Upheaval: Gambit

by An Oxford Punter/Her Much Learning Hath Made Her Mad

Truth be told I am not a patient woman. I like to think I am, but I'm not. Neither is my husband a patient man. Sherlock Holmes patient; don't be absurd. But it seems that our child is patient. He or she is in no hurry to make an appearance, and I have had ample time to reflect on the last seven months and two weeks since I discovered I was pregnant. My child did not see fit to grace me with a timely arrival and is now a little over a week late. Furthermore, now that my child has decided to enter the world, there seems to be no hurry. My contractions, though more uncomfortable than painful at this point have gone on for several hours. If the sister returns once more to check to see if I have dilated any further, I fear I will say something rude. I hate hospitals-I have spent entirely too much time in them during my young life in my opinion--and I hate overly attentive, poking and prodding nurses. I know I will appreciate her care and concern later, but right now I do not. My husband's slightly bemused expression does not help my mood either. Though in his defense, he is entitled to some amusement having vehemently argued his way to my side against the sister's judgment and hospital protocol. "What do you mean I have no business being in her room? She is my wife." "I understand that, sir," the nurse had tried to argue, "but you'll have to wait in the waiting room." "Why," he had challenged. "It is not proper for you to be with her in the room until after the child is born." Disregarding any respect he should have accorded her in lieu of her age, status in the hospital, and wimple, Holmes brought himself up to his full height towering over her petite frame, his voice freezing the air and her attitude, "I was in the room and with her when the child was conceived." In her wisdom she did not continue the battle but merely blushed slightly and stepped aside to let him further into my room. He sighed almost imperceptibly and let the purple drain from his cheeks and lips before pulling the chair up to the side of my bed. Only after she left the room did I see a slight upward turn to his mouth.

I offered my thanks appreciatively, if meekly, as another contraction began. Trying to find a comfortable position for my back, I added, "You may be in for a long wait."

"I have ample practice at waiting for you, my dear. Though I do wish I had brought something to read."

"There might be some newspapers or annuals in the waiting room, perhaps a Strand or two."

To his credit he ignored my humor. "And if I leave I may never get back in here. I will leave only when you request it of me."

So, he dozed or paced and I remembered. I thought to my initial suspicions of my condition and I remembered the fear, elation, and genuine numbness at the doctor's confirmation. I remembered the initial soreness of swelling ankles and how I had wondered how long I would be able to still see them when looking down. I marveled at the swelling in another part of my anatomy and said silent thanks that my husband had never teased me about that particular change in my body. I remembered little of my fifth month except sleeping and eating my way through most of it, but I remembered Mrs. Hudson assuring me it was my changing hormones even as she was feeding me or gently washing the ink from my face where I had fallen asleep at my desk. I remembered other hormonal changes and my illogical embarrassment at discussing that with my physician. There were, after all, some things I could never bring myself to discuss with Mrs. Hudson. But the doctor's assurances that this too was "normal" and acceptable, at least for a little while longer, and Holmes' discovery of what made me less irritable had resolved itself as well.

I thought back to Ronnie and Sophia's visit to the cottage and of the moment when the thought of Sherlock Holmes as the father of my child was made quite real. It was late in the afternoon and the four of us had returned to the sitting room from showing Sophia the hives. Ronnie and I had exchanges a quick glance before she made to rise from her chair. "Sophia, come here darling. Let mama--" but Holmes had stirred at last and held up a hand. "Allow me," he said quietly and lifted the little girl onto his lap. "She has been a busy young lady this afternoon." Sophia settled herself comfortably against him and, impervious to any discomfort-physical or otherwise-she might be causing him, was sleeping peacefully in a matter of minutes. Ronnie had told us that Miles used to take Sophia because she was getting too heavy for Ronnie to carry. "I am honored to act in behalf of her father," Holmes replied. And in his own time he seemed comfortable with the child's presence and contact.

I remembered the belated discussion of names. We had agreed to present the other with a list of three candidates per gender. Our respective first choice for a girl had been in complete agreement, but none of our choices for a male name agreed. Well, that's not quite accurate; we had each agreed on one name, but whether to use it as a first name or middle name had been a point of some mild discussion. For better than an hour we had argued about a male name, had reached an agreement, and then hedged on that agreement over the next several days. Now all that was left was waiting. My heart suspected for no logical reason that I was waiting on a son, but of course I had no real way of knowing. I had, on a whim, let Mrs. Hudson and one of her lady friends talk me into trying a few folk methods of determining the sex of my child. The tea leaves had said I was carrying a girl, the swinging ring said a boy, and my secret playing with the tarot cards had convinced me only that I was letting my brain go soft. The nursery could be easily transformed one way or the other.

