For Ruthie

by Martha Abilene

November 1865

Something’s not right. 

 Lydia Carter sucked in a sharp breath and pressed a hand to her swollen stomach, evidence of her being in the family way. Another sharp pain sent her dropping heavily onto the settee. She winced and leaned forward. Nothing should be wrong with me. She was a fairly strong thirty-five-year-old, due to have her fourth child very soon. What issues could she possibly have? 

   She puffed out a breath and squeezed her eyes shut. She was not willing to take any risks with this little one. Her first two children, Greta and Paul, had been stolen from her life years before, both having died in infancy. Lydia set her jaw. I won’t let that happen again.

   “Mother?” 

   The quiet inquisitive voice of her 5-year-old yanked Lydia from her musing. She forced her heavy eyelids open.

   A little girl stood before her, a curious expression on her sweet flustered face. “What’s the matter?” Without waiting for a reply, she hitched her long white nightgown up to her waist and crawled up onto the seat next to her mother. Drawing her lower lip inward, she rested her head on Lydia’s round belly and glanced up. “Is baby brother kicking again?”

   Lydia managed a smile for her daughter’s sake. No sense in scaring the child. “Ruth, darling, how come you’re so sure it’s a boy?”

 “The baby told me,” Ruth replied in a confidential whisper. “I can just tell. I’m going to have a baby brother.”

   A smile curved the mother’s lips. “I see.”

   Ruth grinned. Deep dimples cut into both cheeks. “What will you call him?”

  Lydia ran her hand lovingly down her little girl’s soft head of brown curls. “We haven’t decided yet. What do you think we should name him?”

   Ruth puckered her lips and narrowed her eyes into slits, a sure sign that she was thinking hard. After a moment, her eyes lit up and she let out a happy sigh. “I know! I say you should name him Daniel.” She twisted around and looked earnestly up into Lydia’s eyes. “Like in my favorite story. Daniel in the lion’s den. He was so brave . . . and my little brother will be too.”

   Laughter bubbled up inside Lydia. Ruth had made it clear what her favorite Bible story was early on. Any time Lydia reverently took out the large family Bible, Ruth cuddled up next to her mother, demanding to hear the story of the lions and the brave man “just one more time.”

   Lydia smiled down at her precious daughter. My sweet little angel. Her pet name for Ruth brought her daughter’s clothing to her attention. “Ruthie, why are you out of bed? The doctor said you must lay quietly or you will get worse.”

   “O-o-oh,” Ruth sighed, sitting up and pushing her hair away from her face. “I feel fine except that my head hurts. I thought I heard someone crying. I wanted to see if you were okay.”

   Lydia’s heart squeezed with love. “Oh, thank you, angel. Mother was just feeling baby brother kick her. I’m alright.” She swept Ruth up into her arms, being careful of the inconvenient bump that prevented her from giving her child a full hug. After a warm squeeze, she set Ruth back down on the ground and said gently, “But you need to go back to bed now. It isn’t safe for you to be up in your condition. Can you go back to sleep for me, for Mother?”

   Ruth nodded and obediently turned and scurried back out of the room. “Goodnight, Mother. I love you.”

   “I love you, too,” Lydia whispered after her daughter’s retreating figure. Ruth had been having random bouts of chills, sniffles, and aches over the last six days, and the doctor had given specific instructions to keep the child quiet, and make her rest as much as possible. 

   Lydia was now valiantly striving to make the doctor’s orders a reality. She knew she couldn’t bear it if she lost another child.

                                                             * * *

     The next morning promised yet another damp and dreary day. Rain had been falling in sheets all week, confining everyone inside who did not prefer the wet weather.

   Lydia sat quietly at the window, staring out at the bleak, overcast sky. She’d asked Doctor Jamison to her house again today, as Ruth had woken up with the plaintive cry, “My head hurts!” Upon further investigation, Lydia had found out that Ruth’s cough had worsened and she claimed to have a “hurt tummy.” The little girl had promptly been put to bed, and the doctor was summoned. Now Lydia had to reign in her impatience and wait for Jamison to arrive.

   An unexpected wave of nausea swept over her, and she gulped. She’d been feeling the affects of her pregnancy strongly these last few days, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before they would have a new addition to the family. However, she refused to get bogged down by her own condition. Ruthie needed her, and it wouldn’t do for the child’s mother to get laid up in bed . . . not yet.

