Lorelei

The Affair

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The midwife brushed sweat soaked locks from her face, clearing her view of the oncoming situation before her. It had been several hours since the start of the birth of George Rose, the first child in line to the Rose family. While, at first it seemed the birth would be smooth, a horrifying realization swept through the doctor and his assistant. It hadn't clicked with Mrs. Rose, who seemed to be in too much pain to focus on anything other than pushing as the doctor had instructed.

The midwife- Amaryllis- immediately knew something terrible had happened. Many things could have clued her in, from the doctors stiffened shoulders to the way his assistant's hand refused to release his death grip on the blood soaked towel. Or maybe it was the blood, there was so much blood. The ultimate clue came in the form of a still babe.

There was no cries. No flailing limbs that hinted to a hearty child. Instead, only the sorrowful silence, the doctors steady- yet haunted gaze and a limp child who would never take its first steps or call for his parents. Mrs. Rose said nothing.

For what could she say?

Yell abuses at the doctor for not trying hard enough? Call for her husband, who no doubt sat on the other side of the double mahogany doors? There were numerous words and actions she could take and Amaryllis expected each one, as any mother would for a lost child.

She did not, however, expect Mrs. Rose to reach thin trembling arms out to the doctor. Who had yet to release the still babe and kindly ask for her to see. He seemed confused by the request and Amaryllis could not fault the good man, but when Mrs. Rose asked again with the same result, she huffed and slid past the assistant. She gently grasped the babe as any expert midwife would- hand supporting the neck and the other placed firmly on his bum. His head pressed delicately on her chest, as if he was a leaf being cradled by a branch.

Amaryllis quickly wrapped him in a blanket- handmade by Mrs. Rose's older sister, Vivian. A fabric made from the softest fur, with the color died in an expensive blue. Mrs. Rose had been ecstatic with the gift and Mr. Rose equally so, though his appreciation was much more subdued. Amaryllis did not understand the purpose of wrapping him in a blanket. Not when she knew he'd only be changed and arranged for the funeral, something white and pristine- innocent.

With a careful grace, Amaryllis made her way to the edge of the bed, placing the babe in shaking arms. She feared Mrs. Rose's weakened state would not allow for her to hold the babe, but was pleasantly surprised when no such thing occurred. Instead, Mrs. Rose held her child like a mother beyond her years, supporting the head and back as if she'd been doing it her whole life.

For a long moment, mother looked at son. A loving gaze that had Amaryllis gulping down tears and the sudden urge to see her own children, though they had long grown into adults. Mrs. Rose looked exhausted, brown hair limp around her face, framing the almond shape and making her grey eyes stand out, hands trembled in the ensuing silence. But she held the child as if he weighed no more than an apple, her grip and eyes never wavering, not even when the doctor gave a polite cough, seemingly hoping to catch the lady of the house's attention.

For another minute, Amaryllis, the doctor and his assistant watched Mrs. Rose. Waiting for the tears, the screams, anything. Nothing of the sort happened, instead, in a soft whisper no louder than the wind tapping away outside, Mrs. Rose politely asked the doctor to bring in her husband.

Mr. Rose was an older gentleman, Amaryllis knew him to be thirty-two, fifteen years his wife's senior. He was a tall fellow, broad shoulders that seemed to fill out every room he stepped into, which tapered down into a thickly muscled waist. He had a square jaw planted with an obsidian like beard, his hair- equally dark- was slicked back, so that the strands, which barely brushed his shoulders, were tugged into a brutal tail at his tan nape. It was his eyes, Amaryllis found, that truly showed his turmoil. They were a dark hazel in there complexion, but right now, as he stood like a spectator overlooking a tournament, Mr. Rose's eyes appeared black.