As luck would have it, Emily ended up going into labour during a blizzard. By the calendar, she still had three weeks to goplenty of time for the snowstorm to let up, a bit of proper frost to settle in, and a nice, uneventful trip to the hospital. But no, the timing had to be now! Well, if we’re being honest, it wasnt really up to Emily, but to the little lodger inside her, desperate to make his appearance. The kid was in a rush, growing cramped, and couldn’t have cared less that the snowstorm had been raging for six solid days.
No car would dare attempt the village track in this weatherthe snowdrifts had buried the roads so deep that even the tallest farm lads would sink up to their waists. And the snow just wouldnt quit. Peering out the window, it looked as if the sky itself had upended a sack of flour. The world outside was white upon white, swirling and swirling. Should you dare venture into the garden, the wind would slap you straight in the face, eyes filling with snow until you couldnt see a thing.
Yet, it was precisely during this historic British blizzard that young Master, as-yet-unborn, decided to debut. Emily awoke feeling all sorts of not quite right: her back was nagging, sometimes she was so tired shed collapse onto the sofa, yet couldnt get comfortable for more than a second before needing to pace the sitting room like a lost sheep. Her mother-in-law, Mrs. Walker, was the first to catch on to her constant circling.
Emily, are you about to have the baby? Youre all over the place, Mrs. Walker remarked, settling herself in the kitchen.
I honestly dont know, Mum, but I do feel rather odd, Emily admitted, wringing her hands.
Let me have a look at your bump, Mrs. Walker said, although her expertise on birthing matters was sketchy at best. Nowadays, doctors handled everything, maternity wards and all that jazz, and the art of midwifery had drifted out with the wireless. The only midwife left in their village was Mrs. Vera, who in her prime had three rivals, now all retired or resting in the village churchyard.
Looks as though your bumps dropped, Emily. Seems the babys decided its time.
But Mum, its much too early!
Not really up to us, poppet. What will be, will be, Mrs. Walker said, patting her arm.
Tears pricked Emilys eyes. It was her first pregnancy, she had no clue what to expect, and everyone she should be able to ask was, frankly, in the same boat. Mrs. Walker herself had birthed just her one son, Michaeltwo decades ago at that, and her memory of the details was as faded as a Polaroid in the sun.
Ill fetch Mrs. Vera, Mrs. Walker declared. Here, put this kettle on, and turn it off once it boils. If you feel up to it, grab some clean towels and sheetsyou know where they are. But dont fuss yourself if youre too uncomfortable. When I had Michael, Mrs. Vera told me to walk up and down and breathe as deeply as I could. Said it helped move things along. Anyway, Ill nip round to your mum, Priscilla, on the way and ask her to come too. Hold tight, love, Mrs. Vera is a marvel. In my day, you had to book her from three villages over and everyone wanted her. Shes worth her weight in gold.
With that, Mrs. Walker bundled herself into her Mac, picked up a broom handle for stability, and strode bravely into the blizzard.
Now alone, Emilys anxiety dialed up a notch. What if she really started labour right now with no one around? How would Mrs. Walker manage in this weatherwhat if she slipped and ended up face-first in a snowbank? And what if her mum couldnt make it, although really, why wouldnt she?
All she remembered was to walk and breathe. But how do you breathe when each spasm seizes you up and the air refuses to cooperate?
Oh, why wasnt Michael here, to hold her hand, tell her she could do this? But thanks to the wretched snow, he was stuck in town, with no bus, no train, not even the milk van running. He had no idea that in mere hours hed be a dad. And goodness, her back!
Mother, bursting in wrapped in snow, soon interrupted these musings.
Emmy! Oh, Emily! Priscilla called, brushing snow from her boots with such gusto it landed in a heap on the rug. Mrs. Walker said youre dueare you all right?
Yes, Mum.
Well, love, Ive brought some dried fruitlet me make you a proper cuppa, and perhaps you can manage a sip. Well need hot water…
Within the hour, Mrs. Walker returned, half-covered in snow, with Mrs. Vera tucked in behind her. The midwife was a sprightly crone, sharp as a needle, and after carefully examining Emily, delivered her verdict:
Shell be a mum by morning.
By morning? But its not even lunchtime yet! I only started feeling odd yesterday! Emily blurted out.
Those were just early signs, dear. Sometimes you get them days ahead. Now, the real things just begun, but youre only half a centimetre. Dont rush it. Weve a long night ahead. Ill nip home for now.
Please, Mrs. Vera, stay! No one else has a clue about any of this, and Ill feel miles better with you here, pleaded Emily.
The old midwife, whod delivered half the countys population, gave in.
All right, Ill stop for a while. A calm mum means a happier baby, and babies are more inclined to get a move on.
Emily had no idea that early signs were as fleeting as the first daffodils. Soon enough, she began to realise what full bloom entailedwaves of pain that felt as if someone was trying to tear her in two, leaving her unable to move, lie, or breathe. Mrs. Walker and Priscilla fluttered uselessly about like two startled chickens, oh-ing and ah-ing and wringing their hands. Mrs. Vera promptly sent them off to iron linen just to get them out of her hair.
