1599, A Child is Born (PG13)
Posted: Tue Nov 30, 2010 11:47 pm
Josef tapped on my shoulder.......Who could forget his birthday?
PG 13 rated
= = = = = = = =
Ireland, 1599
The stone halls of Ashford Castle echoed with dulcet acapella music. The hour was late, or early depending on your perspective. This Midwife had been called far after the young mother had perspired thru two changes of bed linens. Would she be too late to attend this birth in this castle in the idyllic countryside of county Mayo? This evening the setting was anything but tranquil.
The carriage had ridden roughly through the lush forests, and the Midwife hadn’t wasted lost minutes taking in the full moon on the shimmering lakes. She recited the prayers of her youth, working the worn rosewood rosary thru her gnarled fingers. Bridget’s head bowed close as if to amplify the prayer’s intentions, a live born child for daughter of Lord and Lady Bingham.
The newly married Lady of the house had toiled, labored to be exact and the Midwife on hand had not been skilled to deliver a breech birth. The Lord Bingham had thought he had brought in the most skilled woman in the county for his poor daughter, Josian. Had she not suffered enough, hearing her husband, the young Charles Constantine had been slain by a highwayman on his way back to her after securing their acreage in the next county? Once his bloodied body had been delivered the sight of her fine-looking husband lifeless and cold threw her into a damning delirium.
Whereas the castle had been celebrating the first year of their daughter’s most excellent match to the whiskey eyed Charles they all felt robbed. The funeral thrust them into black crepe and covered mirrors and within hours of Charles being interred into the Bingham Crypt, Josian’s belly clutched in pain.
Bridget’s small hand pocketed the rosary beads as she set about her work, “bring me clean linens light the lamps and stop that infernal singing.” Her tongue was as sharp as the tools she unwrapped and spread across the bedside table. “Bring me whiskey, some bread and a wedge of cheese”
The first Midwife scattered, gathering her carpet bag and hightailing into the night. The maids cringed at the thought of whiskey, bread and cheese for poor Josian and Bridget answered one of their skeptical looks, “For my fortitude, silly wench, NOW”. Bridget washed and tied back her skirts, pushing up her sleeves she pulled back the bed linen to find her charge nearly spent in her exhaustion. She brewed her tea and soaked it into a handkerchief, “suck on this, child”.
Bridget laid her head to Josian’s breasts and listened to her thready heart sounds, whispering her commands she moved to encircle the child still contained within. The poor girl listened as Bridget continued her direction, desperately moving between chewing and sucking the linen she cried out just a bit as Bridget’s hand disappeared into the birth canal. The tiny infant’s buttocks were wrenched free of confined space of her pelvis and thrust upward, while Bridget’s other arm moved the mound of flesh about.
Josian’s lamenting howl escaped her lips to roll down the hallways, filling her parents with dread. Her Mother speculated, did her dead husband hear his poor wife? Moments melted and Bridget externally massaged the uncooperative infant over again, each time within the warm morass of the mother’s fluid she cleared the cord from his neck. With each maneuver the Midwife breathed a deep sigh that Mother and Child were still living souls. Once Bridget felt the tiny head in place she extracted her hand and washed quickly less the blood and fluids frighten this girl with so much more to do.
Had Josian died? The silence was deafening. There was a whimper from behind the hankie, Bridget pulled Josian up to a mountain of pillows and finger combed her tendrils of strawberry blonde hair. Her half-lidded eyes begged relief and Bridget dipped the hankie in the whiskey. Bridget worked light oil with gentle, deliberate strokes into Josian’s arms and legs.
“One of you, remove your shoes, crawl behind ‘er, your legs on either side of ‘er.” The barked orders confused the ladies keeping watch. One stepped up, barely into her teens, to Josian’s aid. Her doe eyes watched Bridget’s every move, gleaning direction from her posture or expressions.
The boy child responded to the turn and gathered his strength toward the light, by dawn the sweet daughter of Lord and Lady Bingham had surrendered to the angels within minutes of delivering her son. Mournful wails heralded the Grandparents into the bedchamber. Bridget’s face spoke where words could not. Josian was at peace with her Charles.
With acquiescence and a dampened joy, Lady Bingham held the child ‘He’s quite a scrapper is he not?” to her husband, who lifted the blanket to find his grandson intact and complete. “He will be known as Charles Josef Constantine”.
