A Happy Event - Eventually.

[Cinnabar]

A grin for Glenn and another sip of brandy, glad for the distraction that banter provides. "It's a nice change to be able to do my duty by not doing something. Maybe that's where I've been going wrong - rather than seeking to do good, I should simply neglect to do ill." A slightly more mischievous smirk follows. "Perhaps that was Bromn's intent by doing nothing at all."

The bustle of ladies up and down the stairs is a source of some nervousness, each time the midwife's assistants go past earning a glance the stairs, as if wondering whether this is normal, this traffic to and from the birthing room. Things seem quiet enough overhead, for all that there's a fair thickness of sturdy stone and timber in the way.

"They'd say if things weren't right, wouldn't they? They'd come and fetch me. So things are fine. Cam's fine." He nods firmly, a deep breath to reassure himself - and then finds his hand abruptly devoid of similarly reassuring brandy, which prompts a blink and a fleeting frown of puzzlement before he notes the culprit.

"Ah - it's fine, Mrs Kaczmarek, really. I'll be fine, it's just... everything's alright upstairs?" Uncertainty in his tone, in his expression, quite at odds with his usual air of steady confidence.

"How is she?"

[Glenn]

"Intent? I don't think Bromn had intent so much as he had incompetance, myself." It was always just a little more personal there than it ought to be for Glenn considering he's barely even met the man. Perhaps he had another quip to follow up with, or better yet, some actual reassurances to Cinnabar given his worries. No news is good news, right? As it was, though, the brandy was snatched and Glenn was doing his best to look innocent, as if it wasn't his fault at all. "Really, he can handle... yes, well, nevermind." His look probably came off more as chastized than innocent and his voice would fade away quickly. There were important questions being asked and important answers to follow.

[Wendy]

Magda Kaczmarek - of a greater force than any other woman in the room - made her presence known. Her abrupt arrival, review and departure provided the mother-to-be with a grin for the thought. Knowing that she would be on-scene if Mistress Roslin had any difficulty was ultimately reassuring. With two of Myrken's greatest inside Calomel Hall, what could go wrong?

Lotion warms into her skin, thanks to Lavender's soothing touch. It comes at the ebb of robust contractions aiding the baby's move within the birth canal. Fingers loosened of the fabric, she lets the sheet fall from her shoulders - all the more room for Lavender's purpose - and leans forward, suddenly feeling most fortunate to have her there, and for Glenn to have come and helped, and for Magda's presence... everyone there, including Mistress Roslin who is getting to know her most intimately by the hour... everyone is being incredibly supportive.

And she can only imagine where Cinn is by then, and what he may be doing. No doubt Mrs. Kaczmarek will train him up to be a father in thirty minutes or less, all the while filling everyone's nervous stomachs with one of her favored stews or something.

"Lavender, you think of everything," she grins, not half teasing, since Cambree has forgotten the one thing she could have used most. Her laugh runs out of breath, "Rose petals...!" Amazing.

"The tea can't be far off, can it?" she says, lifting her gaze for the Mistress.

"Let's have ourselves a look," replies the elder, bracing Cambree's shoulders against Lavender's hands, and pinning the breath in her lungs.

[Raveness]

Lavender was pulled from her tasks to glance at Magda Kaczmarek as she stuck her head in. There was a soft smile and a nod toward her, but she went back to massaging lotion into Cambree's skin.

Everything? Did she really think of everything? There was a head tilt, not one that Cambree could see from their current positions. Of course, Lavender did have plenty of time to prepare.. about nine months, to be exact. There were still a few other things in the bag, but all in good time.

When Cambree asks about the tea, it is the normally quiet and shy Lavender who begins to scream for the girl and the tea. "Tea! We need the tea up here! Right now!"

Lavender appears oblivious, having no idea that screaming from the room just might set the highly volatile Governor off. There is also the fact that the high pitched screech was very near Cambree's ears, as she settles back on Lavender, but .. well.. it's too late now, isn't it?

[Wendy]

A fear filled wince at that. High-pitched and of great volume, Lavender's shrill holler gives voice to a string of tension. "Really!" Cambree's eyes are squeezed closed. "It was just a question, cousin!"

The tea house matron sharply turns, a flash of green disapproval sweeps the tea trader's countenance.

