Now you are slipping away

The screams were echoing throughout the normally silent corridors of the Convent.

Many of the sisters stopped, whispering a prayer for the woman whose voice was echoing in pain, and darkness. Everything about the young lady who'd shown up on their doorstep was becoming dark. The look in her eyes as she touched her belly, the small picture of the man she kept in her locket that she would often open and stare at, the future wedding that she had alluded to on occasion...they all reflected her severe pain, and the tainting of her soul. That she loved the child she carried, and the man that the sisters all assumed had fathered it, was held in no doubt. How she would handle the upcoming marriage to a man she did not love was in question.

Many times, the Reverend Mother would offer to allow her and the child to stay, offered to let her take the vows, and remain within the convent walls that offered safety, and hope. But her spirit, as bright as her titian hair, would never allow her to do so. So the sisters did what they could, and they stopped often, praying as the screams grew louder, and continued their business, preparing a place to keep the child, and raise her. They all knew that the baby would be staying here for quite some time, until a suitable establishment could be found for the foundling.

The screams were ripping from her own throat, tearing it raw.

The three sisters in the room had never delivered a child before, and she'd begged them not to send for a doctor, fearing that she would be recognized. After quietly deliberating, one of the sisters who had been a village midwife was brought in. She'd tied Bethel's wrists to the headboard, and her ankles to the posts of the footboards. There were no painkillers in this place, no liquor or drugs. Only a salve that the former midwife had rubbed into Bethel's bare stomach, numbing her somewhat. It didn't matter- Bethel was so far gone in pain it was as though her brain had shut off the nervous system in an effort to spare itself pain. She shuddered, the contractions intense enough that she raised herself from the bed, pulling hard at the restraints against her limbs.

The hoarse voice, begging for the foreign man, was all hers.

"Jerry!" It was the anguished cry of her hoarse voice, wishing that the man she loved were here, instead of three women who would never experience this agony, or the joy. The little hovel of a room would seem more fitting, if Jerry were holding her hand, his hushed voice whispering endearments, and jokes. In fact, he could say anything that he liked, the sound of his voice alone would have eased her. tilting her head back, sweat-soaked red hair falling haphazardly over the pillow as she did so, crying out again, tears falling from her cheeks. "Jerry....Jerry..." She'd never even told him. When they'd said goodbye, Bethel had made it clear that she didn't want him to be the one to make contact. She'd left him no address, and no idea that she was carrying his child away. It was her greatest regret, alongside the fact that she would ever be able to raise this child, that someone else would be called mother.

"Please! Let it be over! Oh, God, please...let me survive this, and my ba-"

Another scream tore from her throat, a stark contrast with the low croon of the former midwife, instructing her to push. Beyond any means of argument, Bethel did as she was instructed, screaming her fury, her grief, her pain, and her loss. Moments later, it was over, and she was pushed back to the bed as the midwife kneeded her stomach to rid the prone woman of anything else, and then to loosen tense muscles. There was a sharp squalling cry, the unmistakable sound of a furious newborn, and the whimpering that always followed, seeking it's mother. Despite her exhaustion, she held out her arms, and received the mewling little child. Bethel still had another three months before she had to leave, and she wouldn't give up the beautiful child in her arms until that moment.

Her eyes admired the flawless little hands, the sweet eyes that closed as the baby nursed, the soft skin...

"Mireille." The nun looked at her quizically, and Bethel nodded to the now-sleeping child. "My daughter, Mireille Elen Ferlito." The nun quietly recorded the name, taking it to the Reverand Mother as the new mother and her child slowly sank into sleep.

The months had passed quickly, faster than Bethel had realized.

Her hands were shaking, as she handed her three-month old daughter to the older woman, tears forming in her darkened green eyes. She didn't think she could just walk away, even though she knew she had to. Impulsively, she removed the locket from her neck, holding it out to the Reverand Mother.
"I don't want her to never know her father."

With that, the broken woman turned and stumbled away, unable to look back even once. If she had, she would have seen the old woman weeping, as the baby cried futilely for her mother.