair. The butcher came in and watched as Francesca and Sebastian helped his wife into position, her feet up and her body upside down on the plank.

“This will help turn the baby,” Francesca said.

Camila let out a wild moan. The butcher winced.

“Come,” Sebastian said. “Help her.” He moved so the reluctant husband could take his place, steadying his wife.

“Oh, Pepe, I am trying,”

“The baby is turning,” Francesca crowed. “He wants to come. We will help him along.”

The woman nodded and then moaned into a contraction.

“Pepe, here.” Francesca waved the man over, grabbed his shoulders and positioned him at his wife’s feet, looking down. “Call to your child. Speak to the baby, tell him to come to you. Sing out, Pepe.”

Panic crossed the man’s face, and Sebastian couldn’t blame him. A crowded hut, a moaning woman upside down on her back, it didn’t seem the time to burst into a rousing round of “Farewell and adieu to you fair Spanish ladies.”

“Pepe,” Camila gasped. “Please.”

To Sebastian’s astonishment, the butcher hummed a lullaby, and broke into a beautiful bass.

The pregnant woman cried out.

“Ha,” Francesca said, triumphant. “The child has turned. Camila, just let go and let the baby come.”

The three of them helped the laboring mother to her feet. Through it all, the husband kept crooning a lullaby, even after he held his new daughter in his arms.

 ***

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