Angels Watching Over Me (Shenandoah Sisters Book #1) (26 page)

Katie reined in the horse. ‘‘Hurry, Mayme,’’ she yelled. ‘‘In the barn. I’ll tie up the horse—you go look.’’

We both jumped down and I ran into the barn.

There was the girl just like Katie said. Sure enough, she was having a baby!

‘‘Praise Jezus!’’ exclaimed the girl when she saw me. ‘‘I’m fixin’ ter hab a baby!’’

A look of pain filled her face. She winced and squeezed her eyes shut tight and cried out.

‘‘Lawd almighty, girl—I can see that!’’ I said. ‘‘You’s as plump as a ripe watermelon!’’

Her face grimaced something dreadful. ‘‘Hit’s comin’ an’ I don’ know what ter do. I’m scared!’’

‘‘Well, why are you trying to have it here!’’ I shot back. I don’t reckon I was thinking too clearly. ‘‘Where you bound to—you gotta get to your own kin.’’

‘‘I ain’t got none no mo, least none dat I can go to.

Dey made me go away. Dey’s fixin’ ter kill me.’’

‘‘What are you talking about? Nobody’s gonna kill you.’’

‘‘Din’t you hear all dat shootin’ a couple days ago?’’

‘‘That was us. Besides, those men weren’t after you. I tell you, you can’t stay here.’’

Another scream came and she collapsed back into the straw. For a second I thought she had passed out.

All at once her eyes shot open again.

‘‘Hit’s comin’, hit’s comin’ . . . I’m afraid!’’

‘‘But you
can’t
have a baby here!’’ I said again.

‘‘Go git da mammy!’’

‘‘There ain’t no mammy here, I tell you.’’

A loud groan followed. Then, ‘‘Git yo own mama den,’’ she pleaded in a forlorn wail. ‘‘Git somebody ter help me!’’

‘‘There ain’t nobody here to help you!’’

Just as the words were out of my mouth, I heard Katie come into the barn.

‘‘Oh no! Da missus . . . she’s gwine scold me again!’’ cried the girl, looking up at Katie. ‘‘I’m done fer now! Please, missus . . . don’ hurt me!’’

Another terrible scream erupted out of her mouth.

‘‘Miss Katie,’’ I practically yelled over the sound, ‘‘this fool nigger’s going to have a baby!’’

‘‘That’s what I’ve been telling you, Mayme,’’ said Katie, hurrying toward us.

‘‘Missus . . . please don’ hurt me!’’ cried the girl.

‘‘Just be quiet,’’ said Katie, stooping down beside her. ‘‘I’m not going to hurt you.’’

‘‘I’m sorry I done took yer bread,’’ she went on hysterically, ‘‘an’ I know hit’s yer barn an’—’’

‘‘It’s all right,’’ said Katie, stroking her forehead and trying to calm her.

‘‘. . . I know I ain’t got no right ter be here, but I din’t hab no place ter go, an’ dey’s after me an’ I’m feared dat—’’

‘‘Be quiet!’’ Katie yelled, putting a hand over the girl’s mouth. ‘‘Listen to us, and we’ll try to help you.’’

For a second she stared back at Katie with great big eyes. All at once it seemed to dawn on her what Katie had said.

‘‘Praise ter Jezus!’’ she cried. ‘‘Thank you, missus! I don’ know what ter do . . . an’ I’m scared.’’

Katie took her hand.

‘‘Please, missus . . . please help me! Hit hurts fearsome bad an’—’’

She winced in pain and cried out again.

‘‘Mayme,’’ said Katie, looking back to where I was standing, ‘‘we’ve got to do something.’’

‘‘Thank you, missus!’’ she said, squeezing Katie’s hand for dear life. ‘‘Praise Jezus—I knew yo’d help me! But, missus . . . I don’ know—’’

‘‘Just be quiet,’’ said Katie. ‘‘Try to relax and don’t talk. Mayme, what should we do?’’

‘‘I don’t know,’’ I said. ‘‘All I know is they always boil water for birthing.’’

‘‘What for?’’

‘‘I don’t know.’’