   Lydia sighed and lowered her needlework to her lap. It seemed as though picking up even a needle wore her out these days. Nothing sounded better than to lay out on her bed and get a few more hours of much-needed rest. But she couldn’t do it; not when Ruth was so sick. Lydia swallowed the growing lump in her throat. Ruth had always been a rather weak little girl, but she’d never been affected by a simple cough and aches this strongly before. She shouldn’t be sick enough to . . . to . . .

   A sudden, insistent knock on the front door nearly scared her out of her wits. Setting down her needlepoint, Lydia rearranged her skirt and waited for the servants to invite the visitor in. 

   A short, plump man with a graying head and a curled mustache ambled into the room, taking off his hat and pressing it to his chest. “Mrs. Carter.”

   “Good evening, Dr. Jamison,” Lydia replied graciously, smiling. “Thank you ever so much for coming at such short notice, and in this weather. I hope it isn’t an imposition on your work.”

   “Oh, no.” The genial man replied, setting his black bag down on the carpets and giving a smart bow. “Other than checking on little Marie Abbot and multiple other children after this, I have no other pressing calls to attend to.” He paused, and his expression turned grave. “Ruth?”

   Lydia opened her mouth to reply, but to her horror, found tears gathering instead. “She’s not well,” she managed to choke out. “She woke up crying, and she’s been coughing horribly all morning. Please, I need to know . . . it’s not . . . life-threatening, is it?” 

   Dr. Jamison considered her silently for a moment, as if trying to decide whether it would be wise to upset the woman in her condition. Then he let out a long, weary sigh. “Mrs. Carter, I’ll be frank with you. I cannot guarantee your little girl’s life. If it is what I think it may be . . . if it is what I have been seeing symptoms of in other children, little Miss Abbot included . . . but we have no way to know for sure yet. Her illness isn’t severe now, but that could easily change course in a moment.” 

   “No,” Lydia choked into her handkerchief. It couldn’t be true! Losing her two babies had taken a toll on her, and now a third was threatening to do the same. She pressed her lips together. She knew Jamison wouldn’t lie to her. But it seemed too awful to believe. “Are you certain?”

   The doctor nodded slowly. “Yes, but don’t concern yourself too much. I will do all I can to ascertain Ruth’s continued childhood. But we cannot know these things ourselves. Only One is capable of that.” 

   “I know,” Lydia murmured.

   “In the meantime,” he continued, “do try to avoid exerting yourself too much, or I shall have to have you confined to bed rest early. You have another one to attend to, and from my previous visit, it sounds as though it won’t take much longer to make an appearance.” He smiled encouragingly and picked up his bag again. “I shall check on little Ruth now.”

   “Thank you, Doctor.” Lydia waited until he had disappeared around the corner before letting out a moan of pain and sorrow. She couldn’t lose another child, or her heart would surely be torn into tiny, unrecoverable shreds. It was hard enough to sit helplessly by and watch both Greta and Paul slip away when they were just a baby still. But Ruth was bigger. She was so determined, so sweet. She could beat this. She would recover. Lydia would not have to lose yet another irreplaceable part of her life.

   But for one horrible, painful second, Lydia realized that might be exactly what would happen. And there was nothing she could do to prevent it but pray.

   For the next twenty minutes, she sat staring idly into space, her heart and soul crying out to the Giver of Life to spare her blessed little angel. God, if she dies, I will not be able to recover from it. Please . . . spare her, Lord!

   “Mrs. Carter?”

   “Yes?” She jumped at the query and turned. She had not noticed the doctor’s return.

   Dr. Jamison regarded her gravely, his earlier cheerfulness having dissipated. “Mrs. Carter, I must insist that Ruth be confined to her bed and not participate in any activity that may prove strenuous. She is to be kept hydrated as well as you can manage. Keep her warm enough, but do not overheat her if you can prevent it. I have done all I can for her now, and she is sleeping. I will be back tomorrow morning.”

   Lydia’s throat constricted in fear. “Doctor, what is it?” When he didn’t respond immediately, she probed, rather impatiently, “What is wrong with my baby?”

   “Mrs. Carter,” he said, meeting her gaze without flinching. “I believe your daughter has influenza, among other issues. It is fairly mild now, but I cannot say that she will remain that way for much longer.” He ignored Lydia’s horrified gasp and plunged on. “I must ask . . . has she gone outside in the rain at any point since her symptoms were noticed?”

