Just my luck, Clara had to go into labour right in the middle of a blizzard. By the dates, there were still three weeks to go, and maybe by then the storm would have calmed, a good chill might have settled in, and we could have driven to the hospital in peace. But no it had to happen now!
Truth be told, it wasnt really up to Clara it was whoever was living inside making the decisions. Our little one seemed in quite a hurry, finding things a bit cramped in there, and not caring one bit that the snow had been falling for the sixth day straight.
In this kind of weather, not a single car could get through to our village. The roads were buried so deep that youd lose half your legs in the drifts if you tried to cross. The snow didnt stop either, it kept coming down as if the sky had split open a sack of flour. Glancing out the window, all youd see was endless white new flakes tumbling and whirling. And if you really had to go into the yard, you could barely open your eyes: the wind stung, snow pelted your face, and your eyes filled with snowflakes.
So it was in the heart of this blizzard that our baby decided it was time to make an entrance.
Clara had been uneasy all morning. Sometimes her lower back ached, sometimes she was so heavy with exhaustion she just wanted to lie down, but found no comfort. Shed get up and pace restlessly about. My mum-in-law, Rose, noticed how Clara was behaving.
Clara, are you thinking of having the baby? she called. Youre all over the place!
I dont know, Mum, I just don’t feel right, Clara replied.
Let me have a look at your tummy.
Rose wasnt exactly a childbirth expert nowadays doctors do everything, hospitals are a given the old ways have faded away and no ones taught the skills in ages. In our village, there was just one midwife left, but in Roses younger days, there had been three grand old women to help.
Looks like your bumps dropped, Clara. This little ones decided to show up.
How can that be, Mum? Its too early!
Thats not for us to decide, sweetheart. Whatever the Lord intends.
Claras eyes filled with tears; she was frightened it was her first baby, she didnt understand what was happening, and there was no one to explain. Rose herself had only one son, and that was two decades ago; she barely remembered any of it.
Clara, Im going to fetch Mrs. Vera. Ill just put this kettle on the hob when it boils, turn it off, will you? If youve the strength, get some clean towels and sheets out, you know where everything is. Have it ready. But dont worry yourself if its too much. When I had Michael, Mrs. Vera told me to keep walking to help things along. Walk round, breathe as deep as you can it helps things progress, or so she said, she added, tying her shawl. Ill nip round to Mrs. Nettles on the way, let your mum know. You hang in there, love, Mrs. Vera knows her business. Back in my day, folk from other villages would come to her; people wanted her to deliver their babies. Shes a good woman.
With that, Rose bundled herself up, grabbed the handle from an old broom to steady herself, and set off into the storm.
Clara was left alone. That was even scarier. What if the baby came right now and there was no one here? How would Rose get through this weather? What if she fell or got lost? And what if Mum didnt come, though why wouldnt she?
And what should she do? Suddenly it struck her that she should keep walking and breathing deeply. But how are you supposed to breathe when the pain sometimes cut your breath off halfway?
Ah, if only Michael were at home, so he could say shed manage, that hed be there if she needed him. But this wretched storm meant he couldnt get back from the city. No buses, no passable roads. He had no idea hed have a son or daughter before the storm ended. And that backache was only getting worse!
Then Mum came bursting, snow swirling round her boots, into the porch.
Darling! Clara! Rose said you were about to have the baby.
Yes, Mum.
All right, sweetheart, Im right here now. I brought some dried berries Ill make you some compote, keep your strength up. Ill get the kettle going right away…
An hour later, Rose arrived too, with Mrs. Vera in tow. She was a wiry old lady with kind eyes, the only midwife left. She looked Clara over and declared:
Shell have the baby by morning.
By morning? Clara gasped. Its not even lunchtime yet, and I only started having aches yesterday.
My dear, that was just the early warning. Sometimes you get those days before anything really happens. Now, youve begun to open up, but just a half a finger-width. Take it easy, sweetheart, youll give birth tomorrow. Ill head home for now.
Please stay, Mrs. Vera, Clara begged. Youre the only one who understands! Ill feel better with you here.
The old midwife, whod helped deliver hundreds of babies in her life, took pity on her. All right, Ill stay a while. When a mother is calm, the baby is, too. And then things often go easier.
Clara didnt know that the warning pains were like the first primroses encouraging but short-lived. Afterwards came the real signs, for which she was utterly unprepared.
The pain was like being torn apart from inside. She couldnt breathe, couldnt move a step. There was no strength to lie down or even walk, only pain and more pain.
Rose and Mum had no idea what to do neither could help and neither wanted to leave. They paced the room, wringing their hands, worried sick for dear Clara. Mrs. Vera shooed them off to iron linens so they wouldnt get underfoot.
By night, everything went quiet. Mrs. Vera checked and said she was four fingers dilated. Its going slowly shes a first-timer, her bodys not used to it. Itll be harder for the baby, too. It was tough for Clara, so tough it defied words. She had no strength left. Between contractions, she managed a mouthful of food and lay down; Mrs. Vera insisted she sleep to regain her strength.
