To Slip the Surly Bonds

October 5, 1882

Worchester, Massachusetts

“Push, Mrs. Goddard, push!” said Dr. Dunwood. Fannie Louise Goddard lay on her bed, her night clothes drawn up above her waist, exposing her distended abdomen. Her face wore a thin sheen of perspiration. It was twisted into a grimace as she breathed in and out rapidly. Her legs were spread apart in front of her.

“Push!” said Dr. Dunwood.

Fannie groaned and pushed and continued her rapid exhalations.

Dr. Dunwood scrutinized her. “Yes,” he said. He pulled a watch from his pocket and checked the time. The contractions were coming approximately two minutes apart. Fannie screamed in agony. The midwife reached between her legs cleaning away the amniotic fluid. Dr. Dunwood counted the seconds. He expected the baby to crown soon. He pulled a pencil and a small notebook from his doctor’s bag and quickly scribbled down his patient’s vital statistics. Pulse, heart rate, dilation, the time between her contractions and so on. “Yes,” he said to to himself again, “yes, good.”

Fannie felt another painful contraction and pushed, groaning loudly.

“Dr. Dunwood,” said the midwife, “the baby is crowning.”

He gently pushed the woman aside and examined Fannie. The top of the baby’s head could be seen. He motioned to the midwife. “Clean towels and hot water. Quickly.” She nodded and left the room.

Dr. Dunwood returned his attention back to Fannie. “You’re doing wonderfully. The baby’s almost here. When Mary returns, I need you to push just once more and then it’ll all be over, all right? Can you do that for me?”

Fannie nodded. Behind him, the bedroom door opened before shutting quickly, as Mary, the midwife, returned ladened with a pitcher of hot water, a large basin, clean bedsheets, towels, and night clothes in her arms. She deposited everything on a small table beneath the window in the corner of the room. The late afternoon slanted across the room at a low angle.

Fannie felt another painful contraction and grimaced.

“One more time,” said Dr. Dunwood. “Push!”

He positioned his hands to catch the baby. Fannie gritted her teeth and pushed. The baby came screaming into the world. Dr. Dunwood slapped the baby to induce breathing and the baby’s squalling filled the room. He cut and tied of the baby’s umbilical cord before rummaging in his doctor’s bag and extracting a measuring tape. Mary gently washed away the residue of birth before adjusting her mistress’ night gown and drawing a clean bed sheet up around her hips. When she was finished, Dr. Dunwood took the baby and placed it on a scale that sat on the table where Mary had placed the pitcher, the pile of blankets and bedsheets. He measured the baby, scribbling down his weight and length, took his pulse, then he murmured something to Mary who nodded and took the baby in her arms. The doctor bowed slightly to his patient, offering her a gentle smile before moving swiftly from the room.

Nahum Danford Goddard stopped pacing at the sound of the knock on his study door. He crossed the room in a couple of strides to find Dr. Dunwood standing on the other side of the threshold. He stepped aside, allowing the doctor to step inside. The study’s walls were lined with bookshelves. A drop-down desk and chair stood along one wall. Opposite them a window looked out onto the yard, which contained a chicken coop and an outhouse. A slightly battered Franklin stove stood in the fireplace at the front of the room. A thin cloud of blue cigar smoke hovered near the ceiling.

Nahum Goddard was twenty-three years old. He was a short and rather stocky man with a large moustache. A cigar was clamped firmly between his teeth. He was born in Boston to Nahum and Mary Goddard in 1859. In the years following the American Civil War, when it had proven impossible to scratch out a living as a musician in Boston, Nahum’s father, Nahum Goddard Senior had moved his family to Worchester, uprooting his grown son in the process. Nahum had been in the employ of WB Browne and Co in Boston and arrived in Worchester with a glowing recommendation from his former employer. He quickly found work in the employ of the L Hardy Manufacturing Company as a book-keeper. The L Hardy Manufacturing Company made knives and other cutting implements for the paper and textiles industries. While employed by the Hardy Manufacturing Company, Nahum had become smitten with a slender young woman named Fannie Louise Hoyt. Fannie was the daughter of Fred Hoyt, who was one of the company’s co-owners. Nahum and Fannie had quickly fallen in love with each other and had resolved to get married. However, Fannie’s father had objected to the match. He believed Nahum’s family to be improvident.

