Red Writing Hood: Her Mother's Smile

"Lyd?" He held his wife's hand. She squeezed. Knuckles white. Eyelids creased.  "Breathe, sweetie," he cooed, "You've gotta breathe."

The windows shook as the storm howled outside. Cocooning them inside with soft flakes. There would be no hospital. "Walter," she moaned, "this hurts. I do not want this." She paused as the contraction climaxed. She squeezed. Released. Resting against the pillow, her words sprouted from her very roots. "I want my mother."

He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "I know, sweetie," he said. "I know." He thought of his mother-in-law, erect at her potting wheel, her hands splattered with clay. Before.

Then he thought of his mother. She wouldn't have let this happen. "Like HELL my grandchild will be born AT HOME," she would have decreed. And by sheer will, she would have whisked Lydia and Walter to the hospital, braving the storm in her Saab. She probably would have stopped for espresso on the way.

He smiled, and passed a glass of water to his wife. He whispered, "You know what?" She met his gaze. "Our daughter is going to have your mother's smile. Just you wait."

The tears streaked down her face. A contraction hit, and all was sensation for a moment. She recovered, exhaling, never letting go of his hand. "I just wish she could know her."

"I do too," he said. He kissed her hand, rested it against his cheek. "I do too." He yearned to fill her emptiness for awhile. To crawl into her body and let her rest.

Instead, he held her as the storm raged against their little house. Hours passed.

With a final release, Zoe Anna Merchant entered the world.

She was the best of their mothers, wearing a new face.

For this week's Red Dress Club challenge, we were to revisit and revise an earlier piece. I took this story from my Walter and Lydia series, and turned it on its head. The original was not something that I loved. But this? Perhaps I can work with this. Concrit is appreciated.

For background, here's the rest of Walter and Lydia's story: Like a Songbird, A Fresh Face, and The Candle of Memory.

Red Writing Hood: Fighting Through

 "Take a deep breath, Lyd," Walter said. "It's probably one of those Braxton-Bricks contractions."

She winced, "Hicks, Walter." She twisted her fingers into the armrest and moaned. "They don't feel like this. Trust me."

He squeezed her hand, "Let me get you a glass of water."

The snow hissed outside the kitchen window. Storm of the century, they said. Stay indoors.  Each powdery flake enclosed them with callous indifference. "It's too soon," he whispered. He rubbed his eyes, “We're supposed to have another three weeks.”

"Walter!" Lydia called out, "I need you in here NOW! I think my water broke!" The glass dropped from his trembling hand.

He ran into the living room.  I don't know how to do this, he thought. When the water breaks, there's no turning back.  He rubbed his sweaty palms against his pants. "Do you think I should I get the steam cleaner?"

Lydia blinked, "Are you fucking kidding me? For God's sake Walter---" Another spasm racked her body. She clenched her jaw, her muscles taut with concentration.

The wave of pain receded. She leaned back. Walter sat next to her and waited for direction. "This sucks." She rested on her forearms, "I want an epidural. I want to be in a hospital." She let out a sudden gasp, and reached for his hand.

The contraction crept up from her back towards her stomach. It crested in a solitary moment, and time froze. Walter watched his wife, her eyes closed with concentration, and let her squeeze it all into him.

When he was seven years old, he had broken his arm on the playground merry-go-round. It needed to be set. His mother held his good hand, while the orthopedist placed his fingers into the Chinese handcuffs. Angela leaned in, whispered, "Walter, I'm not going to lie.This is going to hurt. But you won't do it alone. I will hurt with you."  

He gazed at his wife. She rested, curled like a withered leaf. "Hey," he said, clutching her limp palm. "I promise to not do the wrong thing until this baby is born, if you promise to believe in me for a couple of hours." He smiled, added, "Then, we can go back to normal." 

She laughed softly, "All right, Walter." Her eyes pooled, "I need you. Don't leave me, please--" Another contraction hit,  and she turned inside herself.

As the wind howled outside, Lydia and Walter labored up a mountain of pain. Each summit grew more desolate and stark. She didn't speak. All that existed was sensation, and the brief, precious moments of reprieve before the next step forward. 

Walter sat in a chair next to her through each ascent and descent. Every so often, he touched her, but Lydia felt only shadows. There was no before, no after, just that moment. Lydia, Walter, and Zoe. Fighting through.

They didn’t talk. He wished he could climb inside her body for a few hours, and let her rest. There was so little that he could do.

She knew it. He loved her exactly the way he could.. 

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This is my take on this week's Red Writing Hood Friday challenge: 

"You are trapped (alone or with others) in a single location during the fury and/or aftermath of a blizzard of historic proportions."

This was a gift, since my story takes place in Colorado.

Critiques are welcome. I am fearful that I started telling instead of showing towards the end. Also, I decided to not describe the actual birth because I wanted the story to be about the relationship, not the actual birth. Did that come through? Could I weave in the flashback more gracefully? I appreciate your advice, as always.