As night fell, things went eerily quiet. Mrs. Vera checked again, Four centimetres. Its going slowly, but first babies do tend to faff aboutits all new territory, after all. Poor Emily was so shattered she managed just a bit of tea before Mrs. Vera tucked her up in bed for a quick rest.
Meanwhile, the storm raged harder than ever.
At four in the morning, Emily shot bolt upright. The house was so dark that even the grandfather clock looked apologetic. Nearby, Mrs. Vera was snoring quietly.
Oh, please, lets get this over with, Emily whispered, glancing at the row of saints on the mantlepiece. Let the baby come quickly, just pleaselet it stop hurting.
The contractions doubled down. Mrs. Vera checked: Only five centimetres, but thats how these things go. Hang in there, love.
As the first stuttering rays of sunshine poked through the snow-clouds, Emily was at her limither nightie stuck to her, hair wild, eyes glazed.
Nearly there, dearest, urged Mrs. Vera. You can do it. I promise. Just one more proper push. Deep breathlike this, puff-puff-puff.
With a last shriek, Emily gave it her all, and the baby arrived, squawking indignantly into Mrs. Veras wrinkled hands.
Could be the last one I deliver, thought Mrs. Vera, smiling at the howling, miraculous bundle. She placed him gently on Emilys stomach.
A boy, Emily! Look at himwhat a handsome little chap youve got. Full set of lungs, I tell you; bound to be Prime Minister.
Tears streaming down her face, Emily kissed his tiny fingers. How could something so wonderful have ever fit inside her? Oh, if only Michael could see his boythe handsomest lad in all of England.
Benjamin, my Benjamin, she whispered.
Benjamin? Mrs. Walker exclaimed. Didnt you swear last week youd call a boy Henry?
Hes just not a Henry, Emily beamed. Hes Benjamin Michael.
When all the necessary bits were tidied up, Mrs. Vera finally prepared to head home, worn out but satisfied. Theres joy in welcoming new life, but it does take it out of youespecially at her age. Still, all that remained was to face down the snow.
Emily and Benjamin soon drifted off to sleep, and Priscilla prepared to leave tooshed been up for more than a day, after all. She wrapped her shawl tighter, quietly said her goodbyes, and ventured into the cold.
By then, the blizzard had lost its edgethe snow had shrunk to soft flurries, and it looked as though tomorrow Michael might make it home after all. Priscilla smiled, thinking she might pop into Great-Grannys for a chat, perhaps bring some bread, though shed just delivered her a loaf last week. Not that Great-Granny Zoya ever ate much.
The old lady lived two doors down, stubborn as ever at ninety-three, keeping her own house, tending the cat, adamant she wouldnt move in with her kin. But the family was close by to fuss and worry as only the English can.
Priscilla fiddled with the gate; it stuck, likely jammed up by Michael the day before. Shovel still propped by the fence, she cleared the way, swept the step, and let herself in.
Great-Granny! Great-Granny! she called, stamping her feet and shaking the snow off her boots. Its Priscilla! Come to check in on you! She shouted loudly, as Zoyas hearing was patchy at best.
No answer. Perhaps she was nappinga shame to wake her. Priscilla left her coat and boots at the door, wandered into the front room, and there
Zoya lay on the bed, hands folded upon her chest, dressed in spotless white, even a freshly ironed handkerchief tied round her head. Priscilla noticed instantlyshed never seen that dress before. Edge of the bed, a photo of Emily smiling back, a tiny icon of St. Nicholas, and a stub of candle.
Thank you, dear Great-Granny. You helped Emily, I know you did. Shes had a beautiful baby boytheyve called him Benjamin. But I reckon you already knew that, didn’t you? Priscilla whispered, kissing her wrinkled cheek. Thank you, love… thank you.As Priscilla tucked the blanket round Zoyas feet, she caught sight of the old ladys faint smilethe calm certainty of someone whod waited just long enough to see all was well in the world shed loved. Tomorrow, the news of Benjamins safe birth would sweep through the village like sunshine after snow, and both joy and sorrow would find their places, side by side, at the kitchen table.
When Priscilla stepped into the dawn, the blizzards rage had given way to a hush so complete it seemed the whole world pausedin gratitude, or awe, or simple relief. New snow glimmered, a white cradle for the sleeping earth, and from every rooftop long icicles rang faint and musical in the gentle wind. She looked back at Zoyas house, then toward her own, where a tiny, mighty voice would soon greet the morning.
Somewhere over the ridge, the first robin fluted its song, the promise of spring hidden beneath all that cold. Priscilla closed her eyes, feeling her heart lift, knowing that lovethe fierce, ancient sortcarries always, even through storms, from one hand to the next, forever.
And somewhere in the warm hush of Emilys bedroom, Benjamin gave a little sigh, as if dreaming of snowflakes and the miracle of home.
