Page 18 of Damnation (Gallows Hill)

Chapter Fifteen

Sarah

I ’m lying on the cold, hard floor, the midnight sky granting little light into the cell as I stroke Dorothy’s hair while she sleeps. Death is coming, quicker than I’d ever imagined. I can feel it in my bones, in the air, and I know there is no escaping it.

I fear what will happen to Dorothy when I go. Will she suffer the same fate? Will she be released and turned over to William to serve a lifetime beneath his fist? What other option will be left?

I fear for my unborn child, who is due any day now.

What little time I have with them will be spent in a prison cell, and when I am gone, they will not know a thing about me.

I expect Thomas will not acknowledge either of my children, which means they will have nothing.

No one. The guilt of knowing such things gnaws inside my belly like a starved animal.

A pain rips through me, dull at first before becoming sharper. I wince as it occurs again and again. Oh God. It’s happening.

I squirm in place as I move so as not to wake Dorothy. My stirring alerts Elizabeth Booth, though, as I attempt to hold in my cries before letting them out with a sputter.

“Sarah? What is the matter?” she asks.

I hold my belly tightly as I look to her, another contraction ripping through me.

“It is time,” I say through a pained moan.

“For truth?” she asks.

I nod my head as a cry escapes me. Elizabeth jumps to her feet.

“Guard! Guard! Help!”

As slowly as he is able, an older jailer comes up to the cell, sneering at Elizabeth as he speaks.

“What is the ruckus for?”

“Sarah is enduring childbirth! The baby is coming. We need a doctor,” she begs.

“We do not have one. Since Toothaker croaked, we have yet to have one around these parts.”

“Then fetch one if you must!” she snaps. “Or at the least provide me with towels and warm water.”

The young jailer who treats me well, thanks to Thomas, comes over, his hair a mess as if he has just awoken from his sleep, as he takes in the scene.

“Is she having the baby?” he asks.

“Appears so.” The other jailer shrugs.

As if a bucket of water has been dumped upon his head, the sleep leaves the young jailer’s eyes as he takes off in a run.

“Where art thou off to?” the older jailer shouts.

“To notify Putnam!”

“What business does he have?” he calls back but does not earn a response before the guard is through the doors and outside.

“Oh nooooo!” I moan as another painful contraction rips through me.

“Water and towels, make haste!” Elizabeth snaps once more before facing me. “‘Tis okay, Sarah. I will assist you.”

I wince as I shake my head.

“I am not your burden to bear.”

“Nonsense,” she says, effectively hushing me. “Get onto your hands and knees, that will allow the baby to come easier. Stand if you are able.”

I shake my head, unable to speak, let alone stand. Something is wrong. Labor did not feel such a way when I had my Dorothy. Perhaps it’s that I’m so very hungry, so very thirsty, that my body has been aching and in pain for months now. I know not the source, only that I can hardly stand it.

Another sharp pain rips through my body that has me howling like an animal. I feel Elizabeth rub soothing circles against my back, but her touch provides no comfort as my body breaks out into cold sweats.

When the pain eases momentarily, she praises me, brushing my hair away from my sweat dotted forehead. She looks to another beside us as she speaks.

“Begin counting! Now!”

I hear the sounds of someone counting the seconds that pass and allow myself to drift in a delirious haze before the next pain comes.

“Two minutes apart. Your baby is coming soon. You can do this, Sarah.”

I shake my head and whimper. Why is labor quickening so? It felt like hours, days even, last time. Something is wrong. This is all wrong.

I do my best to stay upon my hands and knees, but a wave of pain knocks me down, curling into myself as the old jailor brings a single towel and a small cup of water.

Elizabeth looks to him in shock as he sets the items down and walks away. She scoffs, muttering beneath her breath as she dips her hands into the warm water, washing them before feeling between my legs.

“Okay, I see the baby’s head, Sarah. Ready…push!”

I do as she says, gritting my teeth as I push.

“Good job, Mama!” Dorothy says in a way that makes me smile.

I look at her tiredly as Elizabeth speaks once more.

“Again.”

Taking a deep breath, I push with everything inside of me, relief filling me as I feel the baby leave my body as a cry fills the jail.

Euphoria overtakes me as I laugh, Elizabeth handing the baby to me before resting it upon my chest. Elizabeth continues tending to me as I focus on my sweet baby girl.

“Mercy,” I whisper as I look upon her. “My little Mercy.”

“I like that name, Mama,” Dorothy says as she reaches out, touching the baby gently with an awe inspired smile that rivals my own.

“Me too,” I say as I look to Elizabeth.

She nods and smiles at me. “You did well, and the placenta followed her easily. Much joy to you all.”

“Many thanks, Elizabeth,” I say, holding my hand out for hers.

She smiles, taking my hand and squeezing it. Mercy begins to fuss in my arms, but I do not mind, for this moment is perfect.

I fell asleep, and the blame rests solely upon me.

I rested Mercy beneath my dress to provide her as much protection from the cold as I was able, but it wasn’t enough.

When I woke from my rest, I pressed my lips to her forehead and found her cold and stiff.

Her pale pink lips had turned blue, and her soft body was now unmoving.

With the help of Elizabeth, we tried to revive her, but she had already been gone for too long.

I haven’t it in me to put her down, though.

I fear if I do, I’ll never be able to breathe once more.

The jail door is suddenly thrown open, two pairs of footsteps rushing down the hall before stopping upon us. The early morning sun is beginning to peek out and welcome the new day. A joyous start, though nothing in the world feels joyous anymore.

A frantic Thomas fills my vision as the young jailer opens the gate.

“Did I miss the birth?” he asks as he rushes to me.

I stare up at him, not able to feel a thing as a tear falls from my eyes.

“Yes.”

“Where is the baby?” he asks, his head moving around before he takes a closer look at my arms. A smile fills his face for a moment before understanding comes to follow.

“Why does it not move?”

Guilt, anger, rage, heartache. They all swirl inside me as I attempt to comprehend how to speak of what has happened, what has occurred because of the conditions we are in. Because I was forced here. Because of him.

“Dead,” I grit through clenched teeth, shaking as I do.

Horror strikes his face as he looks upon her and me, shaking his head in disbelief. He stands to his feet as he begins pacing the cell, digging his fingers through his hair as he mumbles to himself.

“No, no, no, no! ‘Tis not how it should have been! Was it born as so?”

“No,” Elizabeth says from the corner. “She appeared fine. We fell asleep, and she…did not wake.”

“She?” Thomas asks, tears filling his eyes as he looks upon me.

“Twas a girl. Mercy,” I say, as the pain in my chest slowly eases, only leaving room for resentment and rage.

“Mercy,” he whispers beneath his breath, shaking his head in reverence.

Carefully, he bends down beside me to take a closer look.

When he does, his fingertips graze against her cold skin before a pained cry escapes him.

His sobs are rough and without care for the audience that grows among us.

Something about his cries loosens something inside of me as I feel more tears roll down my cheek.

Thomas attempts to wrap his arms around me, but I do not allow it, for why should I comfort him when he turned his back upon us?

Had it not been for his betrayal, she would not have been born in such conditions.

We could have had a doctor, a warm bed. She could have lived.

Her death hangs upon his head, as it does on my own.

He will not receive a bit of comfort from me for the rest of my days, however few there may be.

Thomas looks upon me in shock at my refusal before he appears to think the same thoughts as I. The guilt is written across his face, and he does his best to tuck away his emotions, straightening his appearance before standing to leave.

He does not offer me another word, nor do I to him. The man has taken more than any should, broken more than any could. He has been the deliverer of my greatest joy, and the executer of my Damnation.