For a moment, fear crossed his face.
She looked toward him.
"Gabriel."
He stepped closer.
"Yes?"
"Don't look at me like I'm about to disappear."
He swallowed.
"I'm sorry."
She held out her hand.
He took it.
Her fingers tightened around his.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Gabriel whispered, "I'm frightened."
Clara looked toward him.
Her expression softened.
"So am I."
He nodded.
She squeezed his hand.
"Then we'll be frightened together."
Gabriel gave a shaky laugh.
"That sounds fair."
Another contraction came.
Clara closed her eyes.
Her grip tightened.
Gabriel leaned closer.
Spoke softly.
Reminded her to breathe.
And tried desperately to remember everything Martha had told them.
Hours passed.
The storm continued.
At one point, Gabriel went outside to look for the returning wagon.
He saw only snow.
He came back quickly.
Clara was exhausted.
Her face was flushed.
She looked toward him with frightened eyes.
"Is Martha coming?"
Gabriel took her hand.
"She will if the road allows."
Clara swallowed.
For a moment, fear threatened to overwhelm her.
Then Gabriel leaned closer.
"I'm here."
She looked toward him.
He continued.
"I don't know enough to pretend this will be easy."
His voice trembled.
"But I won't leave you alone."
Clara began crying.
She nodded.
Then another contraction came.
Gabriel stayed beside her.
He wiped her forehead.
Brought water.
Adjusted pillows.
And spoke to her in the low, steady voice that had become familiar through the long winter.
When Martha finally arrived, Gabriel nearly collapsed with relief.
The older midwife entered carrying her bag, followed by a younger assistant.
Snow clung to their coats.
Martha looked toward Gabriel.
Then toward Clara.
"Well, seems somebody's impatient."
Clara laughed weakly.
Martha immediately began assessing the situation.
She washed carefully.
Prepared her equipment.
Asked questions.
And established what help was needed.
She remained composed.
But she didn't minimize the seriousness of childbirth.
The work was difficult.
Clara became exhausted.
Gabriel remained nearby when she wanted him, stepping aside when Martha needed space.
At one point, Clara gripped his hand so tightly that he thought she might break his fingers.
He didn't complain.
She looked toward him through tears.