A Good American by Alex George Read Free Book Online Page B

German.
    “Hanover.”
    “And what brings you here?”
    “We’re just passing through,” said Frederick. He pointed behind him. “The horses need water.”
    The man nodded. “Where are you headed?”
    Before Frederick could answer, there was a loud scream from inside the carriage.
    H ours later, Frederick was pacing up and down a corridor, listening to Jette’s labor from behind a closed door. The man Frederick had spoken to earlier that day sat nearby, calmly smoking a cigarette. His name was Johann Kliever. They were in his house.
    “I don’t like this,” said Frederick, for the seventh time.
    Kliever stretched his long legs out in front of him and studied his boots, which were caked in yellow dust. “He’s a good doctor,” he said simply.
    After their conversation on the street had been interrupted, Frederick and Kliever had carried Jette from the carriage to the bed where she now lay. Childs had refused to help, complaining instead about the mess caused by Jette’s broken waters. The doctor had appeared at the house a few minutes later. Since then, the bedroom door had remained shut.
    Another howl of agony echoed through the house. Soon afterward the doctor, Mathias Becker, appeared in the corridor. He was a short, rotund man with an anxious manner about him. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, and his face was red.
    “Herr Meisenheimer?” he said in German, wiping his hands on a towel as he spoke.
    Frederick stepped forward. “Yes?”
    “Your wife’s labor is progressing, but slowly. The baby seems determined to take its time.”
    “Can I see her?” asked Frederick eagerly.
    “You will have to do more than that.” The doctor looked at his watch. “I must go home, at least for a while. A tired physician is of no use to your wife, I can assure you. I will return in the morning. If anything happens in the meantime, Kliever knows where to find me. I can be here in five minutes.”
    “I see,” said Frederick.
    “Don’t worry,” said the doctor. “I doubt much will happen for a while yet. She may even sleep a little. Encourage her to do so. She will need all her strength tomorrow.” He shook Frederick’s hand. “I will see you in the morning, and then we will meet this new baby of yours.” With a brief nod he turned and went down the stairs.
    Frederick opened the bedroom door. The curtains had been drawn against the night that was closing in. Jette lay on a narrow bed in the middle of the room. Her eyes were closed. The only other furniture was a wooden chest of drawers, on top of which sat a large terra-cotta angel.
    “Jette?”
    On hearing his voice, Jette’s eyes opened. Frederick squatted down beside her. He could see the exhaustion and fright in her face.
    “Where have you been?” she whispered.
    Frederick reached for her hand. “I was outside all along.”
    “If you leave me again, I’ll kill you,” she told him.
    “But there was nothing I could—”
    Frederick’s reply froze in his throat as Jette’s face contorted into a mask of pain. A low sob escaped her. The scream that followed knocked the world off its axis, obliterating reason. Shocked beyond words, Frederick watched the contraction pass.
    “I won’t ever leave you,” he said.
    They clung to each other then, not saying a word.
    As the night drew on, Jette’s contractions became worse. They had a terrible rhythm all of their own, a ghastly pulse of agony.
    In the calm between contractions, Frederick and Jette tried to sleep. At about three o’clock in the morning, Frederick was drifting in and out of exhausted slumber when Jette’s hand landed on his shoulder. He struggled to his feet. Jette’s mouth was stretched open in a silent scream. When the pain subsided, her eyes met his. “The baby’s coming,” she whispered.
    “But it’s not—The doctor said—He’s not—”
    Jette grunted, a noise whose quiet ferocity was more unnerving than the howls that had gone before. Her eyes narrowed, then closed. Another