My remembrances were suddenly interrupted by a much sharper and longer contraction. I must have unknowingly gasped or moved as Holmes was immediately awake and on his feet.

"Shall I summon the nurse?"

"No, not yet. Let us see what the next one is like." I watched my husband pace to the window, remove his jacket and place it on the table. As he stood with his back to me, I marveled at the straightness of his posture, the breadth of the shoulders on this tall, lean man that had borne so much of his own and others' weight over the years. "A penny for your thoughts, Holmes?" He turned sidewise so that he could look both at me and out the window.

"I was recalling the last time I was here. In some ways it seems like yesterday, and in other ways (he directed is gaze to my very stretched belly) it seems like a lifetime ago." He paused then continued in a somewhat concerned tone. "I know you do not like being here, Russ, and I do not like hospitals any more than you do, but I am glad--and grateful--that you chose to do this here instead of the cottage."

"Well the doctor indicated that I would have more than ample time to get to here from the cottage when the labor began. I just didn't plan on having so much time. How long have I been here, Holmes?" I watched the movements I had seen thousands of times before: pulling his watch out of his vest pocket, opening the case, closing the case, replacing the watch always facing the same direction back into the pocket, the ever-present medallion swinging on the chain. I didn't even hear his response at first.

"Russ, are you alright? Is it another contraction?"

"No, Holmes. Sorry. I guess I'm getting tired and distracted. What time did you say it was?"

"It is 11:33 in the evening and you have been here a little over fourteen hours."

I groaned, rolled my eyes dramatically and went back to studying the medallion on Holmes' watch chain as he returned his attention to the grounds outside the window. I knew he still had the coin Irene Adler had given him. He kept it in the case with his cuff links and tiepins, but he had removed it from his watch chain the day we were married. Not at my insistence or at my suggestion. The medallion hanging from his watch now was, in fact, a gentle gibe from Uncle John. Uncle John had taken on a serious look as he and Holmes had talked for a moment at the back of the judge's chambers, a look which worried me until I saw the two men smile and shake hands as the dear friends they were. It was not until later that I had discovered that the medallion was the subject of their conversation. Apparently Uncle John had cautioned Holmes, "that as the Father of the Bride it was his duty to inform Mr. Sherlock Holmes that his bachelor days and bachelor ways were over." The medallion was a replica of an old American Liberty coin signifying that Holmes' was "relinquishing his freedom."

The contraction came again. Stronger and longer still. "Holmes, fetch the nurse, please."

The nurse came and went and came and went again. The contractions continued to grow stronger and lengthen, but it was three more hours before the pace between them picked up. I was so very tired. I was drenched with sweat; my hair was falling from its braids and clinging to my face and neck. I hurt to be still and I hurt to move. And, I will admit it now, by this time I was very much afraid. I was not a medical doctor, but I knew this part of the labor was taking much too long, yet I felt helpless to do anything about it. I had done everything the doctor had told me to do all through my pregnancy, I was trying to do everything he instructed now, but to no avail. The nurse, God bless the nurse, stayed with me even though her shift had been over hours ago. She tried everything she could think of to make me comfortable and to hasten the delivery. She held me, she walked with me, she rubbed my back and shoulders, and she rubbed my feet. She ordered my husband to stop his pacing when she sensed my beginning to worry about him. She made him go get coffee even though he did not drink it. She stood on one side, Holmes on the other, and the doctor poised at my most private parts like he was waiting for laundry at the end of a chute.

He was shaking his head. "Mary, I know you do not want to hear this."

"No" I begged.

"Mary, it's taking too long. You're not making enough progress. If you cannot keep pushing I will have to intervene."

"I am trying, but I can't. I just can't anymore." And I did not think I could. I had given all I thought I had, but I was loathe to undergo surgery and the risks it held for my child. Yet I could not deny that I was putting the child in danger as it was. The doctor looked worried, the nurse looked worried, and Holmes ...Holmes looked angry. Really and truly angry.

"What is the a matter Russell? Unable to do this? You can take out Patricia Donleavy with an damned inkbottle and Col. Edwards' son with your knee, but you can not bring an infant into the world."

"Holmes!"

"Mr. Holmes, this is certainly no time -" the doctor began but Holmes ignored him and continued his attack on me.

"You are the one who wanted this, woman! You are the one who insisted on interfering with our lives. This is your doing and your responsibility."

The doctor made a move as if he were about to strike my husband when the nurse laid a firm hand on his arm and shook her head "no." I didn't know why she had stopped him; I wanted Holmes removed. "Get out, Holmes. Get out now!" Holmes just ignored me.

"Women for thousands of years have been giving birth, what is wrong with the emancipated woman of the 20th century that she can't. Your body and spirit have been softened by your theology, Mary Judith Russell."

