smeared with gruesome-looking substances that I’d read about but was inadequately prepared to see on my own child. Her hair was jet black, and there was plenty of it.
“Why is she blue? What’s wrong with her? Is she dying?” I felt my anxiety climb.
“She’ll turn as red as a beet in no time,” Marcus said, looking down at his new sister. He held out a pair of scissors and a clamp to Matthew. “And there’s certainly nothing wrong with her lungs. I think you should do the honors.”
Matthew stood, motionless.
“If you faint, Matthew Clairmont, I will never let you forget it,” Sarah said testily. “Get your ass over there and cut the cord.”
“You do it, Sarah.” Matthew’s hands trembled on my shoulders.
“No. I want Matthew to do it,” I said. If he didn’t, he was going to regret it later.
My words got Matthew moving, and he was soon on his knees next to Dr. Sharp. In spite of his initial reluctance, once he was presented with a baby and the proper medical equipment, his movements were practiced and sure. After the cord was clamped and cut, Dr. Sharp quickly swaddled our daughter in a waiting blanket. Then she presented this bundle to Matthew.
He stood, dumbstruck, cradling the tiny body in his large hands. There was something miraculous in the juxtaposition of a father’s strength with his daughter’s vulnerability. She stopped crying for a moment, yawned, and resumed yelling at the cold indignity of her current situation.
“Hello, little stranger,” Matthew whispered. He looked at me in awe. “She’s beautiful.”
“Lord, just listen to her,” Marcus said. “A solid eight on the Apgar test, don’t you think, Jane?”
“I agree. Why don’t you weigh and measure her while we clean up a bit and get ready for the next one?”
Suddenly aware that my job was only half done, Matthew handed the baby into Marcus’s care. He then gave me a long look, a deep kiss, and a nod. “Ready, ma lionne?”
“As I’ll ever be,” I said, seized by another sharp pain.
Twenty minutes later, at 12:15 A.M., our son was born. He was larger than his sister, in both length and weight, but blessed with a similarly robust lung capacity. This, I was told, was a very good thing, though I did wonder if we would still feel that way in twelve hours. Unlike our firstborn, our son had reddish blond hair.
Matthew asked Sarah to cut the cord, since he was wholly absorbed in murmuring a stream of pleasant nonsense into my ear about how beautiful I was and how strong I’d been, all the while holding me upright.
It was after the second baby was born that I started to shake from head to foot.
“What’s. Wrong?” I asked through chattering teeth.
Matthew had me out of the birthing stool and onto the bed in a blink.
“Get the babies over here,” he ordered.
Marthe plopped one baby on me, and Sarah deposited the other. The babies’ limbs were all hitched up and their faces puce with irritation. As soon as I felt the weight of my son and daughter on my chest, the shaking stopped.
“That’s the one downside to a birthing stool when there are twins,” Dr. Sharp said, beaming.
“Mums can get a bit shaky from the sudden emptiness, and we don’t get a chance to let you bond with the first child before the second one needs your attention.”
Marthe pushed Matthew aside and wrapped both babies in blankets without ever seeming to disturb their position, a bit of vampire legerdemain that I was sure was beyond the capacity of most midwives, no matter how experienced. While Marthe tended to the babies, Sarah gently massaged my stomach until the afterbirth came free with a final, constrictive cramp.
Matthew held the babies for a few moments while Sarah gently cleaned me. A shower, she told me, could wait until I felt like getting up—which I was sure would be approximately never. She and Marthe removed the sheets and replaced them with new ones, all without my being required to stir. In no time I was propped up against the bed’s downy pillows, surrounded by fresh linen.
Matthew put the babies back into my arms. The room was empty.
“I don’t know how you women survive it,” he said, pressing his lips against my forehead.
“Being turned inside out?” I looked at one tiny face, then the other. “I don’t know either.” My voice dropped. “I wish Mom and Dad were here. Philippe, too.”
“If he were, Philippe would be shouting in the streets and