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𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 Ada's screams woke up the entire Watery Lane and a good portion of Small Heath. Esme rushed in, an armful of wet towels, as another painful contraction rocked Ada's body.
Polly pressed one to her niece's sweaty forehead, urging her on. "Push. Push, Ada!"
Ada let out a suppressed shriek, nails digging deeper into Caterina's arm. She would later find a purplish bruise forming there and years on one could see tiny white marks where Ada's nails sunk into her flesh.
"I can't!"
The three exchanged an equally concerned look, unsure what to do next.
It would have been an understatement to say Cat was terrified - she clutched her best friend's hand with such a desperate grip. Although the number of women dying at birth fell drastically over the last decades, it still occurred once in a while, particularly at difficult births.
Cat was not letting Ada die - not now, not today, not while she breathed still.
Suddenly, Esme reached under Ada's bump, gently prodding it like an experienced nurse. "I think it might be the wrong way around." She raised her head, looking at the two women, reassuring them. "I attended three sisters."
Desperate for a solution of any kind, Polly reached over as they tried to steady a shaky Ada on her feet. "Lean her forward, then."
It would be a long night indeed.
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In their comfortable private snug, the three Shelby brothers toasted in Ada's and her child's health.
Their coats haphazardly thrown over the rack, sleeves rolled up and collars loosened. Most of the bar's patrons had already filtered out once the clock struck midnight, until only three Shelby's, Grace and far too many bottles of whiskey remained.