And still the blizzard raged outside as fiercely as ever.
At four in the morning, Clara jumped up it was still dark, Mrs. Vera snoring softly nearby.
God, help me, Clara whispered, looking at the shelf with her cherished family photos where shed put a prayer card. Let the baby come quickly.
And then it began all over again pain blinding her, unbearable. Mrs. Vera was up right away: Five fingers now. Its slow, but normal for a first baby. You can do it.
Clara was exhausted by the time the faint light crept through the frosted windows. Her shift clung to her skin, her hair was tangled and her eyes glassy with fatigue.
Just a bit more, soothed Mrs. Vera, the child is almost here.
Gran, help me, Clara begged. Gran, help me! Gran!
Whats that, Clara? her mother asked suddenly. Theres no Gran here are you seeing things? she whispered, explaining to Rose. She calls her great-grandmother Gran couldnt say granny when she was little, so its always been Gran. Old Mrs. Zoe loved Clara best of all her great-grandkids she only ever had sons of her own, so Clara being the first girl was special.
Clara, I can see the head! Well done, love, just one more big push. Puff, puff, puff, coached Mrs. Vera, breathing with her.
Clara cried out with the last of her strength, strained, remembered to breathe, shouted again.
Gran, help me, I cant go on she gasped, and just like that, the little boy landed straight into Mrs. Veras wrinkled, attentive hands.
Perhaps this is the last Ill help into the world, Vera thought with a smile as she welcomed the new life, and laid him gently on Claras tummy.
A boy, Clara, youve got a lovely son, she whispered. Look at those lungs hell be running the parish, Ive no doubt!
Clara wept with joy, kissing his tiny fingers. How could such a miracle have fit inside her? If only Michael were here to see what a beautiful son they had, the very best in the world.
Jack, my little Jack, she whispered.
Jack? Rose exclaimed, surprised. You said youd name him George if it was a boy!
How could he be anyone but Jack, if thats who he is? Clara smiled. Jack Michaelson.
Mrs. Vera finished her work and gathered her things, exhausted but content. Helping new life into the world is the best work in the world, but it does take its toll. Now she needed a bit of rest herself just had to brave the snowstorm back home.
Clara and her baby were asleep; Claras mother, too, got ready to head back, having not been home for a full day and night. She wrapped her shawl tightly, bade Rose farewell, and stepped out into the snow.
Funny the storm was dying down. The snow was coming in tiny grains rather than great flakes perhaps it would stop soon. Then Michael would be able to get home, maybe tomorrow or the day after. Nearly home, she thought, Ill pop in to see Gran Zoe, give her the happy news. Maybe she needs anything bread, perhaps, though I brought her a loaf just the other day, but she hardly eats a thing.
Michaels grandmother, Claras great-grandmother, lived just two doors down, already ninety-three this summer. Shed been widowed a long time, always refused to move in with the family, managing quietly on her own, and the family nearby made sure she had company, food, and help.
She wrestled open the garden gate Michael must have been by yesterday, his spade was still propped up against the fence. She swept a path to the door, brushed the steps, and went inside.
Gran Zoe! Gran Zoe! she called, stomping her feet and shaking the snow off her boots. You had to yell Grans hearing was poor. Gran Zoe, its me, Nessa, just checking in on you.
There was no reply Gran must have been asleep. Nessa slipped off her coat and boots, walked through to the front room and there she found Gran, lying peacefully on the bed, hands folded over her chest, dressed in her best and a new white headscarf. Such tidiness caught her eye Nessa realised shed never seen this dress or headscarf before.
Nessa crossed to her, brushed tears away, and closed the old ladys eyelids. On the bedside table was Claras photograph, an image of Saint Nicholas, and a spent candle.
Thank you, Gran, Nessa murmured, kissing Zoës wrinkled cheek. You helped Clara through. Shes had a son. She named him Jack. But you already know, Gran. Thank youOutside, the storm eased at last, the wind sighing against the rooftops as if the village itself let out a long-held breath. Through the soft blue dawn, the snow glimmered smooth and untouched except for a single, narrow trail leading from Gran Zoes house to Claras window, shimmering faintly in the pale lightthough no footprints marked it and the air was still.
Back in Claras bedroom, the baby stirred and Clara sighed in her sleep, a quiet smile touching her lips as if feeling a gentle hand smoothing her brow, a warmth passing through the room that calmed both mother and child.
When Michael finally arrived a day later, stumbling through the snowdrifts with tears on his face, Clara placed Jack in his arms. And as he rocked his son for the first time, the light coming into the house seemed a little brighter, the air a little sweeter, as if something loving lingered.
In the quiet months that followed, whenever Jack cried in the dark or Clara grew anxious and alone, shed sometimes smell lavender and candle wax, and feel a faint press of invisible arms holding her tight. It was whispered through the village that old souls look after the newborn, that in every birth theres a little letting go, and a little coming home.
And so, as winter thawed and the world grew golden again, the family began anew, watched over by the unseen, held fast by love that outlasts even the longest storm.
