Chapter 23: The Birth

The Ember Creek healer arrived in her nightgown with her braids down and a canvas bag in each fist.

"Three weeks early," she said, looking me over. "Of course. Everything in this house comes early or late, and never on time."

"I'm sorry," I said, and a contraction folded me over the bedpost.

"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to your bladder."

Ewan held my hands through the next one.

He had gone gray under his tan.

He counted breaths with me out loud, and his voice cracked every time the pain peaked.

By two in the morning the aunt had taken over the kitchen.

The six-year-old had been put to bed twice.

I had told Ewan, in words I had not planned to use, what I thought of pregnancy.

"That's fair," he said, mildly.

"Do not agree with me."

"I disagree with you entirely."

"Better."

His face did something between a laugh and a sob.

Around three, the radio on the dresser crackled.

It was the sentry at the Miller Road line, and he spoke very quietly.

"Alpha. Corbin MacCulloch is sitting on the shoulder at the marker. He's been there since midnight. He says he's not crossing."

"Does he want something?"

"He says he'll wait where he is."

Ewan looked at me.

I was on my knees on the bed, my forehead on the headboard, panting.

"Tell him..." I stopped and gritted my teeth until the wave went out.

"Tell him nothing yet," I said. "Nothing yet."

"Nothing yet," Ewan told the radio.

It got hard after that.

I won't tell all of it, because it isn't worth telling.

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