“Calm down, newb,” Tish says. “Happens all the time around here. Her water just broke.”

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

By the time the nannies usher us down the hall and into an exam room, I’m nearly hysterical, but Betsy’s already there. Her eyes roll into the back of her head. Her forehead glistens with sweat. She reaches out and grabs my hand, crushing my fingers.

“You come,” she mutters into my face. “Come with me.”

I follow, too shocked to do anything else. The nannies get Betsy on the bed, and Betsy pulls me along, the tips of my fingers turning white.

I am not good in these kinds of situations. Give me a burn, a cut, a coyote bite and I can handle it. But a little iodine and a bandage won’t help Betsy. She’s got her legs in some weird metal stirrups and she’s making sounds like the piglets did before Arn cut their heads off. I’ve never seen a baby being born. When my mama was having Ethan, Auntie shooed me and Arn into the barn. We stayed there for the twenty hours it took for my pink, squirming baby brother to be born. But my mama never screamed like Betsy.

Before the ache of missing my family can grip me, a doctor blows in, a white sail with black-rimmed glasses. He notes me and gives me a questioning look, but Betsy grips his arm. Her fingers make indents in his flesh. “Doctor, the drugs! Please, the drugs! I need them.”

There is too much white showing around the irises in Betsy’s eyes. She grits her teeth and squeals again. I wish to God he’ll give her the drugs. The doc checks her, putting his hand were no strange man outta. Then he shakes his head, removes his glove with a snap and drops it in the trash. “Sorry, Elizabeth. You’re too far along. I told you this one was going to go fast.”

Betsy moans and clutches my fingers, as more pain rocks her.

I shoot the straight-faced doc a frustrated look. “Why can’t you give her the drugs? She needs them!”

The doc stares at me over the rims of his glasses. “The drugs will only slow things down. She’s already at eight centimeters.” He pats Betsy’s trembling knee. “Almost there.” He slides off his white coat and nurses bring him a blue gown and a mask.

Betsy screams and writhes on the bed like someone’s gutting her. “Help me, Agatha,” she says, drawing me close.

I look into her pinched, sweaty face. “I’m here. It’s going to be okay.” God, what a lie.

Betsy looks as if she’s about to nod, but then her face scrunches up as pain rolls through her. I scan the room for these drugs they’re talking about. I’ll give them to her myself.