Christmas Delivery by Leah St. James ~ Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Christmas morning, Angela woke with a start, her heart slamming against her chest. Her eyes traveled the length of her bedroom, then she glanced at the clock. Nine-fifteen. Sunlight poured through the pretty drapes she’d just put up a week earlier, and as she looked around her bedroom, she wondered why it felt like she’d never seen it before.

She remembered then, the trauma of the night before, Peggy, the baby, all the blood. The EMTs had finally arrived, and she’d watched the crew work over the family in precision teamwork, then load all three patients in units that looked like they’d been picked up at an antique auction.

The fog had lifted by then, and she’d followed until they’d reached an intersection she recognized, then turned toward home. Once there, she’d staggered into the house, shed her coat in the foyer and moved to the bathroom to strip, dropping her clothes where she stood. After a quick shower, she’d fallen into bed.

The last she’d seen the family, the mom was barely alive.

Joints creaking as if she’d aged a hundred years overnight, she found her coat and dug her phone from the pocket to dial the hospital emergency number. One of the nurses answered, sounding harried, as usual.

“This is Dr. Jensen. Last night a husband, wife and newborn girl were brought in, car crash victims. I delivered the baby in the backseat. Can you tell me their condition?” Her voice sounded rushed, panicky, and she made an effort to calm her breathing.

After a pause, the nurse answered. “I’m sorry, Dr. Jensen, we have no record of receiving patients like that last night.”

“There must be a mistake. The EMTs said they were transporting the patients to the hospital down the road. That’s you.”

“Let me check with the supervisor.” She placed the call on hold and was back on the line in fifteen seconds. “I’m sorry, no one was brought in like that.”

Confused, Angela disconnected. It didn’t make sense. Deciding to shower to clear her head, she headed to the bathroom but stopped short at the threshold. It was clean—no bloodied skirt, no soiled sweater. She pawed through the hamper. Nothing but her work clothes from earlier in the week.

She looked at her hands. No scrapes from the roadway spill. Perfectly smooth skin.

Beginning to think she’d dreamed the whole thing, she moved to the kitchen, saw the coffeemaker had started up right on schedule, and made herself a mug, light and sweet.

She sipped while she wandered through the house looking for the evidence of the prior night’s events but found nothing. Still, something nagged at the back of her mind, like a transient memory that slipped and dodged just out of her reach.

It returned as she passed her closet. Last week, she’d pulled the drapes from a box of old belongings her father had sent when he’d sold the house last month.

At the time, she’d gone through the box, looking at mementos that had meant more to her father than to her. She’d spotted the drapes, thought they were pretty, then shoved the box and the rest of its contents to the back of her closet, promising to investigate some day. 

No better time like the present.

After grabbing a fresh mug of coffee, she settled on the floor next to the box and pried off the lid. On the top was her high school scrapbook stuffed with laminated newspaper clippings from her competitions and other awards, valedictorian speeches, scholarships, letters of early acceptance to medical school. All the signs of a professional life in the making, and her dad had recorded every moment.

Then she found her old baby book with its pink sateen cover. She remembered looking at it as a young girl, but after chronicling the pregnancy in the first quarter of the book, there was nothing, just blank pages where memories of first steps and first days of school should have gone.

She’d never blamed her father for leaving the pages empty. They weren’t her memories, and who would want his? She’d put it aside and forgotten about it. But now, something drew her to its pages.

Her fingers trembled as she flipped open the cover and began to read. There were cards, a number of them, with subdued and appropriate messages. Underneath was a piece of yellowed newspaper.

Carefully she unfolded the fragile document and smoothed it flat. It was two sheets, stapled together. The headline read: “Good Samaritan doctor delivers local couple’s baby following traffic accident.”

Angela’s eyes raced over the printing, and as she read, her hand went to her mouth. It was the same story, the exact same thing that had happened to her last night. An accident had happened in the early morning hours of December 25^th, past the entrance ramp to Highway 33. But not here. In Jersey. Her hometown. A local surgeon had delivered the baby. A baby girl.