   “No, she . . .” Lydia’s voice trailed off. “Yes, I must confess that she has. She was discovered playing outside just two evenings ago. She informed me that she felt quite well, and . . .” She raised a shaking hand to her mouth. “Oh, this is my fault! This was my doing. I never should have let her out of my sight!” She began to weep silently into her handkerchief.

   “Mrs. Carter, please. You were not to know that your child had a more severe sickness than sniffles.” Dr. Jamison briefly rested his hand on the distraught woman’s shoulder. 

   “More severe?” Lydia glanced up tearfully. “What else is wrong? Oh, what have I caused?”

   “Nothing,” he replied firmly. “She was sick even before she had an outdoor escapade. I cannot tell you for sure whether it is what I believe it to be. But be sure to alert me immediately if she develops a fever.” He gave a slight bow and headed for the door. Before he reached it, however, he gave her a comforting smile. “And do take care of yourself as well.”

   “Yes, thank you, Doctor,” Lydia whispered. She would take care of herself . . . if that’s what it took to care for Ruthie.

                                                               * * * 

  “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” 

   Lydia’s eyes flipped open and she sat up with a gasp. She shook her head gently to clear the cobwebs. Then she turned over and was met by a sudden glare of light and her husband’s intense gaze, his face a mask of concern. She ran a hand across her face to wipe the sleep from her eyes. Then she propped herself up on one elbow and faced him. “What?”

   Benjamin drew his eyebrows together and frowned in worry. “You were tossing and turning. Then you cried out and put your hands to your stomach. What is it? The baby?”

   Lydia reached up to rub her forehead and was shocked to find it soaked with sweat. She turned a helpless look at her husband. “I-I don’t know. I feel . . .” She swallowed. Suddenly a painful crushing sensation ripped through her, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from crying out and waking the household. Her cry came out in a low whimper. “I-I think I want Dr. Jamison.”

   Benjamin’s eyes bulged. He whirled around, snatched his robe off the chair next to the bed, and turned back to his wife. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be back. You stay right there.”

   Like I can go anywhere. Lydia sank back down into the bed and let out a quiet moan. Then she drew in a shallow breath and sent a quiet prayer heavenward. Oh Lord, please help! Please keep my baby safe . . . my baby.

   Just then, the sound of crying pierced the night air. “Mommy!”

   Lydia sat bolt upright and was rewarded with a horrible stab of pain. But it was immediately forgotten as the cry came again. She gripped the sheets with a shaking hand and tore them off herself. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, grimacing as her bare feet touched the floor. Gritting her teeth, she lifted herself off the bed. Her legs wobbled, and she clutched the headboard of the bed to keep her knees from buckling beneath her. Once the dizziness passed, she crossed the room and got her robe. 

   “Mommy!” The sound was fading, as if its producer could not bear to strain her lungs for a second longer.

   “I’m coming!” Lydia called out into the dark room, not caring if she woke up the entire house. She made her way to the door and yanked it open. Stumbling down the hall, she headed toward the one bedroom with the light on . . . the one that held her precious daughter. She leaned on the door for a moment before pushing it open and asking quickly, “Amber! What in heaven’s name . . .” She stopped speaking and froze, staring at the pale ghost of a child quaking on the bed. 

   The grey-haired servant whirled around at her mistress’s voice and gasped. “Madam!”

   Lydia knew she must look a sight, but she ignored it and approached the bed. She collapsed onto it and placed a loving hand on her daughter’s cheek. “Angel, what is it?”

   Ruth stared at her mother in relief, but she made no move to throw herself at Lydia, as was expected. Finally her mouth opened and a barely-audible cry came out. “Mommy!” 

   Lydia flinched and drew back to get a good look at the little girl. Ruth was hot to the touch, and Lydia could see droplets of sweat standing out on her child’s smooth, pale forehead. Enormous circles lay beneath her eyes, as if she had not slept at all that night. Lydia shot a panicked glance at the maid, who stood staring at the two people on the bed in fright and shock. “Amber! What’s wrong with her?”

   “I don’t know, Madam,” the maid replied, clasping and unclasping her hands anxiously. “I found her like this just moments before you arrived. I was just about to send for Dr. Jamison, but-”

   “No need,” Lydia interrupted, looking back down at Ruth. “My husband has already left to fetch him.” Without warning, another pain gripped her, and she sucked in a startled breath.

   Amber was instantly by her side. “Oh, my mistress! You’re not . . . are you . . . ?”

