Martha (Rewritten)

The Birth

The moonlit night was as silent as an unearthed tomb, save for the footsteps of the Crenshaw children.

Awakened in the middle of the night by their nanny, they were brought upstairs to their parents' room, where Lydia Crenshaw lied in bed with her legs in the air. Her husband sat beside her, clasping her hand and wiping the sweat from her brow with a handkerchief.

Standing in front of the bed was their housekeeper, an elderly woman named Beatrice, whose face was paled by the sight of the blood drenched sheets and what was concealed beneath them.  "You're....you're doing great, Mrs. Crenshaw." She encouraged, forcing herself to smile. "Keep breathing."

Lydia groaned and bit down on the wooden spoon between her teeth.  She held on to the metal bars of her bed frame with all her might.

Lucille, the youngest child, rubbed sleep from her eyes. "Mama?"

The nanny, a nineteen year old named Diana, who had only been with them a few weeks, ushered the children into the bedroom. Her eyes were wide open in panic.

Michael Crenshaw gazed upon his children with a fragile smile. "Everything is going to be alright."

"What's going on?" Asked Angela, the eldest child.

"Your mother has gone into labor early. She's going to have the baby."

"But I thought the baby wasn't supposed to come out until next month."

Michael Crenshaw raked his fingers through his sandy blonde hair.  "She wasn't."

Simon, the middle child, stepped forward.  His arms were wrapped around the stuffed bear his mother had given him for Christmas.  "Should we call a doctor?"

"Your mother's doctor is still on vacation, and she doesn't trust anyone else to deliver the baby."

"But...but mama's bleeding, Father. What if she dies?"

"She's not going to die," Michael released his wife's hand and kneeled in front of his children.  "Let us say a prayer, then I'll have Diana take you back to bed."

The children exchanged reluctant glances, but joined hands and bowed their heads.  They were never ones to disobey their parents.  Michael led them in prayer, asking for safe delivery of a healthy baby.  When he finished, Diana escorted the children back to their rooms, where they laid restless as they listened to the soft wails and cries coming from their mother.

***

After three more excruciating hours of screaming, pushing, and praying, the baby was born.  Micheal used his pocket knife to cut through the umbilical cord while Beatrice held the crying infant in the air.

Lydia sobbed and leaned back into her sweat drenched pillow.  "Is the baby okay?"  Her voice was hardly above a whisper.

Micheal rubbed her cheek.  "Yes, my love.  Beatrice will clean the blood off of her, then you may hold her."

Beatrice scurried off with the baby in her arms.

"Michael, will you go see to the children?  I'm worried they might be afraid."