“Cold as a dead trout,” he said, nodding toward the half-open door. “Drunk, I mean.” I caught a glimpse of a small white face through the gap—Agnes, eyes huge with fear. “Mind your brothers, lass,” he said calmly to her. “It will be all right.”

I made what I hoped was a smile toward Agnes and stepped closer to the table. I started pulling things out of my kit as fast as I could.

“Did you hear what I said to her?” I asked, low-voiced, with a nod at Mrs. Cloudtree’s grunting form.

“I did,” he said, equally low-voiced, “and so did the wee lass.” He glanced at the door; Agnes was still there. When she saw me looking, she sidled in.

“The boys are asleep with Pa in the shed,” she said in a rush. “I can help, please let me help!”

“Agnes?” said Susannah faintly, raising her head. Before I could say anything, Agnes had shot to her mother’s side and was hugging her round the shoulders. Tears were pouring down her face, but she was saying, “It’ll be all right, Ma, Mr. Fraser says so.”

Susannah raised one arm as though it weighed a ton and slowly pushed back her sopping hair with her wrist to fix an eye on Jamie.

“You say so, Mr …. Fraser?”

“Aye, I do,” he said.

She went purple and bit her lip, breathing heavily through her nose, head hanging. When the pain let go, she raised it as though it were as heavy as the big iron cauldron.

“Your wife says … I’m gonna die.”

“Aye, well, I’ve got more faith in her than she does, but I suppose it’s your choice who to believe.” He glanced at me, hands half-curled for action. “What d’ye want to do, Sassenach?”

“She needs to be lying down.” My mind was made up and I already had what I needed laid out on the bench. “Can you get her onto the bed? Quickly.”

Susannah had been panting, eyes closed. At this, her eyes sprang open and she straightened, clutching her belly.

“Not the bed! You ain’t gonna spoil my good featherbed! Gaaaarrg!” She curled up like a shrimp again. Agnes was breathing so hard I thought she might faint, but no time to worry about it.

“The floor, then,” I said briefly. “Hurry. Stand back, Agnes!”

Between us, Jamie and I heaved her up, turned her, and laid her down as carefully as we could. She was tremendously heavy, very ungainly, and slick with sweat, though, and came down on the pounded dirt with a solid bump, at which she uttered a wild cry and Jamie said something very blasphemous in Gaelic.

“Bloody hell,” I said, under my breath, and reaching for the bottle of dilute alcohol, I pushed the soggy folds of her shift up and sloshed it over the huge belly, fish white and striped with purple-red stretch marks.