The Rope Carrier by Theresa Tomlinson Page A

weep.
    â€œNow see here,” said the Dame, forcing Netty to look at her. “This child will come when it wants. There’s many a fine baby comes both quick and early. You keep up your hopes, and with God’s help we’ll have a fine healthy child to show our Josh when he gets home.”
    â€œAye,” Netty nodded, biting her lips as she was drawn back into the pain.
    There was no time to stop and worry now, with the baby coming so fast. Minnie rushed about trying to do as the Dame told her. She’d helped before, when Annie had attended abirthing, but there’d always been plenty of women around, fussing and elbowing in and handing out advice. This was different, frightening, with just the two of them and no time for fetching more help. This was her own Netty in great distress and losing blood. Dame Eyre gave her instructions clear and fast. Just as well, thought Minnie, for as soon as they’d got the bed covered, and the knife set in the fire, the baby was on its way with the head starting to show.
    A low painful groan filled the house. This time, the sound had not come from Netty. The Dame looked at Minnie.
    â€œCanst manage for a moment, child?”
    Then, without waiting for answer, she was off down the stairs to see to her husband. Netty gave a sharp growl of pain, and out into Minnie’s hands slithered a small, struggling girl-child, spotted with blood and covered in the creamy sludge that protects the early-born.
    Minnie stared, panic rising, her heart thudding fast. The arms waved and the tiny fists clenched, but mouth and nostrils were blocked. Minnie pulled up the hem of her soft cotton petticoat and, with her hands trembling, she gently wiped around the nose and mouth. Still the child failed to breathe. Minnie pinched her nostrils firmly till she could see that they were clear.
    â€œDoes it live? It makes no sound . . . it’s as I feared.” Netty tried to heave herself up. The baby took a faltering breath . . . and howled. Netty flopped back onto the pillow, relieved. Minnie stooped to wipe around the eyes and was rewarded by a fierce glare, from eyes as steely-grey as her own.
    The Dame’s footsteps came hurrying upstairs at the sound of the child’s cry.
    â€œTha’s done well,” she said, when she’d examined the baby. “Now fetch the knife, and thy father’s twine, and we’ll get this little ’un clean and wrapped.”
    Minnie soothed the child while the Dame saw to Netty, and atlast it seemed that their work was done. Netty had fallen into a deep sleep of exhaustion.
    â€œYou see to the mester now,” said Minnie. “I can watch this little ’un.”
    â€œAye. You are right, Minnie.”
    It was the first time that she’d called her by name. “You are right. I must see to him now . . . for he died as the child was born.”
    Minnie’s mouth dropped open. She forgot to say that she was sorry.
    â€œLike me,” she whispered, looking down at the baby, her arms tightening around it.
    â€œWhat can tha mean, child?”
    â€œLike me. Born in the moment of death.”
    Minnie followed the Dame downstairs, carrying the baby still. She offered to help with the work of laying out, though she dreaded doing it.
    â€œNay. Sit thee’sen down and rock that little ’un, and watch the others while I get done. Fetch me that linen sash down from yon peg, Marianne. That’s it, the one I fasten my gown with.”
    Marianne fetched the sash, puzzled.
    â€œCome here, Minnie. Put this over tha shoulder, good. Now wrap it snug round little ’un, then under your arm . . . like this, and I’ll fasten it tight at the back. There now, you have your arms free and this child will feel as safe as if still in its mother’s belly. Better than any cradle, that. Sit thee down and tell them one of tha tales. Aye, Jack can sit and listen, too. Tell about the cave. You know, the one they love