Page 104 of The Sapphire Child
Esmie squeezed her arm. ‘Not necessarily. You mustn’t worry. The war’s still a long way from here.’
Tom said quickly, ‘I didn’t mean to cause alarm. The jungles and mountains between Burma and India are almost impenetrable. And the British will never allow India to be taken.’
Three weeks later, as the March thaw came to the mountains and valleys of Kashmir and the frozen rivers turned to thundering rapids, Stella went into labour. It was late afternoon and she’d been having occasional sharp pains on and off since the morning. Suddenly, she broke off from doing paperwork with Esmie and let out a gasp. She clutched her belly.
Esmie looked at her in alarm. ‘Are you feeling pains?’
Stella nodded.
‘Come on,’ said Esmie, ‘let’s get you to bed.’
Four hours later, as she lay half-prone on her narrow bed in the annex, the labour contractions were coming in relentless waves. Karo wiped her face with a damp scented cloth while Esmie held her hand and encouraged her.
‘Squeeze my hand when the contractions come,’ she said, timing them on her old nurse’s watch.
Stella gritted her teeth as each fresh bout of pain assaulted her.
‘That’s good,’ said Esmie. ‘You don’t have to be so brave – shout if you want – but keep some breath for the pushing.’
Esmie examined her. She exchanged rapid words in Pashto with Karo, who took over holding Stella’s hand.
‘Is everything all right?’ Stella panted.
‘You’re doing very well,’ Esmie assured her with a smile. ‘The baby’s in position. I can see the head – it won’t be long now. Karo says you’re lucky – you’ve been blessed with a short labour.’
Stella had never experienced such pain. It gripped her like a vice. Each time it subsided she dreaded its return. But Esmie talked to her calmly and Karo murmured words that she couldn’t understand, yet were soothing.
‘Don’t fight it,’ Esmie said. ‘Save your energy. Breathe...in and out...That’s it – keep it steady. And again.’
Beyond the stuffy room, she knew that Tom was waiting anxiously. Half an hour ago, Esmie had gone out and reassured himthat all was going well. Now, Stella just wished it to be over. She never wanted to go through such an ordeal again. She panted and cried out.
Abruptly, Esmie ordered, ‘When the next contraction comes, start to push. Ready? Push!’
Stella pushed and howled. She clung onto Karo.
‘Again!’ Esmie urged.
As sweat ran down her face and soaked her body with the exertion, Stella cursed aloud. ‘Hugh-bloody-Keating! I hate you! I wish I’d never met—!’ Her cries were swallowed up by another roar of pain.
‘That’s it,’ Esmie coaxed. ‘Nearly there! One last big push this time. Go on, Stella, push!’
This time, Stella felt the difference. The excruciating red-hot pain was followed by the strangest sensation – as if she were expelling half of her insides – and then sudden relief. Moments later, Esmie let out a triumphant cry.
‘Well done, lassie!’
Stella lay back, heaving for breath, her eyes stinging with sweat. She heard the tiniest bleat of protest. Through blurred vision she watched Esmie and Karo deal with the bloodied newborn; clearing its airways, cutting the cord, wiping off the mucus, wrapping it and cooing over it.
‘Girl or a boy?’ Stella whimpered, euphoric with relief that it was over, and yet anxious.
Esmie gently held up the mewling bundle. ‘It’s a wee lassie. A beautiful girl – just like her mother.’
‘Let me see.’ Stella struggled to sit up. One thing still plagued her thoughts – unspoken to the Lomaxes, although they must have been worrying too: what did the baby look like?
As Esmie brought her daughter close, Stella could see dark sticky hair and a petite crinkled pink face screwed up against thelight of the kerosene lamp. Stella’s fears subsided. Apart from the hair colour, the baby didn’t look Anglo-Indian. The dark hair could be passed off as being like Tom’s. But the true mother’s heritage would not betray her. Stella sank back with relief.
‘Would you like to hold her?’ Esmie asked with a tentative smile.
Stella fought the desire to do so. ‘No, you keep her. Show her to MrLomax.’