To the side was a photo of her parents, their engagement photo, showing them young and in love. The caption read “Andrew Jensen and Margaret Smith Tulley are to be married in April.”

She’d seen the shot before, but as she stroked her fingers over her mother’s face—the dark hair so like hers, the dark, velvety eyes–a burst of recognition lit her insides like a firecracker. The woman in the photo was the same woman from the car last night. The pregnant woman, Peggy…Margaret…who’d given birth to…

Suddenly shaking, wondering what the hell was going on, she plowed past the cards that had poured in, and turned to the back cover where an envelope had been glued to the page labeled “Message to my Baby.”

Peggy had written her daughter a letter.

Angela pulled the single sheet from the envelope. The scent of musky rose wafted from the paper, bringing another tremor of awareness.

The handwriting was carefree, feminine but not girlish, and Angela pictured Peggy sitting at a table, pen in hand as she thought about what to say to her baby. Her eyes dropped to the words, and she inhaled a shaking breath as she began to read.

My beautiful baby,

As I write this, I don’t know if you’re a boy or a girl. I don’t know if your name will be Luke or Angela. I like the idea of Biblical names, but your father, the pragmatist, he’s not so sure he wants to attach that kind of mythology (his word) to an infant. So, we split the decision.

What I do know is that you’re a blend of the both of us. You’re part scientist, like him. You’ll be blessed with his logic, his clear-headedness. His goodness. You’ll have some of his ability to compute and analyze, and you’ll be tempted to demand proof, and rationality.

But don’t let that rule you. You’re half me, too. Half dreamer, open to the wonders of the universe that your eyes can’t see. Don’t be afraid of that part of you. Don’t be afraid to believe in the magic of the world.

Study the logic, but understand that it cannot possibly describe or explain life’s mysteries. Understand that we’re not supposed to understand.

Let your instincts guide you, knowing that you were created by a God who loves you and gave you special gifts to use for good, and always reach for that good.

Forgive when it’s easier to begrudge. Love when it’s easier to hate. Love deeply and passionately. And when you find that love, don’t question it, just accept it, and cherish it. I know I have.

Her throat aching, Angela pressed her lips to the sheet, then folded it and placed it back in the baby book.

As she reached for the phone to call her dad, it rang. Ron.

“Good morning,” she answered, sniffling back the tears that had started to fall.

“Morning,” he answered. “How are you today? Survive the night okay after I dragged you to church?” He chuckled, but it was a nervous kind of chuckle.

She thought for a moment. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“You feel like having breakfast, then maybe we could hang out together before the shift starts?”

“Yes, I’d like that. Can you pick me up, though? I don’t feel like driving.”

“Sure. Thirty minutes okay?”

“Fine.”

“See you—“

“Wait, Ron,” she interrupted. “One thing before you hang up.”

“Sure.”

She was trembling, unsure what she was feeling, or what she’d do about it, but it suddenly seemed important.

“Merry Christmas, Ron. Merry Christmas.”

The End.

I hope you enjoyed Christmas Delivery! 
Wishing you and yours a joyous Christmas and a healthy, happy 2014!  

Please click here to read Chapter One,
and here to read Chapter Two.

________________

Beginning Saturday, Dec. 21, through Christmas Eve, my "Christmas Dance" is on sale for Kindle for 99 cents. It's the story of a man and a woman who are (what I call) unhappily happily married. It's a story about love and marriage and temptation--what happens after the bride and groom start to build a life together. You can read more about it here. Merry Christmas!

Christmas Delivery by Leah St. James ~ Chapter Two

 Chapter Two

A misting rain began to fall as Angela headed toward the highway and the fifteen-mile ride that would bring her home, the largest town in the rural area. Ahead, one of the electronic signs that warned of traffic problems flashed, and she slowed to read it: “Accident on entrance ramp to Highway 33. Use alternate route.”

That brought her to a full stop, right in the middle of the road. Alternate route? She didn’t know an alternate route. After a year in this area, she’d had time only to find one way to and from the area where she worked. This was it.