"Excuse me, ladies," the midwife cuts in, "By no means do I intend to interfere; however, this small matter of child coming into the world has me wondering whether I could have a look at Mrs. Calomel," she smiles with absolute politeness, "These little ones tend to make their own plans."

"What if Mrs. Kaczmarek thinks you were yelling at her?" Cambree asks, in plain speak, then recovering with a somewhat brooding look to share with the midwife, "I'm sorry, Mistress Roslin, please, you may proceed."

She is not so sore at Lavender as she is from the struggle of labor, but irritations flare, emotions rattle, and words hiss from time to time, especially when one's intimate region is becoming bombarded by waves of contraction.

Her sheet forgotten, Cambree's hands bank against the rounded curves of Lavender's thighs, pushing to sit upright and toward the bed's very edge. Their midwife is allowed what inspections she must perform.

Pressure mounts, immediately following the exam. Another wave forming, gearing to seize by force, Cambree's voice rumbles, "There won't be time for tea. " Cringing fingers upon Lavender's limbs, she steals a breath, "It's coming too quickly."

It is intense pressure that time had healed the memory of, but is undoubtedly returned.

The reliable midwife communicates to her student with shared looks and quiet gestures, nodding in validation that she has seen for herself that these statements are true. "I'll have that bucket of water here, and you can take that one off the fire." she instructs, "Have the child's bath ready."

To Cambree, then Lavender, she smiles. The look of genuine delight strong in her gaze, she announces, "When you're ready, Mrs. Calomel."

[Cinnabar]

It would be untrue to say that the Governor doesn't flinch at the shout from upstairs, and there's a grimace of understanding as the words sink in - the tea! Cambree's special blend that she'd mixed in anticipation of this day, and which is... where? Most of her tea-blending materials, herbs and petals and spices and leaves were over in the old farmhouse at the time she'd told him about it, and since then there'd been so much moving of things from one building to the other that it's anyone's guess as to where it might be. As one of the midwife's rather harried-looking assistants hurries past he tugs at her sleeve.

"I don't think you'll find the tea she wants." Apologetic in tone, and mentally kicking himself for not including the special tea among the other myriad preparations they'd made. Still... hm. Oh! He brightens, then, as an idea strikes. "There's something that might suffice. Excuse me." This last to Glenn and Magda as he hurries down the stairs, not looking back to see if the midwife's assistant is following.

He has just the thing in mind, it seems, as he selects a stoppered earthenware jar on a shelf near the kitchen's large iron cooking range. He hastily spoons a couple of measures of dried leaves and petals and aromatic herbs into an empty teapot before handing it to the the young lady with a beaming grin.

"All it needs is boiling water, and then to brew for a few minutes. Cam'll know when it's ready." There! He's helped! And he even remembers to hand the assistant a sturdy clay cup so that his wife won't have to sip it from the pot.

[Raveness]

Lavender would smile apologetically at the scolding from Cambree. It is forgiven instantly as the contractions quicken. The lotion is quicky put away back into the bag before returning back to her upright position behind her cousin. Her hands would move to rub aching muscles and give a glance to the midwife with curious worry and a sheepish smile.

"Sorry.." she almost whispers to the two, everyone seems to be a little on edge, including Lavender.

Cambree would have to do without the tea? It would cause another wrinkle to appear in Lav's forehead and she would cast a glance toward the door and plead silently for someone to help relieve Cambree's pain. Hopefully, her screaming wasn't in vain. Surely, someone had heard her cries?


Afraid to say anything more, Lavender would bite on her lower lip while looking at the two before her. Waiting until she knew what was going on and what she was to do next.

[Wendy]

Minutes seemingly trickle by as unlimited pains cause teeth-gritting acceptance from the mother-to-be. Forgiveness overflows as the time for giving birth to the tiny Calomel is nearest in Cambree's mind.

Mistress Roslin's girl bursts into the room. Armed with a kettle, she struggles until words conquer heavy breath-taking, "Mistress-Roslin," she gasps, "I couldn't find the madame's tea." She uses her elbow as gesture toward the hanging vessel full of leaves and sprigs of herbs, catching her breath a little. "The gent said," her lungs purge more air, "his wife would know what to do with it." A clay cup fit to her palm, the girl swipes at her worried brow. She glances at their patient.

