“By the time I had my third child, Willam,” Nicolet said. Sweat dripped down her back, across her chest, and between her breasts. Her long hair frayed around her face, clung to her cheeks, her neck, and her forehead. “I look and feel like an old mop,” Constance said and winced as she exhaled and inhaled slowly. “I’ve helped with many births, Constance. “Anytime now,” Carine said with a reassuring smile. “You should have known my mother,” Nicolet said and grabbed several cloths as Carine placed her hand on Constance’s back. “You are the meanest woman I have ever met,” Constance said. Nicolet shrugged and said, “I can’t argue that point with you.” “I might fall down and break my neck someday too, but I will not dwell on the idea.”Ĭonstance groaned, bent at the waist, and pressed her hand to her belly. Nicolet looked at Alice, who shrugged while she carried a fresh basin of cool water into the room. “Women have been giving birth since the beginning of time - let your body do what it needs to and stop thinking you’re going to die.” “For heaven’s sake, girl,” Nicolet said, and placed her hands on her broad hips. He was much more formal, more purposeful on paper, but his voice was there… hidden in the words, and leaping off the page. ![]() She had reread them several times, memorizing his words, his script, and indulging in the memories of his tone of voice. The letters d’Artagnan had written lay in a box at the end of the mantle, next to a candlestick. She grabbed the mantle of the fireplace, looked at the items she had found useful, but wished for something more… something of her mothers, her grandmothers… something that might bring her joy. She wiped her eyes free of the tears that fell down her face. “Tell d’Artagnan I loved him,” Constance said. Having never experienced a pregnancy before, and women rarely spoke of such things. She placed her hand on the small of her back, rubbed and scratched at her breasts that itched, and felt her body shifting in ways that felt unnatural. It was at the forefront of Constance’s mind as she paced across the room, her legs spread and she walked as though astride a saddle. Women often found themselves in desperate situations. Instead, Constance had found herself in a sour mood, desperately uncomfortable, and pouring sweat despite the winter cold.Ĭhildbirth was a risk for mother and for child. Instead, Alice, Nicolet, the laundress and Billy’s grandmother, and Carine, a midwife and wife to Musketeer Germaine, assisted. Men were not permitted in the room, and only if the mother and the child were at risk were physicians allowed to enter. Alice brewed tea, applied cool cloths to Constance’s forehead, and encouraged her when the pains grew more intense. ![]() Her labor pains had started the day before, and she had paced, rubbed her back, and tried to make herself comfortable. ![]() Constance’s cries, shouts, and groans drowned out the dog’s barking, and the cat’s escape through the pots and pans that hung from the support beneath the roof of the Green Apple bakery. ![]() The early morning hours had been met with the rooster’s crow, and soon after angry shouts from Monsieur Alliare. Puddles of mud rippled as rain continued to drip and fall from the thatched roofs. They paced, crossed their arms, and shifted their weight from foot-to-foot as time grew long. Men stood uncomfortably in the stables, near the commissary, and beneath the awnings. Horses raised their heads, flickered their ears forward and back, and kept watch on the main doors. Agonizing screams echoed throughout the halls.
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