I was stunned, practically in tears and unable to catch my breath. But he did not stop; instead of getting louder though, he became controlled and hard. And cold.

"You have tried to be so much and yet can't manage the most womanly art of all. Violet Holmes gave birth twice; Judith Klein Russell gave birth twice; Irene Adler gave birth and managed it without a husband or a family for support. Baring-Gould's little, uneducated, country wife did it thirteen times and you cannot manage it once." I watched him button his vest and go back to his jacket, pick it up, and put it over his arm. "Come on Russell, I am a busy man, turn this little event over to your doctor, your male doctor, and let me get back to my work." He started toward the door and the pain and exhaustion I felt turned to fire. My child had been conceived in a storm and would be born in one as well.

"Sherlock Holmes! Don't you dare go out that door." I had not raised my voice but even the wallpaper would have recognized the threat. Holmes turned to look at me but stayed by the door. "Doctor, I am having this child and I am having this child now." Holmes returned to my side. "Put yourself behind me. You can pay for that little tirade by supporting me and imbedding the bed railing in your back." (The small smile he gave the nurse didn't even register with me until much later.) He positioned himself behind me, taking my hand in one of his and peeling stuck hair from my face and neck with the other. The nurse took my other hand, and I glared at the doctor.

Five minutes later, the doctor was telling me to relax and my husband was whispering "Well done, Russ" in my hair. Momentarily the nurse was handing me my blanketed son. I could not find the words to say anything, but Holmes asked what needed to be asked most of all.

"Doctor, is everything all right?"

"Everything is just fine, Mr. Holmes. Ten fingers, ten toes, all the parts in all the right places and a good strong heartbeat. Your son just wasn't in any hurry to get here, that's all. He seems quite healthy and strong and weighs in at seven pounds even. Which explains some of the difficulty with the labor."

"And my wife?"

"She will be just fine, too, after she gets some sleep. Which" he said turning his attention to me "I want you to do just as soon as you get acquainted with your son. So I will leave you to that and check in on you later."

"Thank you, doctor. Thank you very much" Was that relief or pride I heard in my husband's voice?

The nurse moved to take my child from my arms and I was at a loss as to why. I started to protest, but she smiled mischievously at me and then gave the bundle to my husband positioning his arms around his son properly. "As you so eloquently put it, Mr. Holmes, you were there at the conception, and you were here during the birth, and so, now, you can hold this half a stone while I help your wife put on a fresh nightgown."

I changed and even drank a bit of tea before my child was returned to my arms. The nurse left my family but announced that she would return in fifteen minutes and at that time my husband would accompany her to the nursery were he would learn how to properly diaper his child.

Holmes lowered his eyes but smiled anyway. "I guess I deserve that."

"Yes, Holmes, you do" I said. "And besides, then you can teach me how to do it properly and we can both surprise Mrs. Hudson."

I sat quietly for those precious fifteen minutes holding my child and looking back and forth between him and my husband. Holmes stretched himself out in the chair and propped his feet on the edge of the bed.

"Look like anyone you know?" he asked with slightly furrowed brow.

"Honestly?"

He nodded.

"He rather looks like Uncle John without his mustache." Holmes laughed as I had hoped he would.

"Not to worry, my wife. I understand babies change in appearance quite rapidly." I heard him sigh. "Russ," he said moving to sit on the bed at my side and running his long, elegant fingers around the edge of the blanket."

"What is on your mind, husband?" I turned my attention from the sleeping form in my arms to the older of the two men in my life. He looked thoughtful, perhaps resigned.

"Our life will not be the same."

"No, it will not. But my life has not been the same since our meeting on the Downs and that turned out quite nicely, thank you." I smiled and we went back to our quiet contemplation of our child. Shortly after my husband and child left me to some much welcomed sleep.

A nurse and the wails of my hungry son awakened me on two occasions. He would inherit his father's powerful lungs. Each time I was given further instruction and left to my son's feeding. That accomplished, the nurse would return and take my son from me. Getting back to the cottage to a new semblance of normalcy would be welcomed, indeed. I was surprised that Holmes had not returned yet. Even with making him promise to sleep and letting Mrs. Hudson fix him a meal I expected his return to be earlier than it was.

My speculations were halted with a timely knock on my door and my husband's head peering around it. "Russell, do you mind some visitors?"

"No, Holmes. Come in, please." I glanced quickly to make sure I was covered properly.

"Look who I found waiting for me when I returned home, Russ?" he smiled and gestured behind him.

I had expected Holmes to return with Mrs. Hudson, but I was pleasantly surprised to find my husband in the company of Uncle John. What I was not prepared for was the struggle it took to get Uncle John through the door carrying a gift box and the largest stuffed bear I had ever seen. It had to be five feet tall and four feet wide, and it had a giant purple bow attached to its neck. "Good heavens, what have you done?"

