Of Fate And Prejudice

Chapter Twenty Three

Roman stared at the tiny bundle in his arms, unable to believe such an innocent soul could be deserving of a sentence as brutal as death. He could neither believe nor accept it. After all, he was her father, and fathers did not idly stand by while someone brutally snatched their daughters from their hands, even if death was the perpetrator. His efforts might be damned, but he needed to try to do something, anything, to save his child's life.

Cradling the child in his arms, he carried her to the dresser. Across, Sara was having a difficult time keeping Frances pinned to the bed. Roman ignored them both as he placed the child on the dresser and unraveled the towel enough to reveal her chest. Using his middle and ring finger to pump her chest, he parted her lips with his other hand and blew air into her mouth.

"Breathe," he whispered, earnestly praying she would respond to the crude revival method he had learned from some sailors years ago aboard a ship bound for France. With dwindling hope, he remembered the man whom the sailors attempted to revive had died. "Breathe, ma colombe." She was as fragile as a dove, pure, sinless. She deserved to live! Desperation urged him on and he pumped harder. "Please!"

He heard it then, a soft sigh, akin to the purr of a kitten. "Yes! Yes!" Encouraged, he intensified his efforts until the sound of the child's cries broke forth in the room like an avalanche. It unleashed Roman's tears as well, and barely able to breathe himself, he picked her up in his arms. "Yes, ma colombe." He smiled down at the wailing child, whose pale skin was now gaining some color. "That's it; breathe."

"Mr. Brown." Sara touched his arm. When he raised his gaze to her, he saw her tears. "It's a miracle."

"Yes." He faced Frances, who, although deathly pale, sat upright on the bed, her face drenched with tears as she gawked at them. "How did she do with the placenta?"

"It's out. She'll be just fine," Sara answered.

"Good." He staggered across the room and placed the baby in Frances' arms. "Here."

"She's alive," Frances whimpered as she stared at the baby with awe. "Oh God, she's alive!" With trembling arms, she held the baby to her chest, clinging to her as if clinging to life.

"Indeed," he settled beside her, "she's alive."

She looked at him. Instinctively, he reached out and brushed her cheek, tucking the tendril of wet hair behind her ear. "You saved my child."

"God heard our prayers." He smiled. "You birthed a lovely child, with powerful lungs." The child's cries overwhelmed the entire building.

Frances giggled, then dissolved into happy tears when she extracted her breast from her nightgown and the child latched on. She heaved a shaky breath. Leaning back against her pillow, she closed her eyes as she nursed. Roman thought he could sit here forever, enraptured by the sight of mother and child. But this was an intimate moment, and he didn't wish for Frances to feel uncomfortable, so he rose to his feet.

"Roman!" Frances' eyelids fluttered open. Fatigue clouded her gray eyes. "Don't go." Patting the side of the bed, she motioned for him to sit. He obliged. She took his hand. "Thank you," she squeezed, "for everything."

Raising her hand to his lips, he kissed her fingers. The child nursed until she fell asleep on Frances' bosom.

"I shall get her settled in for the night and place her in her crib." Nodding, Frances handed the sleeping child to Sara.

A few minutes later, Sara returned to clean Frances. Roman helped hold Frances steady as Sara stripped her of her soiled clothes, wiping her clean with a damp towel. Fighting to keep his eyes from wandering to Frances' unclad form, Roman kept his attention on her face. Even in her sickly state, he thought her very beautiful. Roman placed Frances on the sofa in a clean pink nightgown and waited by her side until Sara finished changing the sheets. Once they were left alone, he lifted her and carried her back to the bed.