Hanna rolled off her sleeping mat with a groan for her stiff back. She had only been back home for four hours when the call had come that she was needed at Caleb’s stables.
“Heavens,” she murmured, gathering up her supplies, “This census is going to be the death of me.”
For the past two weeks, streams of travelers had been straggling into her usually quiet village. And wherever there are people, there are births to be attended. Hanna’s young apprentice had just finished her training under Hanna’s tutelage and had returned to her own village to practice her new trade and bring a level of comfort to the women there.
So alone, Hanna, nearing sixty years, had been ushering in new life and easing the lives of the scores of women who had come to the small town for the census.
Hanna gathered her roll of small knives, her flask of clean olive oil, sea sponges, herbs, and freshly washed lengths of wool bandages. As she strapped the birthing stool onto her back and hoisted the gathered supplies, she began to count, once again, the number of babies she had delivered since the travelers had begun arriving. Remembering them was a blessing for her. Each mother and babe a bead on her prayer chain.
Caleb’s stables, a rock face with a shelter carved into it really, was a fifteen minute walk from Hanna’s dwelling. It was a beautiful, clear night, and she was struck yet again by the wonder of the starts, the moon, and all that openness. Whenever she felt confined and restricted by the smallness of her world, she could look up and remember that she was a part of something bigger. She was so tired, but the brisk night air urged her forward with steps just as brisk.
She wondered who this new mother would be. There was an urgency to the voice belonging to the woman who had called to her. Was the mother in trouble? Was it a first-borne? Was she from an important family? Surely not, if she and her family were lodging in Caleb’s stables. Hanna had delivered all kinds of women, treating each the same, understanding that each birth was a holy thing, a gift. Her job was to ease the pain of the mother and hopefully help bring forth a healthy infant.
Hanna’s feet ached; everything ached lately. There had been so much work and so little sleep. Her duty propelled her forward, though, and she wrapped her cloak tighter around her small frame and adjusted the weight of her parcels.
The glow of an oil lamp beckoned Hanna to the shelter. As she drew near, she could make out the silhouette of a man at the opening. He didn’t tarry long there, moving quickly inside. Hanna soon knew what his quick movements meant; she heard it too, the low guttural moaning of a woman in labor. Her practiced senses told her that the woman’s time was drawing near.
“I’m Hanna, the midwife. How long has she been like this?” she called from the opening.
The small clot of women squatting around the laboring woman motioned for Hanna to come near.
“Not so long,” said the eldest of the group. “This is my daughter-in-law’s first babe. She says the pains started a few miles outside of the village, but she didn’t tell anyone ‘til we entered. She’s been like this, close to birthing, for about an hour.”
Hanna took in the scene: young exhausted woman lying on a bed of straw surrounded by her female relatives, husband self-consciously feeding and bedding the animals at the opposite end of the shelter.
“They just seem to get younger every year,” she thought.
Hanna crouched by the young woman who was perspiring and panting with half closed eyes. The female relatives made room for Hanna, but did not move far away. It was all so familiar—the very young new mother trying to deliver her first-born, surrounded by her family. She knew, though, that like a lot of the births she had attended in the last few weeks, there was a higher level of anxiety. These people were far from home, with no friends, no trusted village midwife.
“What’s your name, child?”
“Miriam,” the girl whispered.
“Well, Miriam, it appears that you are about to be delivered of your child soon. I just need to set up my supplies, and then I’ll see how far along you are after you have your next pain.”
Hanna had the girl roll onto her back, then placed warm compresses of oil-soaked cloths on the girl’s belly and genitals. A few minutes later, the girl’s eyes flew open, and she clutched at her huge belly, a gasp escaping from her thinly parted lips.
After the wave of the contraction ended, the midwife rubbed oil into her hands, and with gentle fingers, felt inside Miriam’s birth canal.
“Child, it is time!”
Hanna placed two large bricks on the swept floor, a bed of straw between them, and with the help of two of the girl’s relatives, she pulled Miriam to a squat on the bricks. Hanna sat on her birthing stool and supported the girl from the front. She cooed into the girl’s ear, “Now. With the next pain, push with all your might. Your babe will soon be here!”
