Excerpt from Rise of the Summerfields



                                                                                                      Summer 1883

    “It’s a boy!”

    Genevieve grabbed a fresh breath and forced herself to open her eyes. She saw the bedroom of Summerfield Manor, the
    doctor, and her mother with her hands clasped to her chin. But she didn't see the one thing in the world she wanted to see—
    had to see. “Let me see him!’

    Dr. Peter held him up for inspection. The baby screamed.

    Genevieve’s mother grasped her hand. “He has good lungs on him, that’s for certain.”

    “Can I hold him?”

    “Shortly,” the doctor said. “Let us get him cleaned up.”

    Genevieve was vaguely aware of the doctor and his wife, Molly, taking care of her son. Her son! She was a moth—

    Her happy thoughts were interrupted by another contraction. “Ahhh!”

    “What’s going on, doctor?” asked her mother.

    He returned to Genevieve and examined her. “Oh my! We have another one!”

    Another one?

    “You’re going to have to do it again, Mrs. Weston.”

    Genevieve knew that without having to be told. Her body was demanding. It was in charge and all she could do was submit.
    The here and now was consumed with pain. She heard voices but they floated outside her consciousness. She and the baby
    were one, focused on a common goal.


    There was no alternative. Her mother and Molly supported her on either side, and with a primal scream she pushed the baby
    into its new life.

    “It’s a girl!”

    Fully spent, Genevieve fell back on the pillows. “One of each?”

    Her mother kissed her cheek. “One of each, my girl. How marvelous!”

    She heard a door opening, and Morgan’s voice. “I heard the scream. Is she all right?”

    “Morgan . . .” Genevieve held out her hand and he rushed by her side, his eyes trying to take in everything around him.

    “What? Two?” He pulled her hand to his lips.

    “A boy and a girl.”

    His eyes welled with tears as he kissed her. “Well done, my darling!”

    After a few minutes, Dr. Peter passed her their son, and Genevieve cradled him in her right arm. “He is beautiful.”

    “And here, Mr. Weston, here is your daughter.”

    Morgan sat on the bed and took the little girl into his arms. He gently touched her chin and stroked her head. “Oh dear. Oh my.            
    I am smitten.”

    “Let me see her. Let me see my babies, together,” Genevieve asked.

    He placed their daughter upon her left arm. The two babies snuggled and wriggled and cooed, making a myriad of expressions.
    “Our joy is complete,” she said.

    Morgan beamed down at them. “Our joy is just beginning.”

                                              Copyright 2016 Nancy Moser
                                                                                               Mustard Seed Press