“I utterly forbid it!” he said when Nahum asked him for permission to marry his daughter.

Despite his objections, Nahum and Fannie were married on Nahum’s birthday and her father disinherited her. That had been exactly nine months and two days ago.

Dr. Dunwood placed his doctor’s bag on the drop-down desk and opened it with a snap. It was made of black leather and had a brass lock, which shone brightly in the late afternoon light coming in through the window. He extracted a small bottle and two glasses. “I only have a moment to look in on you,” he said. He pulled the stopper out of the bottle and poured some amber coloured liquid into the two glasses, “But I wanted to congratulate you.” He picked up one of the glasses and passed it to Nahum, who took it from him before taking a small sip. “Mrs. Goddard has safely delivered a boy.”

Nahum quickly knocked back his drink and shook Dr. Dunwood’s hand. “Thank you, Doctor,” he said, “for all your assistance.”

Dr. Dunwood waved away Nahum’s compliment and put away the two glasses and the bottle, closing his bag. “There’s no need to thank me,” he said. “It’s always a privilege to bring a new life into the world.”

“How are Fannie and the baby doing?”

“The baby is healthy and they’re both resting comfortably,”

Nahum nodded. “How soon before they can travel?” he asked. Nahum had been in the midst of making plans to take Fannie back to Boston when they had learned of her pregnancy.

Dr. Dunwood’s eyebrows went up in slight surprise. “Travel? No, I’m afraid that’s quite out of the question. It will be several weeks at least before they may be fit to travel. Your wife needs to recover from her pregnancy and the baby needs to acclimatize to his surroundings.”

Nahum nodded. “I understand, doctor, thank you.” It seems that I will have to put off my business plans at least for a time, he thought. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

Dr. Dunwood nodded his thanks and the two men left Nahum’s study. Dr. Dunwood followed Nahum down the hall to the bottom of the stairs up to the second story and the foyer with its elaborately carved oak front door. Nahum thrust a hand into the pocket of his smoking jacket and pulled out his billfold. He opened it, counted out some crisp new bills and handed them to Dr. Dunwood. The doctor took them and quickly scribbled a receipt for Nahum who accepted it and put it in his wallet, which he put back in his pocket.

“Good-bye, Mr. Goddard,” said Dr. Dunwood. “Congratulations again. If Mrs. Goddard or the baby require anything, please do not hesitate to send for me.”

Nahum opened the front door and Dr. Dunwood stepped outside into the autumn chill. Nahum watched as the doctor hailed a passing cab then proceeded back to toward the stairs. He paused only briefly before mounting the stairs up to the second storey. He stopped in front of the door and knocked softly.

A maid came out with a bundle of soiled bedsheets, a washbasin and a pitcher in her arms. Nahum stepped aside to let her pass and then stepped inside. Mary excused herself, curtsied toward Fannie, and went out. There was a ringing silence that seemed to last for several eternities. It couldn’t have been more than ten seconds. He saw the slightly faded floral wallpaper, the brass bed and the bedside oil lamp. The bed sheets had been changed, Fannie’s hair had been combed and the sweat from her labour had been washed away. She was dressed in clean night clothes, cradling their newborn son in her arms as he suckled at her breast. Nahum walked toward Fannie’s bed. His footsteps echoed extra loudly on the wooded floorboards. He pulled a chair over from a corner of the room and set it down next to the bed, gently taking Fannie’s hand. “I love you,” he said, “and I’m very proud of you.”

Fannie gave Nahum’s hand a loving squeeze. “I love you too,” she replied. Her gaze turned from her husband to her son, who continued to drink greedily. They were silent for a time, watching the baby feed.

“So what should we name him?”asked Nahum.

Fannie thought for a moment. “Let’s call him Robert.”