‘‘No sense in us doing it, then,’’ said Katie. ‘‘But we should get some more blankets for her, and a pillow.’’ ‘

‘I’ll go fetch them, and maybe some towels,’’ I said. ‘‘They’re always using towels.’’

I tore out of the barn toward the house. There’d been plenty of birthings in the colored village, and people were always giving orders and fetching stuff. But without my mama or one of the older women around, the thought scared me. I don’t suppose I was acting altogether full-witted yet, but it had all happened so fast. I hardly noticed that Katie seemed calmer than me, and was telling me what to do.

As I got to the kitchen door, another shriek sounded behind me. Even while the sound of it was dying away, Katie’s voice followed.

‘‘Hurry, Mayme!’’ she yelled.

T
HREE
G
IRLS
D
OING
W
HAT
W
OMEN
D
O
39

B
Y THE TIME
I
GOT BACK TO THE BARN LUG
ging another blanket, a few towels, a pillow, and a pail of water, I’d heard two more shrieks out of the girl. Whatever was going to happen, there wasn’t anybody else to help us. Even though we were just girls, it looked like we were going to have to be women now.

Katie was still kneeling beside the girl, talking to her and trying to make her comfortable.

‘‘Her name’s Emma, Mayme,’’ Katie told me. ‘‘She’s been hiding here in the barn for a couple of days. She’s nearly famished from hunger.—Here, Emma . . . here’s another blanket, we’re going to put it under you. —Mayme, help me tuck the blanket under so she can lie on it.’’

Katie leaned the girl up a little as we got the blanket down onto the straw and past her shoulders and back, then helped her lean back and forth till we could pull it the rest of the way and get her lying on the blanket instead of straw. Then Katie put the pillow under her head.

She wasn’t hollering so much now, with Katie holding her hand and talking gently to her. But her forehead and cheeks were drenched in sweat, and I can’t say she smelled any too good. Every so often she’d cry out a little and twist up her face in pain.

‘‘Dat feels good,’’ she said as she leaned her head back onto the pillow. ‘‘Thank yer, missus—ye’re bein’ so kind ter me eben dough I dun stole yer bread.’’

‘‘Don’t worry about the bread, Emma,’’ said Katie. ‘‘And I’m not a missus—I’m just a girl like you. My mama was the mistress, but she’s . . . she’s not here. My name’s Katie. And we’ll get you something more to eat real soon.—Mayme, dip a towel in some water so we can wash her face.’’

‘‘Jezus, bless yer soul, Miz Katie . . . ye’re so good—’’

She cried out and grabbed at Katie’s hand.

‘‘Laws, it hurts, Miz Katie! I can’t help it . . . I’m so scared!’’

‘‘Just lie still, Emma,’’ Katie said gently. ‘‘Everything is going to be fine. You don’t mind if I pull up your dress a little, do you, Emma?’’

‘‘No, Miz Katie . . .’’

She was grimacing in pain every few seconds by now it seemed, and each time it came over her, she leaned forward and her whole body tensed up. But Katie kept holding her hand and trying to calm her.

‘‘Get a towel, Mayme,’’ said Katie as she drew Emma’s dress up. ‘‘Put it down there by her so the baby—’’

Emma screamed again, louder and longer than before.

Katie helped her get her underthings off, and then I saw why the girl was yelling so often. Her knees were raised, and all at once I saw the top of a tiny little dark head trying to push its way out from inside her.

‘‘There it is!’’ I yelled. ‘‘It’s coming!’’

The next second Katie was at my side. ‘‘Take her hand, Mayme—talk to her,’’ she said. ‘‘I’ll help with the baby.—One or two more times, Emma. You’re doing good . . . it’s almost over.’’

‘‘Laws . . . owwww. . . .’’

‘‘Here comes your baby, Emma,’’ said Katie, reaching to help guide the little head the rest of the way out.

Emma shrieked again. ‘‘I can’t . . . ow—Miz Katie!’’

‘‘It’s coming, Emma!’’

Emma bent forward and grimaced and pushed. For a couple of seconds the barn was completely silent. Then suddenly I heard a swoosh, and a second or two later the tiny cry of a baby.