When the lightening pain struck again, Miriam clamped her lips tight, took in a deep breath and bore down.
“Good girl! That’s it, keep it up. You’re doing a fine job. When this pain lets up, you can stop and rest a bit. Every time you feel that pain, though, just push. We are all here to help you guide this babe into the world.”
Hanna knew that since this was Miriam’s first child, the struggle to bring this baby forth might take long hours. There wasn’t anything particularly wrong, it was just a first birth.
She instructed the women to bring cool water for the girl’s parched lips. Hanna herself continued to support the girl while seated on her stool by threading her arms under Miriam’s, and clasping her own hands below the girl’s shoulder blades. Relatives took turns supporting the girl on either side, allowing her to clench their hands, or else wiping her brow with a cool cloth.
After about thirty minutes, Hanna could feel and see the crown of the baby’s head at Miriam’s opening.
Whispering into the girl’s ear, the midwife encouraged, “With your next pain, child, I believe you will bring forth this babe.”
With a low growl, the child Miriam bore down with firm resolve.
“Oh, yes! The babe is coming. There’s the head. Now I will guide the shoulders out…”
And just like that, the rest of the baby’s body slipped out, slick with blood and smeared with a white coating. Miriam let out a soft sigh, stepped off the bricks, and sank back onto her bedding.
“Child, it appears that you have delivered a healthy boy!”
Hanna then took the baby, who was now crying mightily, and wiped him down with some of the bands of cloth she had brought. Then she wrapped him up tightly with more bands and laid the child on Miriam’s breast so that he could begin to suckle.
After making sure that the afterbirth was delivered intact, Hanna cleaned the new mother, her bedding, and herself. By now, mother and babe were surrounded by Miriam’s family, her husband at her head, alternately smoothing down Miriam or their new son’s hair.
Hanna took her leave, quietly slipping out of the cave, and began to make her way home. Assisting in births always left her feeling rejuvenated, but on this night, she was exhausted. As she began to trudge home, she decided to take a shorter route through her neighbor, Jacob’s, fields, carefully watching her footing.
“At least the moon and all the stars are out tonight, lighting my way,” she thought. “It seems especially bright.” But instead of experiencing the openness of the night sky again, she had to keep her eyes trained on the ground before her. So intent was she on the footpath in front of her, she almost ran into Jacob, who was hurrying in the opposite direction.
Hanna startled and exclaimed, “Oh, Jacob, I didn’t see you. Where are you off to? Surely your sheep are bedded for the night.”
“Hello, Hanna. I can’t stop. I must meet my brothers. Something strange and wonderful is happening in town, near Caleb’s place, I think,” Jacob replied.
“I was just there. A new baby was born to one of the travelers.”
But Jacob had already rushed past her.
“I wonder what that was all about,” Hanna thought, but she just put her head back down and kept walking and daydreaming about her bed. She knew that she would fall right into it as soon as she got home. Even though her attention was focused on her feet, she saw a flash of light out of the corner of her eye. Stopping to lift her head, she saw a shooting star streak across the sky, brightening the night even more.
“Oh, how beautiful,” she thought, and once again she was enchanted by the expansiveness of her surroundings. It made her feel like singing.
As if she had summoned it with her thoughts, Hanna heard a distant singing, sweet as honey, but so odd in the middle of the night. She was so tired, and her bed was so near that she could only wonder, “Who could be singing at this hour? It doesn’t matter, it’s just lovely.”
Hanna caught sight of her dwelling, and dragging her body across the threshold, released the birthing stool and her parcel of supplies onto the floor. She would put it all away once she woke again. For now, it was only her bed that she longed for. With a low grunt, she rolled her stiff body onto her mattress of straw, curling into her most comfortable position—one hand under her head, the other across her breast, knees drawn.
As she drifted off to sleep she could just register the distant singing, a lullaby for her tired body.