A Breath of Snow and Ashes - Diana Gabaldon [481]
“He just popped out!” Lizzie was saying, glancing momentarily at Claire, but then jerking her fascinated gaze back to the baby, as though she expected him—yes, it was a him, Brianna saw—to disappear as suddenly as he had arrived.
“My back hurt something dreadful, all last night, so I couldna sleep, and the lads took it in turns to rub me, but it didna really help, and then when I got up to go to the privy this morning, all the water burst forth from betwixt my legs—just as ye said it would, ma’am!” she said to Claire. “And so I said to Jo and Kezzie they must run fetch ye, but I didna ken quite what to do next. So I set about to mix up batter for to make hoecake for breakfast”—she waved at the table, where a bowl of flour sat with a jug of milk and two eggs—“and next thing, I had this terrible urge to—to—” She blushed, a deep, becoming peony color.
“Well, I couldna even reach the chamber-pot. I just squatted there by the table, and—and—pop! There he was, right on the ground beneath me!”
Claire had picked the new arrival up, and was cooing reassurances to him, while deftly checking whatever it was one checked about new babies. Lizzie had made a blanket in preparation, carefully knitted of lamb’s wool, dyed with indigo. Claire glanced at the pristine blanket, then pulled a length of stained, soft flannel from her kit. Wrapping the baby in it, she handed him to Brianna.
“Hold him a moment while I deal with the cord, will you, darling?” she said, pulling scissors and thread from her kit. “Then you can clean him off a bit—there’s a bottle of oil in here—while I take care of Lizzie. And you lot,” she added, glancing sternly at the Beardsleys, “go outside.”
The baby moved suddenly inside his wrappings, startling Brianna with the sudden vivid recollection of tiny, solid limbs pushing from inside: a kick to the liver, the liquid swell and shift as head or buttocks pressed up in a hard, smooth curve beneath her ribs.
“Hallo, little guy,” she said softly, cuddling him against her shoulder. He smelled strongly and strangely of the sea, she thought, and oddly fresh against the acrid pungency of the hides outside.
“Ooh!” Lizzie gave a startled squeal, as Claire kneaded her belly, and there was a juicy, slithering sort of sound. Brianna remembered that vividly, too; the placenta, that liverish, slippery afterthought of birth, almost soothing as it passed over the much-abused tissues with a sense of peaceful completion. All over, and the stunned mind began to comprehend survival.
There was a gasp from the doorway, and she looked up to see the Beardsleys, side by side and saucer-eyed.
“Shoo!” she said firmly, and flipped a hand at them. They promptly disappeared, leaving her to the entertaining task of cleaning and oiling the flailing limbs and creased body. He was a small baby, but round: round-faced, very round-eyed for a newborn—he hadn’t cried at all, but was plainly awake and alert—and with a round little belly, from which the stump of his umbilical cord protruded, dark purple and fresh.
His look of astonishment had not faded; he goggled up at her, solemn as a fish, though she could feel the huge smile on her own face.
“You are so cute!” she told him. He smacked his lips in a thoughtful sort of way, and crinkled his brow.
“He’s hungry!” she called over her shoulder. “Are you ready?”
“Ready?” Lizzie croaked. “Mother of God, how can ye be ready for something like this?”, which made Claire and Brianna both laugh like loons.
Nonetheless, Lizzie reached for the little blue-wrapped bundle and put it uncertainly to her breast. There was a certain amount of fumbling and increasingly anxious grunts from the baby, but at last a suitable connection was established, making Lizzie utter a brief shriek of surprise, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
At this point, Brianna became aware that there had been conversation going on outside for some time—a mutter of male voices, deliberately pitched low, in a confusion of speculation and puzzlement.
“I imagine you