The Devastation (Unexpected Circumstances 7)

“She will need to hold on to you,” Edith said. Her voice remained quiet and certain, which was the exact opposite of how Alexandra sounded and how I felt.

“Why is she in more pain?” I asked, unsure if I really wanted the answer.

“The baby is close,” Edith told me. “When Alexandra was lying down, it kept the baby from pushing against the right place to come out. Getting her on her feet will help bring forth the child faster. Trust me.”

I was not sure I could, but I also had little choice in the matter. I nodded, and Edith gave me a half smile.

“And give me your shirt.”

I pulled off my shirt and quickly handed it to Edith before I knelt behind Alexandra. I wrapped my arms underneath hers and up around her shoulders, holding her upright as she leaned forward and listened to Edith’s instructions. Alexandra held my arms, and again her fingernails dug into my skin. I would have complained, but it was then Alexandra let out a long wail.

“Push!”

And another.

“Push!”

And another.

My back and chest were covered in sweat just from the act of holding my wife up on her feet. My arms ached as if I had engaged in battle for a day and a night. I could have sworn the whole ordeal lasted for hours though Edith assured me later it had not. J

ust as I was about to come to the conclusion that I was not strong enough for this, Alexandra let out a final, shuddering cry and went limp against me.

A moment later, I heard another, weaker cry.

“Lay her down,” Edith said quietly.

I complied immediately, laying Alexandra softly onto the straw of the cell floor. I felt as though I was being torn in two—trying to decide if I should check first on my wife or on my child. Kneeling on the straw, I could see Edith with the squirming thing in her arms, and it seemed to me like there was an awful lot of blood.

“Branford?” Alexandra croaked.

I dropped down next to her and held my wife close to me as I stared down at the child in Edith’s arms. As I took in the tiny form with my eyes, I felt my chest tighten and tears begin to well. For a moment I could not speak, but then my wife implored me for news of our child.

“You gave me a son, Alexandra,” I whispered against the side of her face, “a beautiful, strong son. Can you feel him?”

Edith rose up on her knees and held the baby out to me, already wrapped in my shirt. I took him in my arms, instantly frightened I would hold him too tightly or drop him but also unable to stop myself from holding him first to my chest and then to place him in Alexandra’s arms. My voice broke, and I looked into her eyes and saw that they were also shimmering with tears. Warm, wet skin touched my cheek as I held the baby to her.

“A boy?” she whispered, and her eyes opened to look into his face. Tears continued to pour from her eyes, but I was quite sure they were no longer from pain. I could finally breathe easily again as I watched my wife’s gaze take in our son.

My heir.

His tiny eyes screwed shut as he opened his mouth to cry out his protest of being removed from the warm, comfortable place he had spent the first part of his existence. Alexandra immediately brushed her fingertip over his cheek and told him not to worry—that his daddy had made it in time, and no one would take him away.

I closed my own eyes at her words, afraid to learn what had befallen her since she had been taken from me on the road. I knew at some point I would have to hear her story though I was not sure if I could listen without losing whatever was left of my sanity.

“They cannot hurt you, little one,” I said, speaking to both my son and my wife. “They are all gone now.”

“Gone?” Alexandra whispered.

“All of them,” I assured her.

“Whitney….she is…?”

“Dead,” I replied softly. I heard Alexandra sigh in relief, and I saw her grip tighten on our son.

“Little Branford,” she whispered, and I could not stop my smile.

“Little Branford, yes.”