The blare of a horn behind her jerked her to attention, and she hit the gas to move to the shoulder. A car sped past, its engine roaring, and she quickly followed in the hopes it might lead her home.

It was too fast. In seconds the roadway ahead disappeared in a veil of fog, and with it the car’s taillights, leaving only white stripes in an endless backdrop of smudgy black.

She slowed to a crawl and squinted through the slapping windshield wipers to focus on the lines, her teeth clenched with such force her jaw began to ache, her fingers gripping with such strength her arms began to shake.

She’d taken a deep breath to clear her head when a noise ahead caught her attention—screeching tires trying to grip pavement. Angela took her foot off the gas, and while her car idled, a high-pitched whining filled the space ahead of her, followed by an explosion of metal, ripping and grinding and crashing for what seemed like forever.

“Oh God.” The words escaped her mouth, sounding like a prayer, before she knew they were in her head. She shook the thought away and moved the car forward, accelerating bit by bit until her headlights caught it—the crash.

A car, small and brown and looking like a relic from the mid-‘80s, had stopped in a broadside position ten feet off the roadway, its crumpled hood molded around a drunken-looking light stanchion. The overhead light spotlighted the car and its predicament in a yellowish funnel shape, as exhaust pumped from the car’s tailpipe in flumes so thick, even the now-sheeting rain couldn’t smother it.

She was up and out of her car before she’d pulled her phone from her pocket, and as she ran, she flipped the switch on her headset and dialed 9-1-1, then dropped the phone back in her pocket.

The dispatcher answered just as she reached the car, but her attention was caught by the web-like splintering of the windshield. Inside, the man in the driver’s seat was slumped over the steering wheel. Blood seeped from a gash in his head.

Angela grabbed the door handle, and as she yanked, the door hinge screeched its reluctance to yield. When it gave way to the pressure, she landed on her butt on the slick, grimy shoulder, and shards of gravel and glass dug into the fleshy part of her palms.

Wincing against the sting, she scrambled to her knees and crawled forward.

The interior of the car smelled like sweat, blood and other body fluids, and her nose wrinkled involuntarily. The man hadn’t moved, and she reached past him to turn off the ignition, then pressed her fingers to his carotid artery. When she felt the answering pulse, weak and thready but there, she drew in a quick breath and let it out in an explosive sigh.

“9-1-1 operator. Again I repeat, what is the emergency?” The man’s voice blasted from her earpiece, making her heart leap, and she realized the dispatcher had been speaking the whole time.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I fell, forgot I had you on the phone. There’s been an accident, somewhere near the detour for Highway 33.”

“What detour, ma’am?”

“The one at the entrance ramp. The sign said it was closed due to an accident.” Her annoyance caused the words to whip from her mouth, short and brittle.

The dispatcher hesitated. “You said this was Highway 33?”

“Yes, 33.”

“There is no Highway 33.”

“The point is, I couldn’t get on the highway, so I kept traveling on that road. I got, I don’t know, a couple miles down and there’s a terrible accident.” Her voice trembled, and she swallowed the spit forming in her mouth while observing the car’s occupant. “There’s a man. He’s alive but bleeding from a head wound. Looks like he impacted the windshield. I don’t want to move him. He could have spinal or other internal injuries.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“Surgeon, yes.”

A rustling noise came from the back of the car, then a moan, and Angela moved to the back door, then peered through the window.

A woman lay braced against the opposite door, her feet planted on the seat so her knees were lifted and spread. Her hands were wrapped around her belly. It was huge and swollen. She convulsed, her back arching, and wailed for a full five seconds before simmering into a moan.

“Look, can’t you track me by GPS or something?” Angela asked the dispatcher. “There’s a pregnant woman in the back. Looks like she’s in labor. I have to go.”

