The German Midwife Novels & Stories

the woman in white ordered, "except you two. I'll use you as my attendants." One of the physicians puffed out his chest. "What gives you the right to…" "Leave!" The woman's voice seemed to echo in everyone's mind. In a calmer tone she added. "I'm the only midwife she needs." All the attendants filed out in turn leaving the strange midwife and her two attendants to care for the Empress. Zephyra was both concerned by the woman's commanding presence and relieved that the circus had left her bedchamber. She opened her mouth to speak, but was overtaken by the urge to push. She released a guttural grunt instead.

She knew she had to perform her duty. “We should let the king know about it soon before those gossipy maids do it first,” the midwife said to Termla. “Bring the child and walk slowly behind me.” Termla did as she was told. The midwife went before her to the passage where the maids had gathered with their heads together whispering. When they saw her they immediately stopped talking and disbanded with their heads bowed. The midwife looked at them with disgust. “You have better things to do than to stand around gossiping. Go and clean your queen, clean the room, air it and wash all the towels!”

“E — excuse me? What did you say?” “Oh.” The old woman seemed to be as startled as I was. And as she spoke, I could feel how she was treading lightly as she spoke to me. “I assumed you knew, dear. It’s just that… as old as I am it’s easy for me to spot a pregnant lady even through these bad eyes of mine. I’m not only a shaman, but I’m also a midwife. And seeing that you’re almost, hmmm — maybe close to your 2nd trimester, I thought you knew.”

Agatha asked weakly. “I don’t know either,” the young woman replied. “I was brought here blindfolded. But I’ll be your midwife throughout your pregnancy,” she added with a smile. At that moment, Agatha’s memory flooded back. She covered her mouth, tears streaming down her face as she sat back on the bed, trembling.

This is my fault, isn’t it? I’d been doing everything else correctly. I’d seen my midwife regularly. She’s a witch from Eastonia who relocated here and opened her own practice performing traditional healing and midwifery. I’d wanted to deliver at the hospital, however, mostly because Cole works there but also because the majority of the women in my family have had horrific, sometimes deadly, childbirths, and I’m not dumb enough to think that couldn’t happen to me. But going early wasn’t even in my mind. Aviva was two weeks overdue, for Goddess’s sake.

Maids hurry past them, carrying bundles of baby clothes and pouches of herbs. This is when my mother was in labor. “Follow them to the carriage,” Ravon’s voice cuts in, sharp and commanding. I hesitate, but his grip closes around my wrist, yanking me forward. The world blurs again, walls melting away as we step into another scene. My mother lies on a bed in the back of a carriage, her face contorted in pain. She grips the sheets beneath her, her knuckles white, her screams tearing through the confined space. A midwife—a middle-aged woman with deep-set eyes—hovers over her, her hands fluttering uselessly, her voice strained with forced calm.