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“Abbie, Treasure,” Ichabod lamented, “please don’t torture yourself.”
Abbie breathed through the pain, taking the short in and out breathes that were supposed to help, but “Fuuuuu,” she gritted her teeth, “No…No, I can do this.”
Ichabod placed his hand gently over her hand resting on the blanket, “You’ve been in labor for hours and the contractions are getting closer and closer. Very soon, we’ll meet our baby. Perhaps now is not the time for you to abandon your colorful vocabulary.”
“I…I am not going to bring this baby into the world cursing like a sailor,” she insisted, “That is not going to happen, especially since our doctor is a member of your congregation.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“The he…heck it doesn’t matter,” Abbie mocked, out of patience, “’Reverend Crane’s wife delivered this week and man does she have a potty mouth.’”
Ichabod tried not to laugh at Abbie imitation of their somewhat straight-laced physician.
“I won’t give them that, Ichabod. I won’t.”
“Is that why you’re doing this?” he asked, awed, “Because you think I’ll be harmed if you don’t?”
“Won’t you?” Abbie conceded, with a sigh, “But that’s not the only reason. I’ve worked so hard to give this baby the best chance I could. I want him or her to come into the world only hearing the best from me.”
“Oh Abbie, I don’t know if, until this very moment, I’ve appreciated just how much you love our baby.”
“Well, I did give up coffee,” she reminded Ichabod.
“Yes,” he agreed with a smirk, “That’s a week I never want to experience again.”
“Fine,” she glared daggers at the love of her life, “Asssssssss…,” another contraction hit just as their too cheery, God-loving doctor came into the room and Abbie changed her tune, “SSSSSSShhhhh…”
“Well, Reverend Crane. Mrs. Crane, I think it’s time,” she took a quick look, “Yes, you’re fully dilated. On the next contraction, I want you to push, ok?”
Ichabod saw the concern in Abbie’s eyes. She needed him to help her keep her promises, if only for herself and their baby.
Standing to bend over Abbie on the bed, he placed his forehead against her’s, “Very well. Tell him how I can help. What do you need?”
“I need, “ Abbie felt the next contraction coming and breathed into it, the urge to push now overwhelming, “Give…give me your hand.”
Ichabod placed his right hand within her grasp.
“Alright now Mrs. Crane, give a big push.”
“DAAAAAAA…”
___________
“She’s beautiful Crane,” Frank Irving held his new god-daughter. The sleeping infant looked just like her father, with wispy brown hair and blue eyes that would eventually turn a dark brown. Isabella, as she was to be called, was a day old. Abbie was asleep across from them in the large single room, recovering from the lengthy labor and delivery.
“Thank you,” Ichabod replied, “I’m so proud of Abbie. She was amazing throughout the entire ordeal.”
Frank inclined his head, “You want to tell me how you hurt yourself.”
Ichabod raised his right hand, waving off the brace on his two fractured fingers, “It was nothing really. A small price to pay.”
“Mills tried not to curse, didn’t she? Used your hand as a substitute,” Frank snorted.
“How’d you…never mind, ” Ichabod shrugged. Some things were beyond his understanding.
Irving smiled at the infant, employing the same singsong voice that had lulled Macey to sleep when she was a baby, “A word of advice for your Daddy, Isabella from good ole Uncle Frank. Tell him next time to just let your mommy curse up a blue streak. It’ll be a lot less painful for him. Yes…yes it will.”
Ichabod titled his head to the side with a huff, “Point taken.”
Frank Irving winked at the little girl just as her eyes opened from her nap, “That’s right, point taken.”