The Midwife | 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9
Text copyright Myrrh Sagrada © 2004

arguerite had long ago learned that, in caring for the sick, her mother's every action held a purpose. As on so many other occasions, today Marguerite had watched her mother survey her patient's surroundings looking for signs of distress and imbalance. "Healing is difficult in the presence of uncertainty or anxiety," Celeste had once counseled, "and as healers we are bound to eliminate the sources of those things, if we can, in order to better treat the sufferer." What had happened with Agnes Argent was only that, but Marguerite felt a guilty relief at the departure of the troublesome "old crow".

     "How long has Beatriz been thus?" Celeste asked Jehan as she laid a cool hand on his mother's brow.

    "She took to her bed midday," he replied. "She sent me for you after nones. But mistress, she seems much the worse now."

     "Don't worry, much can yet be done for your mama. You may stay by her side until I dismiss you. And don't let her noises scare you, it's what laboring mothers do. Is there a birthing chair?" She turned to Marguerite for an answer.

     "The servant has gone for it, and other things."
     "Cloths, pots?"
     "…and an extra lantern."
     "Water heating?"
     "Yes, mama."
     "Well done." She turned toward the bed. "Your baby seems anxious to be born, Beatriz! When did you last take food?"

     "…don't know," was the weakened reply.

     "This morning, ma'am," offered the housemaid, bustling in with arms full. She curtsied and added, "My mistress took only broth and bread, and not much of that."

     Two older male servants trailed sheepishly behind the maid bearing the birth chair and sundry supplies. Both stopped short and stared when they saw Jehan at his mother's side.

     Celeste bowed her head in acknowledgement, then said to the men, "Jehan is here at his mother's request; I shall dismiss him before the birth. Set the chair there, if you will. The supplies there. Bring the water up too," and to the maid, "Have you sow's milk?"

     As the maid spoke she waved the men out of the room to fetch the water. "The little girl said you'd need such, ma'am; it's in the silver cup."

     The male servants shuffled out, bowing repeatedly as they went.

     "Bring a bowl of goat milk also to bathe the child," Celeste called after them.

     The midwife then began by righting the laboring woman's position. Seeing some bolts of cloth in the corner, she recruited the maid to help her shove them under the already voluminous pile of pillows, to bring the patient to a nearly sitting up position. Then she pulled from the folds of her garment a miniature wooden image of the Virgin, with a round niche carved in her belly and a tiny removable baby Christ nestled there. Celeste removed the baby figure from the niche and placed the two side by side amid the pillows. She began sponging the laborer's forehead, face and inner arms while praying, "Maria Gravida, assist this pious woman in this birth."

     Beatriz moaned. "Something is wrong, I know it."

     "Calm yourself, Beatriz. Breathe easy. Let's have a look now."

    Celeste went to the foot of the bed and pushed back the covering cloth to begin her examination. The housemaid, somewhat giddy with relief at the midwife's arrival, began chattering excitedly. "We've been doing everything to bring the baby. Madame Argent had me give my mistress pepper, to make her sneeze and push the baby out. And I've had the other servants opening and closing every cupboard and drawer in the house all day! The labor's been so hard, Madame Argent says it must be a girl."

     "Madame Argent should have waited for my arrival to administer anything. The pepper might only aggravate the pain. You're lucky she didn't tear the opening with a sneeze. What else was done?"

     "We gave her ale. She's very fond of ale, and she's been so agitated, we thought it would relax her."

     "I don't fault you, mademoiselle; I know you only wish to care well for your mistress. But ale was a poor choice by Madame Argent. She should know it will only increase the mother's need to relieve herself."

     "Indeed, it did," the maid said secretively.

     "And as for opening and closing cupboards … well, next time a recitation of Psalm 58 will serve as well."

     Celeste rose and took the sufferer by the hand, looked in her eyes, checked inside her lower lids, laid a hand on her heart to measure its rhythm.

     "Everything looks fine, Bea. I say this baby comes well before Matins."

     Beatriz' legs began to tremble uncontrollably, and her teeth to chatter.


     "Oh, mistress, she's chilled!" The maid grabbed for a blanket.

     Celeste held out a hand to stop her. "Warmth will help, but it's not chill that grips her. The birth is close now and her body's beyond her control; she's agitated and she must be made to relax. Marguerite, submerge this vial of olive oil in a basin of hot water. Mademoiselle, in my large satchel there you'll find two empty bladders. Fill them with hot water, tie them off, and wrap each in a damp cloth. Soak a larger cloth and hang it by the fire until I ask for it."

May it be Your will, O great, mighty and awesome God, that the merits of this poor woman who is trembling and crying out in her pains of childbirth be remembered before You...