PG 13 rated
= = = = = = = =
Ireland, 1599
The stone halls of Ashford Castle echoed with dulcet acapella music. The hour was late, or early depending on your perspective. This Midwife had been called far after the young mother had perspired thru two changes of bed linens. Would she be too late to attend this birth in this castle in the idyllic countryside of county Mayo? This evening the setting was anything but tranquil.
The carriage had ridden roughly through the lush forests, and the Midwife hadn’t wasted lost minutes taking in the full moon on the shimmering lakes. She recited the prayers of her youth, working the worn rosewood rosary thru her gnarled fingers. Bridget’s head bowed close as if to amplify the prayer’s intentions, a live born child for daughter of Lord and Lady Bingham.
The newly married Lady of the house had toiled, labored to be exact and the Midwife on hand had not been skilled to deliver a breech birth. The Lord Bingham had thought he had brought in the most skilled woman in the county for his poor daughter, Josian. Had she not suffered enough, hearing her husband, the young Charles Constantine had been slain by a highwayman on his way back to her after securing their acreage in the next county? Once his bloodied body had been delivered the sight of her fine-looking husband lifeless and cold threw her into a damning delirium.
Whereas the castle had been celebrating the first year of their daughter’s most excellent match to the whiskey eyed Charles they all felt robbed. The funeral thrust them into black crepe and covered mirrors and within hours of Charles being interred into the Bingham Crypt, Josian’s belly clutched in pain.
Bridget’s small hand pocketed the rosary beads as she set about her work, “bring me clean linens light the lamps and stop that infernal singing.” Her tongue was as sharp as the tools she unwrapped and spread across the bedside table. “Bring me whiskey, some bread and a wedge of cheese”
The first Midwife scattered, gathering her carpet bag and hightailing into the night. The maids cringed at the thought of whiskey, bread and cheese for poor Josian and Bridget answered one of their skeptical looks, “For my fortitude, silly wench, NOW”. Bridget washed and tied back her skirts, pushing up her sleeves she pulled back the bed linen to find her charge nearly spent in her exhaustion. She brewed her tea and soaked it into a handkerchief, “suck on this, child”.
Bridget laid her head to Josian’s breasts and listened to her thready heart sounds, whispering her commands she moved to encircle the child still contained within. The poor girl listened as Bridget continued her direction, desperately moving between chewing and sucking the linen she cried out just a bit as Bridget’s hand disappeared into the birth canal. The tiny infant’s buttocks were wrenched free of confined space of her pelvis and thrust upward, while Bridget’s other arm moved the mound of flesh about.
Josian’s lamenting howl escaped her lips to roll down the hallways, filling her parents with dread. Her Mother speculated, did her dead husband hear his poor wife? Moments melted and Bridget externally massaged the uncooperative infant over again, each time within the warm morass of the mother’s fluid she cleared the cord from his neck. With each maneuver the Midwife breathed a deep sigh that Mother and Child were still living souls. Once Bridget felt the tiny head in place she extracted her hand and washed quickly less the blood and fluids frighten this girl with so much more to do.
Had Josian died? The silence was deafening. There was a whimper from behind the hankie, Bridget pulled Josian up to a mountain of pillows and finger combed her tendrils of strawberry blonde hair. Her half-lidded eyes begged relief and Bridget dipped the hankie in the whiskey. Bridget worked light oil with gentle, deliberate strokes into Josian’s arms and legs.
“One of you, remove your shoes, crawl behind ‘er, your legs on either side of ‘er.” The barked orders confused the ladies keeping watch. One stepped up, barely into her teens, to Josian’s aid. Her doe eyes watched Bridget’s every move, gleaning direction from her posture or expressions.
The boy child responded to the turn and gathered his strength toward the light, by dawn the sweet daughter of Lord and Lady Bingham had surrendered to the angels within minutes of delivering her son. Mournful wails heralded the Grandparents into the bedchamber. Bridget’s face spoke where words could not. Josian was at peace with her Charles.
With acquiescence and a dampened joy, Lady Bingham held the child ‘He’s quite a scrapper is he not?” to her husband, who lifted the blanket to find his grandson intact and complete. “He will be known as Charles Josef Constantine”.
