A Child Shall Lead Them. Carole Page Gift
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smiled wanly. “You forget. My brother is a lawyer. I’m not my brother’s sister for nothing. I learned a lot from him, just listening and paying attention. I want all my bases covered. I even had Mr. Cohen contact Sam, my baby’s father. Sam signed off his rights, too, so it’s all settled, Bree.”
“No, it isn’t!” Brianna exclaimed, pushing the papers back at Marnie. “You can’t do this!”
“I’ve already done it.” Marnie sat with her arms wrapped protectively around her enormous middle. She looked so forlorn and vulnerable, and yet absolutely determined. “The papers are legal, Bree. Sam and I already signed them. I’ve designated you to be my baby’s guardian. If you’ll accept her, she’s yours.”
Brianna shook her head, dazed. She felt like the fabled Alice at the Mad Hatter’s tea party. The moment struck her as illogical, preposterous. “I can’t take your baby, Marnie.”
Marnie scooped up the papers and held them to her breast. She looked crestfallen. “You don’t have to decide now. There’s still time. Just think about it.”
“I can’t promise anything…”
Marnie’s eyes were searing, desolate. “If you can’t keep her, at least help me find a loving family to adopt her.”
Bree nodded, her relief tinged with guilt. “Yes, of course, I’ll be glad to do that. Don’t worry, Marnie. We’ll find the right family for your baby.”
There didn’t seem to be much else to say after that. Marnie was clearly disappointed by Bree’s attitude, but what could Brianna do? What could she say? She was certainly in no position to raise someone else’s child.
They both went to bed early, Marnie complaining of mounting discomfort and exhaustion. Bree had a feeling the brooding girl just wanted to be alone to nurse her disappointment.
Sometime in the night Brianna heard a knock on her door. She sat bolt upright in bed and peered through the darkness as the door creaked open and Marnie peeked inside. “Bree, something’s wrong,” she said with alarm. “Something weird’s happening. I went to the bathroom and there was a gush of water. I…I think my baby’s coming.”
Bree threw back her covers and jumped out of bed. “Get dressed. I’ll wake my dad. He’ll drive us to the hospital.”
By the time Marnie was checked into her hospital room, it was nearly 5:00 a.m. Her contractions were coming five minutes apart.
“It’s too soon,” Marnie lamented as she paced the floor in her shapeless maternity gown, massaging her distended abdomen. “My baby’s not due for another month.”
The nurse, a lean, bony woman with short, gray hair, jotted something on Marnie’s chart. “Your baby’s eager to make his appearance, dear. But don’t worry. He has a good, strong heartbeat. Try to relax. You’re both going to do fine.”
Marnie kept pacing. “How long will it be?”
“Could be hours yet. But walking will help your labor progress. Dr. Packard will be in to check you shortly. And I’ll be back from time to time to monitor your contractions. Meanwhile, remember, no food, no water. Just ice chips.”
The next few hours crept by with an exhausting tedium. Bree finally sent her father home to catch a few winks of sleep. But she stayed by Marnie’s side, timing her contractions, massaging her shoulders and back, and walking the floor with her in a slow, strolling saunter—the awkward, agonizing dance of the laboring mother. When the contractions came, Bree held Marnie up, their arms entwined as they went through their paces. When the pains got too bad, she helped Marnie climb into the large hospital bed and reminded her to practice her breathing exercises. Hoo-hoo-hee! Hoo-hoo-hee!
At about 10:00 a.m., Dr. Packard announced that Marnie was dilated to nine centimeters and in transition. Two attendants helped her onto the gurney and wheeled her into the delivery room, while Brianna slipped a sterile gown over her clothes. With pounding heart, she entered the stark gray room with its pale moons of light.
“I’m so glad you’re with me,” Marnie whispered through clenched teeth as she gripped Bree’s hand. She was trembling, her hand cold as ice, her face and hair damp with perspiration. “Help me, okay? I’m not doing so well with the breathing.”
“I’m right here.” Brianna positioned herself by Marnie’s head. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to do this together.”
Marnie tensed. “Oh no, I’ve got to push!”
“It’s okay,” Dr. Packard assured her. “On the next contraction, give it all you’ve got.”
After pushing through several contractions, Marnie lay back, panting, exhausted, tears coursing down her cheeks. “I can’t do it. I just can’t!”
“Yes, you can,” said Dr. Packard. “Rest a minute, then we’ll try again.”
“I’m too tired.”
Brianna stroked Marnie’s forehead, gently smoothing back the damp tendrils of hair. “You’re doing great, Marnie. Almost there. Don’t give up.”
Dr. Packard moved in closer, working deftly, one hand pressing Marnie’s abdomen. “Okay, young lady, here we go. Push! That’s it. More. Come on. You can do it! Good, good, good! You’ve got it! The baby’s head is crowning. Okay, relax, take a deep cleansing breath, and then one more good push should do it.”
Marnie’s face turned red with pushing. She made a low, guttural sound and squeezed Bree’s hand until Bree winced with pain.
Suddenly a baby’s choking, gurgling, high-pitched squall filled the room. As a nurse suctioned the infant’s mouth and nose, Dr. Packard bent forward, his brown eyes crinkling above his surgical mask. “You’ve done the hard part, Marnie. We have the head. Now push that baby out.”
On the next contraction the baby’s shiny body slipped out effortlessly. The child raged in the doctor’s sturdy hands—the most beautiful music Brianna had ever heard—followed closely by Marnie’s laughter. “I did it, Bree. What a hoot! My baby! Look, my baby!”
“It’s a girl! She’s a little one, but she wants the whole world to know she’s here.” Dr. Packard placed the slick, squirming infant on Marnie’s chest and proceeded to cut the umbilical cord. Both Marnie and Bree stared transfixed at the bawling baby.
Marnie wept. “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she, Bree?”
Suddenly Brianna was laughing and crying, too. “She’s a little angel. Absolutely perfect!”
The baby was more than perfect. She was like a miracle. Tiny, yet plump and pink, with round, red cheeks and silky blonde hair on the top of her adorable head. And, flailing her taut little arms and legs, she was bursting with marvelous energy and life.
“I’m calling her Charity,” said Marnie breathlessly. “Because I want her life to be filled with love.”
“It will be,” said Bree. “Who could help but love her?”
The baby began to gasp and sputter.
“Time to weigh her in, warm her up and get her in her Isolette,” said Dr. Packard.
A nurse swept the infant up in her arms and took her to a table across the room.
Marnie leaned up on her elbows, her face pale, her blue eyes blazing. “Where are you taking my baby? Is she okay?”
Dr. Packard placed a soothing hand on Marnie’s arm. “She’s small and may need some extra attention. As a precaution, we’ll put her in an Isolette and send her to the intensive care nursery, where the pediatrician can examine her.”
Moments later, as an attendant wheeled the portable crib out of the room, Marnie looked urgently at Brianna. “Go with her. I don’t want my baby being alone. Stay with her. Watch over her.”
Bree hesitated. “I can’t leave