She didn’t wait for a reply, but tuned the dispatcher out while she opened the door. At the intrusion, the woman jerked. Her hair was dark—whether black or brown was too difficult to determine in the murky light shining through the windows—and it was matted with perspiration that drenched her scalp and ran down the sides of her face. Her eyes, wild and glistening with tears, latched on Angela’s face.

“Help me.”

“I am. I am. What’s your name?”

“Peggy.”

“Hi, Peggy. I’m a doctor. I’m here to help. How far along are you?”

“Full term. I’ve been in labor since this morning. My water broke and we were rushing for the hospital. My husband was driving like a crazy man. We slid and crashed.”

“Contractions, how far apart?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. Seems like they never stop.”

Right on cue, she gasped then began to pant. “Here comes another one.”

“Hold on. I need to take a look.”

Angela crawled onto the seat and slid the woman’s dress up over her knees. There was blood, a lot, and she tried to recall from her one obstetrics rotation if this much was normal. Or maybe it was from the accident. But then the contraction built, and the baby’s head began to crown and push past the bulging tissue.

“Peggy, you’re almost there, almost there. Doing great.”

Peggy moaned while she bore down, seeming to instinctively know when to back off.

When the contraction eased, she sagged against the door, panting once more. Angela dragged her coat off, then slipped it beneath Peggy’s hips.

“What are you doing out tonight?”

“Excuse me?” She hadn’t expected the third degree from the woman in the midst of childbirth.

“What are you doing out on such a nasty night? Shouldn’t you be home, next to a husband or lover, maybe your own baby?” There was a teasing quality to her voice, despite its weak breathiness.

Angela fought rolling her eyes as she swiftly tugged her sweater off her arms. It was brand new, a cozy fabric that would be gentle against the baby’s skin. “Actually, I was at a church service, with my boyfriend.”

The woman’s eyes flared before half closing. “How could I forget. Christmas. I’m having a Christmas baby.” Her eyes had closed, and her lips lifted in a weak smile.

“Yes, you are.” But that was the extent of the conversation because another contraction grabbed the woman and bowed her back in its grip. “This is it,” she said, hoping she was right.

Quickly, Angela draped the sweater over her hands, placed them next to the woman’s body and prepared to deliver the baby. Like catching a football, that’s what they’d said during training. She’d even caught a few babies herself, and remembered the thrill of new life. Ron had spoken often of it, how the female body was designed so uniquely for this task. How the baby and mother, in perfect design, knew how to work together.

The memory of his words kept her calm, her hands steady. Still, she half listened for the arrival of the ambulance while rain pounded the hood of the car like a spray of bullets.

“You’re doing great, Peggy. The baby’s almost here.” Blood gushed from the woman’s womb and spilled from the coat onto the floor of the car. Angela ignored it, ignored what it might mean, and focused on the baby’s head as it slowly emerged.

 “His head is clear. He’s beautiful. Two eyes, a nose, a mouth. He’s perfect.” Her voice caught in her throat, and she had to swallow a rush of emotion.

Peggy sagged against the door and her legs went lax. “I’m tired, so tired.”

“Of course you are. Creating life is no easy work.” The baby’s head rested in her hands, and as she spoke she dabbed at his eyes and mouth to clear the mucus. And where the hell was that ambulance?

“Do you have children?” The woman spoke, once again giving her an X-ray look that seemed to seep into her soul.

“No. But hopefully, some day.”

“Get married first. Don’t bring a baby into the world without a father.” Her eyes lit for a second before fatigue dimmed them once more. In that moment, Angela saw their velvety brown shade, like pansies. They reminded her of someone, a face flitting in the back of her mind. It vanished.

She shook away the confusion and said, “Look at you, already talking like a mom.”

“I am, aren’t I?”

Before Angela could respond, Peggy tensed, and her eyes rolled back. Another contraction. She heaved herself into an upright position, grabbed her knees to draw them to her chest, and strained, letting out a series of strangled squeals.

“Couple more seconds and that beautiful baby will be yours,” Angela crooned, half to comfort the mom, half herself. But nothing happened. No movement from the baby.

