Love & War (Alex & Eliza #2)(25)
But her mother just shrugged her shoulders. “No matter. You have a husband now, you have no need to worry about your reputation, let alone the condition of your maidenhood! Why, Mrs. Vandermeer’s first child was born six months after she married, and he was ten pounds if he was an ounce!”
Eliza almost clapped her hands to her ears. Had her mother actually implied that Mrs. Vandermeer had engaged in the most private marriage ritual before she was actually married?
“M-mama’s,” she stuttered to Angelica. “Mama has been drinking.”
“I see that,” Angelica said in voice half amused, half stunned.
“Apparently, it relaxes Mama, which, how did you put it, Dot? ‘Eases the experience.’”
“Indeed,” said Angelica.
Eliza was not at all sure what to say next. “Um, Dot was just explaining to me what a contraction is.”
Angelica scowled. “You mean, ‘don’t’ for ‘do not’?”
Peals of laughter from Mrs. Schuyler and Dot.
Even Eliza had to smile. “Not exactly. Apparently, it has something do with, um, delivering the child from Mama’s womb.”
“Exactly!” Dot said. “When the child decides it’s time to be born, it knocks very gently at the door of the world. This tells the muscles that surround the mother’s womb to constrict in a very specific manner. It’s a bit like wringing the water from a towel. You start at one end and squeeze toward the other. So does the womb. Lightly at first, to position the child properly, then more strongly as it pushes toward daylight.”
“Now, this is the one area on which Dot and I disagree,” Catherine Schuyler chimed in. “I do not think it is the child that tells the mother it is time to be born. I think it is the mother that tells the child it is time to GET OUT!” Mrs. Schuyler directed the last words directly at her abdomen in a voice that, though loud, was suffused with both humor and love.
As if in answer, her face twisted into another grimace.
“What is this?” Angelica asked in alarm, grabbing Eliza’s hand.
“It is one of the contractions,” Eliza said. “It is, uh, quite normal, and as you can see they do not last long.”
“Oh, they’ll last much longer soon,” Dot said. “They’re coming closer together now.”
“Yes, she’s quite eager now,” Mrs. Schuyler said, patting her stomach. “Girls, may I suggest you have one of the footmen—on second thought, make that one of the maids—bring in a pair of chairs and sit yourself rather out of the line of sight. There are a few mysteries that should persist to the end between mother and daughters.”
“I’ll just get them myself,” Eliza said.
“Bring a glass, too,” Angelica said. “I think I might join Mother and, uh, Dot in a tipple.”
Eliza darted from the room. There were a pair of lightweight cane chairs flanking a walnut sideboard in the hallway, and she carried them back in quickly, then ran back out and grabbed a water glass from the same sideboard. It was a rather large glass for a cordial, but Eliza didn’t think anyone was standing on ceremony today. And she was pretty sure she was going to join Angelica in that “tipple.”
She hurried back into the room just as her mother was grimacing again. What struck her now was the disconnect between her mother’s downturned lips and her calm, if slightly impatient, eyes. She seemed less bothered by the pain than by the protracted nature of the experience, as if she were eager to get back to her regular routine. With another woman, one might have said she was eager to hold her newborn in her arms, but Mrs. Schuyler had not started out particularly affectionate—her husband was “soft-hearted enough for two,” as she often said—and a dozen childbirths had rather sapped what little energy she had for that kind of thing.
The spasm passed as Eliza poured some brandy into the glass and took a seat beside her sister. Dot had moved to the foot of the bed and was washing her hands and forearms in a bucket of steaming water.
Angelica took the glass gratefully. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, arranging and rearranging her shawl around her bare arms, as if, despite the heat, she were chilly. Despite her fussing, however, the light fabric mostly bunched in the middle of her dress—a high-waisted garment in pale yellow muslin, and daringly loose around the waist. An unusual style for Angelica, who, like Peggy, enjoyed showing off her tiny frame (or at least enjoyed the attention it got her), but Eliza supposed it was too hot for even someone as style conscious as her oldest sister to cinch. Indeed, now that she thought of it, Angelica had been favoring this particular style since the weather had first turned summery six weeks ago.
She nodded toward the bed, where their mother had closed her eyes as if to compose herself. A few beads of sweat had appeared on her forehead, but otherwise she seemed completely tranquil.
“Is this the fate that awaits us now we are married?” Eliza couldn’t help but whisper to her sister.
“Only if you are blessed, my dears,” said Mrs. Schuyler without opening her eyes. “Only if you are blessed,” she repeated, but this time Eliza noticed that her hands were squeezing the bedclothes with whitened knuckles.
Angelica sipped again, then handed the glass to Eliza.
“Have you had any word from Colonel Hamilton?”
Eliza, surprised at this obvious change of subject, took a sip of brandy, then immediately wished she hadn’t. The liquor was far too warming for a day like today. She should have asked for some chilled water instead. And the mention of Alex’s name made her blood run hot, although it was with fear now, and not anger.