Cambree hastens toward moving from the bed, but the motion is slowed down by agony. Having overheard the young miss, she shakes her head some, then slips from the beds edge completely.

She and Mistress Roslin have had plenty of discussion over which position is best for mother and child while giving birth, and despite their light disagreement, Cambree decides to go ahead and cooperate with gravity.

"It's of no matter," she tells them, tipping back her head to look at Lavender while sinking closer to the floor, "We haven't got time for it." Her darkened green eyes show determination before they are set on someone else. "Mistress Roslin, if you could?"

The aide-turned-tea girl offers her help, but is hushed by Mistress Roslin's waving hand, "Go on, prepare it, child, I think Missus Calomel and I can manage here." Her smile is soft, confident, even though getting to the floor is a brief task for the elderly matron. With the Mrs. in a squatting position, it will do Mistress Roslin's knees a number, but she's done her best to accomodate for the Governor's wife and her odd requests.

Floor coverings are spread easily enough, then the Mistress gives a run-through of what's to be expected, sure that everyone is listening.

[Raveness]

As Cambree is moved off the bed, Lavender takes her place at the foot of the bed. Her bare feet flat on the floor on either side of Cambree, and her hands wrapped around Cambree's swollen belly. Her back is arched and her head almost sits atop of her older cousin's.

Diligently she listens to the midwife speak, ignoring the tea fiasco that is going on. Her heart is beating a million miles a minute, excitement and panic accelerating it. The midwife drones on.

"When the bairn comes, Susan will receive it into her hands. She'll take care that he or she is wrapped with fresh cloths and kept warm. As midwife, I will continue to administer labor and remove the sack where the child has been nourished. I am placing a bowl here for the sack to fall into," she indicates by waving a porcelain pot that she places near to her own leg. "When I am certain that Missus Calomel is safe, I will receive her newborn from Miss Susan and will oversee his or her care. You will both have a moment to see for yourselves before allowing Elizabeth a few minutes to bathe the child." Mistress Roslin and her girls appear to be ready to proceed.

[Wendy]

"When the bairn comes," Mistress Roslin explains. Her cheerful tone is a match for the way her eyes animate while she speaks. Cambree glances toward a pot, as indicated, and watches Mistress Roslin set it down.

She has a question in mind - is wanting to know when she'll be able to see and hold the baby. This need repeats in her mind so often that she cannot focus on what the midwife is saying. "Miss Susan will oversee his or her care," hears Cambree, then tips her head back to watch Lavender's acceptance of this.

Licking her lips, she is near to interrupt when Miss Roslin gives her a wink and says, "You will both have a moment to see for yourselves before allowing Elizabeth a few minutes to bathe the child."

She might look relieved if she could, but instead her lips press together in a hard line. Arms draped across her cousin's thighs, she keeps herself steady. Her bare feet press against the pile of fabrics tucked beneath them. "Mistress Roslin," she warns, "I can't wait any longer." Has she not been saying so for nearly an hour? It's coming, it's coming, the baby, it's time. Cambree's breath is held while every muscle in her body tightens.

The strength braces her arms against Lavender's helpful legs, as she bears down with all the might she can give this opportunity to push.

[Raveness]

And so it was time. There was pushing and holding and rubbing and more and more and it seemed like forever. Lavender was full of support and gentle touches, and asked one of the girls for a towel, so she could wipe the sweat from Cambree's brow. There is a nod of thanks, as one makes its way into her hand and is brushed lightly against the beads of sweat at Cambree's forehead.

There is a knot in the pit of her stomach and it rumbles, but thankfully, not as loud as her cousin's curses. Minutes dragged into hours and just when Lavender was thinking she couldn't handle it anymore.. there was a final push and then... and then.... was it here?!

She was so excited she almost leans over too far, straining to see if the baby was here, almost spilling into Cambree's lap.

"Is it here? A.. boy? A girl? Which? What is it?! Is it okay?" The quiet girl was suddenly overly excited into babbling from which she couldn't stop.

The rose petals.. she had to get the rose petals for the bath, but first.. a peek.. she had to see for herself.

[Wendy]

Breathing relief, but still sweating, still aching, Cambree leans back against Lavender. She has eyes for the scene while the blood flow resumes its flood away from her heart. Panting breaths are paused by a smile, but take charge again.