Peggy began to whimper, and Angela’s shoulders tensed from holding position for what felt like an eternity. When Peggy collapsed again, sounding like a bellows, Angela flipped the switch on her earpiece.

“Hello, 9-1-1, you still there?” Silence. The call had died. Next she tried Ron, but it went to voicemail.

Scrubbing her face, as if the manipulation of tissue would wake her brain, she thought back to her conversations with Ron. He’d told her about a seminar he’d attended on midwifery and at-home birthing.

Babies and mothers are instinctively adept at getting out of problems, she remembered him saying. You just had to help them.

Her thoughts clear, she moved closer to Peggy, her hamstrings spasming as she moved from the scrunched position.

“Peggy, I think the baby’s shoulder is stuck. I need you to get on your hands and knees.”

“What? Here?” Her eyes floated open, but they were flat, and dull. As if she’d given up.

“Yes. Now. You have to now, Peggy. Your baby needs you.”

Those were the magic words, and they compelled the exhausted woman to action. Together they maneuvered her until she’d balanced on her hands and knees, her right shoulder and hip resting against the back of the car seat.

But the effort had taken its toll, and Peggy’s words slurred. Still she kept her humor. “I like you. I wouldn’t stick my butt in just anyone’s face you know.”

“Somehow I knew that about you, Peggy. Good job. Let’s get this baby born.”

The words were barely out of her mouth when Peggy tensed with yet another contraction, only this time, the baby began to move.

“He’s coming, Peggy. He’s coming. Hang in there.” Her voice had thickened with emotion, a combination of relief and tension, fear and gratitude all mixed up.

As the shoulders began to emerge, she slipped her hands under the baby and eased him out.

Or her.

“A girl. You have a beautiful baby girl. Congratulations, Mama Peggy.” With tears filling her eyes, then overflowing, Angela wrapped the baby in the sweater, made sure she was breathing, and waited while Peggy flopped around. When she placed the baby in her arms, a look of wonder and awe washed away the fatigue, and Angela felt her shoulders relax.

While Peggy cooed to her baby, Angela used the hem of her skirt to wipe the blood from her hands, then dashed to the front of the car to check on the dad. He hadn’t regained consciousness, but his pulse was steadier, which gave her hope that internal injuries were minimal.

In the backseat, the baby made little grunting noises as it nursed for the first time, and it wasn’t until she began to cry, tiny mewl-like noises, that Angela suspected anything.

She glanced back. Peggy’s face had turned gray, her breathing rapid and shallow, and bruise-like shadows hollowed the space beneath her eyes. Moving once more to the back seat, Angela placed her palm on Peggy’s neck. Skin clammy, pulse racing. Shock.

“Is the baby okay?” Peggy’s voice sounded slippery, like she couldn’t control it.

“The baby is fine. You’ll be fine too. The ambulance will be here soon.”

“You saved my baby. Thank you.”

“No, you saved your baby.”

The corners of Peggy’s mouth tipped up in an expression of pure satisfaction. “She’s beautiful.”

“Absolutely. Look at all that curly black hair.”

“Like yours, isn’t it?” Peggy took her eyes off the baby to peer at Angela for an uncomfortably long time. Before Angela could answer, she said, “She’s going to do wonderful things. Maybe she’ll be a doctor, like you. God has great plans for this one.”

Avoiding the “G” word, Angela said, “I’m sure you’ll be right there with her, enjoying every moment.”

Peggy shook her head, cuddled the baby’s head into her neck, and rocked back and forth. “I wrote her a letter.”

Unsure how to respond, Angela kept quiet, and after a moment, Peggy adjusted the baby so she could look into her face. “Happy birthday, my sweet angel.” Her eyes brightened. “That’s her name. Angela.”

“That’s my name,” Angela blurted it before thinking, as if this woman would give a damn.

But Peggy looked up and held Angela’s gaze while giving her a bittersweet, knowing kind of smile. “I know.”

Please check back tomorrow for the final chapter of Christmas Delivery.
If you missed the first chapter, you can find it here.