#7: Blood, Birth, and the Midwife in Green

I wasn’t supposed to be there.

40th Spring Moon

Papa has started taking me with him when he visits patients. He says I need to start observing his work. So when he told me to stay put today, well… obviously, I couldn’t.

He said he needed to check on Mella, who was having her second baby, and told me to stay behind and sort chamomile heads. I was sorting. I was. But then I thought—what if he needs more bandages? Or clove oil? Or just another pair of hands?

So I followed him. Quietly.

When I got to Mella’s cottage, the door was slightly open.

Okay. It wasn’t.

I’d seen her hide the key behind the flowerpot on the windowsill. I used that. I’m not proud of it.

But if you think about it—it was kind of smart.

Anyway, as soon as I stepped inside, I heard Mella screaming. I jumped back so hard my shoulder bumped the doorframe. I crept toward the sound and peeked through the bedroom door, which was slightly ajar.

There were people inside, bustling about.

Mella’s husband held her hand. Two women hovered nearby with towels and water and calm voices.

And there was blood on the floor.

Not a lot. Not enough to panic.

But enough that my heart jumped.

And there—calm, solid, and completely unsurprised by the chaos—was Lorna.

I’ve seen her around the village. She moved to Branwick a few months ago and started helping people have babies, soothe fevers, and set bones.

People say she came from the west, where storms never stop and women give birth during lightning strikes. That’s probably made up.

But after today… maybe not.

She was dressed in green. Not bright, happy green, but a deep mossy color. Her sleeves were rolled up. Her braid looped twice over one shoulder. A small knife gleamed at her waist. Her hands were covered in something I really hope was raspberry jam—but it wasn’t.

Lorna didn’t flinch. She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t even look surprised when the baby finally came.

She just caught her, cleaned her, wrapped her, and placed her gently in Mella’s arms like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

Papa helped. He looked pale, but steady.

I stayed in the corner and tried very hard not to faint or cry or throw up. (I mostly succeeded.)

Afterward, Lorna looked at me. Not unkindly. Just… like she saw me.

“You stayed quiet,” she said. “That’s rare.”

I nodded. “You were amazing. How can you stand the blood?” I said before I could stop myself.

She smiled—just a little. “You get used to it.”

But I don’t think I will. And I don’t think I want to.

(Also—no one tells you that newborns look like wrinkly raisins. I didn’t say that to Mella. But I thought it. I definitely thought it.)

Later, Papa didn’t scold me. He just said,

“Well. Now you’ve seen it. Some people run. Some people stay.”

I think I stayed.

—Eira

P.S. Ask Lorna how she really knew the baby was about to come. She said, “The wind shifted,” and then ten minutes later, the baby was born.

Was that a metaphor?

Or is she actually part wolf?

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