"Hello, Mary, dearest." He smiled his knowing smile, sat the bear in a side chair, placed the box at my feet and kissed me on the cheek. "How is the new mother?"

"I am fine, but--?"

He waved my remark aside. "I left strict instructions for Mrs. Hudson to call me the minute after you left for the hospital. And, as I did not have to take the train, I had ample time to wait at the cottage." He reached down to grab my wrist and check my pulse.

"It is a good thing your labor did not take any longer than it did, Russ," Holmes began as we exchanged bemused smiles at the good doctor's gesture. "Mrs. Hudson went on a baking spree while waiting. There is enough food to feed the countryside. Had Watson not arrived when he did to keep her company and slow her down, we would have enough to feed London, too."

My pulse taken and wrist returned to me I inquired, "You did not take the train? Did you drive?" I wasn't sure I liked the thought of him driving through the country roads to get here in record time.

"No," he offered, "Mycroft-"

"Who had also left instructions for Mrs. Hudson to call," Holmes interjected with a shake of his head.

"Graciously arranged for a car and driver for me." Uncle John walked back to the stuffed toy-though "toy" was too small a word for such a thing. "The bear is from him and I was as surprised by it as you seem to be."

"My brother apologizes for not being here himself, Russ, but he promises to come down in a few days to meet his nephew. I talked to him before we came back to the hospital and thanked him for his latest gift." Holmes stared at it, "though I doubt it will fit on the shelf in the nursery next to the books he has already sent."

"I am surprised it fit in the car," I thought aloud.

"I sat in the back seat with gifts for you and Holmes, and the bear sat in the front seat with the driver." Uncle John chuckled, " I think the bear is supposed to be his proxy until he gets here. Please." He pointed to the box resting on the end of my bed.

I reached for it and unwrapped a lovely brocaded bed jacket. "Oh, Uncle John it's beautiful. But you shouldn't have."

"Why not? He said with feigned indignation. "It's not everyday that my two dearest friends have a child."

"But you already gave us the cradle," I argued. (It was a finely crafted hardwood cradle, too. It was a perfect cradle for my perfect son, but I knew it must have cost a small fortune.) My generous uncle merely harrrumpfed. "Thank you, the jacket will come in handy I'm sure." As all new mothers, I wanted his approval on my child. "Have you seen him?"

"Yes and I have pronounced him healthy and handsome. You did very well my dear, I am only sorry your labor was so difficult." He and Holmes had taken up positions on either side of my bed.

"We got through it; that is all that matters. What did my dear uncle bring his best friend for this occasion?" Both men looked at each other as if reminding each other to hide a shared secret.

"A fine box of cigars and a case of champagne," Holmes responded.

Well that explained their tardiness, at least. "So you two have had a chance to celebrate the birth of a new Holmes," I teased, then turned my attention from both to one. "Did you get any sleep, husband?"

"Enough for now."

"Did you eat?"

"With both ate" Uncle John chimed in.

Their mood had changed just enough to confirm that they were hiding something, either that or my maternal instincts to children with hands in cookie jars had just emerged. "And how many bottles of champagne did you go through?"

"Just a few, Mary." Uncle John tried to sound as if it were cups of coffee.

Surprisingly it was Holmes who cracked first. "One too many, I'm afraid."

I was not sure that I really wanted to know, but I asked anyway. "What did you two do?"

Not quite quickly enough to allay my fears, Uncle John spoke. "Not to worry, Mary. We will have everything back the way it was before you and the baby come home."

"Holmes?"

"Nothing major, Russ." He thrust his hands further in his pockets and looked down his nose. "Just a little indoor target practice."

"Oh Holmes." The possibilities for calamity were too numerous. "Where?"

"The nursery," he said sheepishly. "Over the cradle."

I was doing my best to keep a straight face. I knew I should be angry, two intelligent, mature men drinking and waving guns about in the house. But staying angry was difficult. Uncle John was starting to smile and Holmes had begun to grow proud of his accomplishment. I looked as scornfully at my husband as I could and dared him. "Say it, Holmes."

He did not believe my anger and he knew I knew what he had done. He beamed. "I shot my son's initials in the wall."

"All of them?" I wondered in the disbelief that Mrs. Hudson would have permitted this.

"Actually," Uncle John began. "I took great pleasure in helping."

We all three looked at one another for a long moment; I was the first to laugh out loud. "Promise me two things, gentlemen. One. Neither of you will combine champagne and guns again."

"Agreed," they affirmed with nodded heads.

"And husband, do not have the wall repaired until I have had a chance to see it."

"Yes, wife" he said.

It was time to turn our attention to other things. "Gentlemen, I have been given permission to walk around a bit. How about if you two escort me to see my son?"