A Laird for All Time by Angeline Fortin (room on the broom read aloud txt) 📗

tape measure?”  Not knowing how else to describe it, Emmy breathed a sigh of relief when the maid nodded and opened a box near the fireplace withdrawing a length of string knotted at intervals.  Well, it would have to do, Emmy shrugged.

Dory stiffened and squealed again.  “There it is!  That’s what scared me downstairs.”

“Pain?”

“Yes,” Dory nodded.  “I was not like the movement before.  It was…” she shrugged.

“I am going to examine you now, Dory, whether you like it or not,” Emmy warned.

Dory clenched her knees together and stared at Emmy.  “Cannot we just…”

“No, we can’t,” Emmy interrupted.  “This is no time for your Victorian sensibilities, Dory.  I need to have a look.  Don’t you want to have a healthy baby?” she coaxed.

Dory’s knees relaxed slightly and she glanced anxiously at her maid, the one person she had ever been naked in front of besides her husband.  Of course she had never bared herself completely for Ian especially in broad daylight.  Susan was the person she should be the most comfortable with but, if she was going to do this, no one was going to see it happen.  “Susan, please wait outside.”

Uncertainly, the maid nodded and bobbed a curtsey before leaving the room and closing the door behind her.  “Alright, Emmy,” the woman nodded lying back on the bed with all the martyrdom of a virgin sacrifice on her face.  “Do what you must.”

“Think of it this way,” Emmy spoke quietly as she raised Dory’s nightgown up above her knees and spread the woman’s legs apart.  “Better me than the doctor, right?  He must be some old, gross guy if you haven’t let him examine you before.  Am I right?”

Dory was already red with mortification and had turned her head to the side to avoid Emmy’s gaze but she nodded into the pillow.  “I can’t stand the thought of him touching me.”

“Then he won’t” Emmy assured her.  “But I will have to touch you, you know.”

Dory nodded miserably and Emmy got up on her knees so she was off to the side.  Using her left hand to push down on the stomach, she used two fingers to examine the woman who had become her one ally in this place.  She felt for a moment while Dory moaned in embarrassment.  As quickly as possible, Emmy finished her exam and moved back allowing Dory to cover herself once more.  She washed her hands again and came back with the tape measure.  “Just one more time, sweetie,” she murmured as she raised the gown again so Dory’s whole belly was exposed.  She was just taking the measurements she needed when the door burst open and Ian fell in panting with exertion.

Dory squealed once again and rolled over pulling the full nightgown down over her feet.  Ian fell to his knees at the edge of the bed and took her hands.  “Dory, are you alright?”

Dory looked to Emmy who answered.  “She’s fine, Ian,” she assured them both.  “The baby’s movements startled Dory and gave her a scare, but the baby seems fine.  There’s no bleeding and the mucus plug is still intact.  I think it’s just Braxton Hicks.”

“What?” they both asked.

“False labor,” she told them.  “It can be brought on from lack of exercise or dehydration.  A warm bath will probably help right now, but you’ll need to start going for some walks, Dory, and lay off the tea and just drink some water,” she added in her best physician voice.  “But,” Emmy grinned, “just rest assured that she is fine for now.  But, seriously, Dory, no more corset.”

“I won’t,” she said meekly.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Good.” Emmy stared down at the tape measure where she held the mark for the baby’s fundal height, the measurement from her pubic bone to the top of the uterus.  She did the mental math to equate the measurement to centimeters.  Well, that couldn’t be right, could it?  Emmy looked back down at Dory who was curled in a ball while Ian whispered softly to her as he stroked her hair back from her forehead.

“Dory?” she asked to gain the woman’s attention.  “When did you say you thought you were due?”

“Six weeks, perhaps?  Maybe more,” she offered.  “Why?”

“Will you let me measure one more time?” Emmy asked rhetorically.  She had every intention of double-checking her measurement.

“Must you?” she sighed.

“I think we must,” Emmy replied with a little sarcasm.  “Ahh, good!”  Margo entered the room carrying what looked like an ancient stethoscope with a large funnel on the end.  “Thank you Margo, you can go.  Well, Dory?  Does Ian say or go?”

“I’m staying,” he stated firmly before Dory had a chance to respond.  “I’m staying,” he repeated looking down at his wife who finally nodded in consent.  He took a seat next to her as she turned back on her back and held her hand.  Both looked at Emmy expectantly.

At this show of acceptance, Emmy raised the gown again and took her time measuring.  “How accurate is this tape measure?” she asked.  “Each knot is an inch right?”

“It should be fairly accurate,” Ian told her.  “It measures the same as my tailor in Inverary.”

Emmy nodded but didn’t need the tape to confirm what her eyes knew.  Without the corset, Dory was substantially larger than a woman of 36 weeks should be.  She converted the measurement again and tried to refrain from shaking her head lest she worry them.  Taking the stethoscope, she put the outdated piece to use muttering over how badly it worked.  She listened for the baby’s heartbeat.  It was a fast and regular whoosh-whoosh as expected but as she listened closer she heard what she suspected.  Moving the steth around the other side and lower she listened again.  Pulling the instrument off, she set it aside and pressed here and there on Dory’s abdomen.   “What I wouldn’t give for an ultrasound,” she murmured to herself.

Finally she stepped back and allowed Dory a moment to straighten her gown before answering the question in both their eyes.  “Okay, so here’s the