Patience is 23. Just now 23. It is, in fact, her birthday. October 15th.

And Patience is in labor. Has been for a few hours. But not in the way that requires her to lay down, get ready. Not even in the way that requires assistance. Not just yet.

She’s done this twice before after all. She knows what to expect.

Hannah, her first, is with Momma and Daddy. Off in the fields. Out harvesting pumpkins and gourds despite the rain.

October, somewhere in the woods bordering the northwestern edge of Allegheny State Park, and the rain falls constantly in a slow-motion haze.

Patience watches silvery streams come off the cabin’s roof. She sits in a chair on the ramshackle porch. Blessedly alone.

Please lord, please. Please let him live.

In truth, she does not know if she is having a boy or a girl. But the second was a boy. He would have been named David. Patience can’t help but think this one will be too.

Please, God.

Her hands rest on the swell of her belly and Patience watches the rain.

In the distance, she can hear gun fire. Men and women at the range. Even in all this weather. William, her child’s father, is there. Patience feels a flash of envy. She wants to be there too.

Though the thought of other people makes her feel sick. Especially him.

William is the child’s father. But the child belongs to the camp. That’s what her Daddy says.

And her Daddy is always right. He'd chosen William for her. Because he’s good stock. Because William’s Momma and Daddy are important in the camp. Because his is a family of Faith. Like hers.

Patience knows the duty of a woman, her duty, is to bear children for the camp. To bear children to bolster the army of the Lord.

Please, Lord. Please. Let him live. Let him live to serve You.

It is a sin. To ask. To presume to ask the Lord such a thing.

Patience is a sinner. This she also knows.

She closes her eyes. Listens to the rain.

“Thy Will be done,” she whispers. “Thy Will be done, Lord.”


*

A contraction wakes her. Stronger. Much stronger.

She must have fallen asleep. Some time ago. The rain has stopped. It is cooler. Closer to evening.

Her hands are wet. A warm kind of wet. Still placed atop her swollen stomach.

She goes to move them and for a moment they stick to the fabric of her dress.

There is pain, but not the pain caused by a child. The pain is in her hands.

Patience looks down and cannot believe what she’s seeing.

She tears her hands away from her belly, two red handprints remain on the light blue of her dress.

She raises her hands and beholds the wounds, turning them from back to front. The blood has stopped flowing but it pools, shiny and black, in each palm.

Patience is stunned. Rendered mute with horror.

Just then, her body arches. A new pain. A pain that fills the whole world.

The pain of a child on its way.

Patience screams. The neighbors come running. Everyone in the camp knows it’s nearly her time.

And everyone knows her Daddy.

She hears them on the steps up to the porch just before she passes out.


*

10 hours later, Patience loses another baby.

A boy.