   “Possibly,” Lydia whispered. “I don’t know for sure, but I sent for the doctor, just in case.” She laid the back of her hand on Ruth’s forehead and cringed again. “Fetch me a bowl of cold water and a rag, quickly,” she instructed. 

   Amber stared at her. Then she gave a curt nod. “Yes, ma’am.” 

   Lydia barely noticed Amber leave the room. Her gaze was riveted on her daughter’s face. Please, God! Please preserve her life! Please don’t take her from me just yet.

      Lydia nearly collapsed when Dr. Jamison finally arrived, so great was her relief. “Oh, Doctor,” she gasped out. “Ruth is so sick . . . I-I’m afraid she . . .” And she got no further before bursting into tears, not caring if it breached the rules of a respectable woman’s conduct.

   The doctor’s jaw dropped. “Get your wife to bed,” he told Benjamin quietly. 

   Lydia’s husband nodded his assent and slid his arm around her shoulders. “Come, my dear.”

   “No, no,” she quavered, grasping the edge of his jacket in an iron grip. “I have to stay with my baby. Ruthie needs me!”

  Benjamin dropped his lips to his wife’s ear. “It’s because of our baby you need to get back to bed.” When Lydia began to protest, he shook his head and placed a quieting finger to her lips. “Ruth would want you to. She’s told me over and over how much she wants her baby brother to be safe.”

   Those words shattered Lydia’s resolve, and she gave a trembling nod. “Very well. But let me . . .” Her words trailed off as she leaned over and brushed her lips against her daughter’s flushed cheek. “Get well, my angel, and you can see the baby. He’s going to love his big sister.”

   Ruth stopped trembling for a moment and gave her mother a trusting nod. “Tell Daniel I love him when he comes,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

   Lydia’s heart clenched. “I will. Be good for Dr. Jamison, now.” With her husband’s help, she got to her feet and headed slowly out the door. “Wait.” She turned pleading eyes on the doctor. “Please. I need to know what’s wrong with her.”

   Dr. Jamison, who was already perched on Ruth’s bed and was checking her breathing, glanced up, pain in his eyes. “As I thought. The influenza has worsened into . . .”

   “What?” Lydia persisted.

   The doctor swallowed hard. “Pneumonia.”

                                                       * * *

   The pained expression on Benjamin’s face echoed Lydia’s sorrow. “She’s not going to have a chance to see her baby brother in person, is she?”

   Benjamin barely managed a nod. “She’s gone to see her Creator.” His jaw tightened. “She said . . . to tell you her baby brother is the best baby in the world.” With those words, his manly resolve crumbled, and he sat heavily on the bed next to his wife and took her hand. His head dropped to his chest, and his shoulders jerked with invisible sobs. 

   Lydia slid an arm around her husband’s shoulders and squeezed her eyes shut. She had no words of comfort, no reassurances. Nothing at all. Any attempt to ease the horrible ache would be insufficient. Oh God . . . please. Receive my child to Yourself. Give her the safety that I could not provide . . . 

                                                       * * *

   A high, thin wail penetrated the mild morning air. Lydia gently pulled the pale yellow blanket down to the infant’s chin. 

   “He’s small, but very strong.” Dr. Jamison gave an approving nod. “You have a fine son, Mrs. Carter.”

   “A son?” Lydia whispered, a lump threatening to cut off her breath. “Ruthie . . .” A flood of tears gathered in her eyes. If Ruthie had lived but a few hours more, she would have seen the baby brother she was so certain of. She would have kissed him and told him that she knew him even before he was born. That she was proud of him.

   “A son,” Benjamin echoed reverently, sitting gently next to Lydia and the baby. His large fingers dwarfed the infant’s hand when he picked it up. Tiny, delicate fingers curled around Benjamin's pinky, and equally precious blue eyes stared at the man wonderingly. “A son,” he said again, in a stronger voice. His face beamed with fatherly pride. “What shall we call him, my dear?”

   Lydia gently traced the round of the baby’s cheek before answering softly, “Daniel. His name is Daniel.” She met her husband’s gaze. “For Ruthie.”

   Benjamin swallowed and nodded. “For Ruthie.” 

   Lydia smiled. Then she leaned forward and brushed her lips across her newborn’s forehead. “Daniel Benjamin Carter,” she murmured tenderly into her son’s barely-visible hair, “you are more special than you know. But your sister knew it. She would be so very proud of you. And I promise . . .” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I promise I will never let anything bad happen to you.”