‘‘Emma, you did it!’’ Katie cried, and as I looked up, her face was smiling like I’d never seen it before. Emma collapsed back against the pillow with her eyes closed, still sweating and crying and breathing heavily. But it was only for a second. The crying of the baby brought her eyes open again, and a faint smile came to her parched lips.

‘‘It’s a little boy, Emma!’’ said Katie. ‘‘—Mayme, help me . . . get that other towel . . . help me dry him off.’’

I did what she said, hardly knowing what to think. How on earth did Katie know how to do all this!

As I was helping her I noticed something about the baby that seemed mighty peculiar. But I didn’t have the chance to think about it right then.

‘‘Go back into the house, Mayme,’’ said Katie in the middle of my thoughts. ‘‘Get my mama’s scissors from the sewing room. We have to cut the cord. And a bottle of alcohol from the pantry . . . hurry.’’

When I came back, I stared almost bewildered while Katie splashed alcohol on the scissors, then cut the cord by the knot she’d tied and dabbed it with some more alcohol and wiped away the blood.

Katie wrapped the baby in one of the clean towels and gently held him out to Emma.

‘‘Here’s your baby boy, Emma,’’ she said. ‘‘Do you want to hold him?’’

Emma reached out her arms to take him, then just stared at the little thing she was holding, studying his tiny fingers and little ears and even the little toenails.

‘‘Thank you, Miz Katie . . . ye’re been so good ter me!’’

‘‘What do you want to call him?’’ Katie asked.

‘‘Da chil’s name be William,’’ I heard Emma answer softly.

Katie covered her up with the end of the blanket and a clean towel. Emma was exhausted. It looked nice and peaceful, the little baby at his mother’s breast, and in less than two minutes both of them were asleep.

But there was still something bothering me.

Katie gathered up the dirty towels and pail of water and walked toward the barn door.

I just kept staring at Emma and the baby for a few seconds, hardly believing what I was seeing, then I followed Katie out of the barn.

A D
IFFERENCE
40

W
E HARDLY HAD A MINUTE TO OURSELVES for the rest of the day. What with Katie fussing over Emma and the baby, if I hadn’t known better I’d have thought Katie
was
a missus, and that Emma was her own little girl!

Katie was younger than either me or Emma, and here she was acting like mistress to the whole place. I don’t know why it bothered me. I’d never minded anything she said to me, but seeing her being so nice to a dimwit like Emma stuck in my craw, and I couldn’t get rid of it.

We had left them sleeping there in the barn and walked back toward the house. Katie’s sleeves were rolled up and she was carrying two bloody towels. Her face was glowing with satisfaction. I wasn’t saying much, and by now we’d been around each other long enough to know what the other’s frame of mind was.

‘‘What’s eating you, Mayme?’’ said Katie.

‘‘Can’t you tell?’’ I said.

‘‘Tell what?’’ she asked.

‘‘That baby’s father’s a white man.’’

‘‘How do you know?’’

‘‘Look at him. You can tell by the color of his skin.’’

‘‘His hair’s curly and dark.’’

‘‘That doesn’t matter,’’ I said. ‘‘Emma’s as black as a sky with no moon, but that child’s light as can be. I’ve seen a heap of colored babies, and that little boy’s the son of a white man.’’

Katie shrugged as she put the towels down by the washtub in the yard. Then she washed her hands. ‘‘I don’t see what difference that makes,’’ she finally said.

‘‘It makes all the difference,’’ I shot back. Probably my voice sounded a little irritable because that’s what I was feeling.

‘‘Why?’’ asked Katie, with a little edge creeping into her voice too.

‘‘Because—because it means she lay with a white man, and that ain’t right,’’ I answered. ‘‘She ain’t married to whoever that boy’s father is, and it’s wrong. It ain’t nothing but a little bastard son of a white man.’’

Katie thought a second.

‘‘I suppose you’re right,’’ she said slowly. ‘‘About somebody doing wrong. But that’s not the baby’s fault, and it’s not right for
you
to call it such a name. The baby can’t help what color it is or how it got here. You’re not prejudiced against whites, are you, Mayme?’’

‘‘How can you say that?’’