The wet, warm child is too quickly prepared for the hand-off to Miss Susan. It was predetermined, but she hadn't thought things would move so rapidly. With Noa and Maska, with her mother there, they took their time counting fingers, visiting toes, and discussing plans for the little future leaders.

Cambree didn't catch too much of a look this time, and wonders if Lavender did. Every mind is waiting for the news, upstairs and down... a boy? A girl? There is light laughter leaving her throat as her cousin inquires.

Mistress Roslin, though, seems occupied with handling the last of this pregnancy. Susan has her back turned on the group. A new mother, Cambree trains her ears for the sound of her baby's cry. It is certain to come any minute.

[Cinnabar]

Wrappings of clean linen and gauze to catch the child, wrapped up against what chill remains despite the crackling hearth, the room still lacking hangings and tapestries to soften the chill of stout stone walls. It is a familiar dance between the midwife and her assistants, each moving smoothly between their appointed tasks to ensure that both mother and newborn are attended to with all care.

Once she has assured herself that Cambree is in good health Mistress Roslin stands and steps over to Susan, reaching to accept the bundle containing the Calomels' child. The younger girl then moves to Cambree's side, offering words of support and praise for how strong she was, how brave.

The midwife meanwhile moves stoop beside the hearth, where the room is warmest and the firelight brightest, her head bowed over the infant, no doubt confirming that the child is in good health.

--~--

Downstairs - a floor up from the kitchen, a floor down from the delivery room - the child's father strains his ears to glean some hint of events above, an endeavour frustrated by the bustle and chatter from downstairs and the walls and floors of sturdy stone and timber that lie between him and the objects of his thoughts. People have stopped hurrying up and down the stairs so presumably something has happened. They'll call for him soon, surely. All he can do for now is pace this narrow landing and wait.

--~--

Mistress Roslin's assistants are brisk and competent when it comes to tending to Cambree's needs: a cool cloth is found for her brow and neck and oh, a cup of fresh-brewed tea as well - better late than never, and profuse apologies for not beign able to find the right brew. There is an undercurrent of tension to their outwardly cheerful chatter, however, frequent glances cast towards the midwife who still lingers near the fireplace. This uncertainty seems to find its release when there is a soft intake of breath from Mistress Roslin; when she meets Susan's gaze her eyes are wide, and a sharp shake of her head changes the mood dramatically. The events that follow are rapid, confusingly so.

The shift in tone is abrupt, from congratulating to apologising, consoling, and though it is hard to say exactly what has happened, one thing is clear: something is terribly wrong. Susan and Elizabeth move to comfort Cambree and Lavender, and though their words are laced with careful euphemism, with painfully delicate phrasing, it is clear enough that tragedy has occurred. So sorry, so sad, nothing to be done.

Across the room the midwife straightens and turns pale, stunned features towards the huddle of women by the bed. Her back is to the fireplace. Her hands are empty.

--~--

A floor below, perhaps mid-sentence, Cinnabar freezes, eyes staring unseeing, hands clenching into white-knuckled fists. His mouth works wordlessly for a moment before his features twist with fury and he is then running, ascending the stairs with frightening alacrity.

--~--

Behind Mistress Roslin hungry tongues of flame rapidly consume linen and gauze wrappings, burning bright and hot and merry, clouds of sparks fleeting up the chimney.

From the depths of the blaze begins the high, thin wail of a newborn infant.

[Glenn]

Cinnabar Calomel is up on his feet and Glenn Burnie is totally stunned. It was a bit of an external prod that finally prompted him to rise as well. A moment later he would be rushing behind the father-to-be. There was really very little actual use he could be irregardless of the situation, but he had to at least try, no? Not a word would leave his mouth as he followed Cinnabar best he could.

[Jirai]

She has lingered close by, though not inside. Oh no. Inside, that would be admitting that she had a care for this, had some concern. Besides, she has no use for talking to most people these days. It never ends well. But outside, outside she might be near enough. Close, but not too close. And her presence or lack thereof is no bar to being aware of what goes on inside, with Glenn's eyes there to see and his ears to hear.

And this, this might be very interesting to both see and hear. The girl is paying very close attention indeed.