Remembrance of Eve *NANOWRIMO13*

Chapter 21

The rains came as expected. I had counted 38 seven-days, and was feeling the child move lower in my body. The little one would be born soon. We settled into our house, enjoying the quiet of being indoors. Of course, the quiet this raining time was not as quiet as the last. Absalom was running around, chasing or being chased by Bark. We were concerned that he would fall into the fire. He was too young to really understand, but the dog and child raced around, staying away from the fire.

Late one night, in the tenth moon, the 40th seven-days, after we had been sleeping a short while, I was roused by the forgotten, but now familiar sharp pains, preparing to push the new little one from my body. I woke Adam, and he began the preparations, finding the soft moss, boiling water, preparing vine and knife, along with leather robes for the little one. I lay, trying not to wake Bark and Absalom. Somehow, during that long night, they slept peacefully.

Morning came. I lay back, finally resting after the efforts of expelling the child from my body. Adam washed her, wrapped her in the robe, and placed her in my arms, then busied himself caring for my needs. I wondered, not for the first time, how he knew just what would be needed to help me give birth.

Our little daughter settled into feeding, nuzzling and suckling from my breast. I lay resting and wondering at the beauty of this little one, when two little heads popped up at the end of our bed, one a tousle-haired little blond boy, the other a dark brown pup.

“Momma? What is that?” Absalom queried.

“Your little sister, Absalom.” Adam replied, closing the door on the rain. He had carried out the refuse that would not burn.

“Oh, daddy! A sister?” he asked, eyes wide open.

“Yes, darling child, a sister.” I replied. “Do you want to see her?” He nodded soberly. I patted the bed beside me, and he climbed up, taking care not to bump me. Bark slipped up beside him. The babe opened her blue eyes, and smiled at her brother.

“She likes me,” he whispered.

“Yes, she does,” I answered.

Adam slid into bed on the other side of Absalom, cradling him and me together. He lifted himself up onto one elbow and gazed at us, Absalom, the new little one, and me. “Beautiful,” he whispered. “Just beautiful. We are blessed.”

“Truly.” I sleepily murmured, the efforts of the night catching up with me.

“Sleep, my love. I will watch Absalom.”

Later I felt him slip out of bed and find food for them to eat. Even later, he brought some for me. The sleep felt so good, but Adam had been up most of the night. I gently lay our babe in her basket, and lifted myself from the bed.

“You rest. I will keep an eye on this little rascal.”

Adam nodded, and almost fell into the bed. Absalom sat quietly in the corner, stacking small pieces of tree logs and knocking them over. Bark sat beside him, watching.

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Bilhah was a sweet child, adored by her brother and father, loved by her mother. She grew quickly, and when the rains ended, she was often awake, her bright blue eyes intently watching our actions. She especially loved her brother and his dog; her eyes brightened and she smiled when he looked her way. Bark gave her generous, slurppy kisses with his black tongue. The dog was growing, faster than Absalom. He now stood as tall as the little boy. Still, they were best of friends. It was helpful for the child to have the dog to keep him company during the long days of rain.

On the evenings when the rains slowed, we walked out through the mud, foot covers safely left indoors, looking at the changes brought about by the rain and winds. Tree limbs, and often even trees, would be down, blown over in the wind. We would check on the animals, and Absalom would run in to hug his goat protector, Pasha. The goat would joyfully bleat, and accept the petting of the child. Sometimes, we would bring carrots to share with the goats. The animals, too, had multiplied. Each ewe and nanny had one or two little ones snuggling against them. The cow had delivered another calf, a girl calf this year. We would have milk another year for our little ones. This year, the big bullock had decided to join the other animals in the animal house, sheltered and protected from the storm. He stood near the cow, seeming to adore his little daughter. I looked at Adam, and saw a similar look on his face.