The Sisters from Hardscrabble Bay (2 page)

Mother stood up. “Let them be, Bill. If they’ve got a secret, let them have it. Lord knows they’ve little enough as it is.” She walked into her pantry and returned with a loaf of bread.

Suddenly her face changed; she made a startled noise. She slowly put the bread down, took off her apron, folded it, and laid it across her chair. She looked at Dad, her hand resting atop her swollen middle. “Bill, my water’s broke.” She turned to Idella. “Della, hon, you and Avis finish supper and then get up to bed. The baby’ll be coming.” Idella nodded. Mother went into the bedroom and closed the door. Idella could see a puddle of clear liquid where Mother had been standing and a trickle of wetness following her. She was leaking. Somewhere there was a bag of waters, and it just broke. Dad got up and followed Mother in and closed the door.

“It won’t be long now. Another mouth to feed.” Dalton reached over and took the bread. He tore off a large piece.

Dad came out of the bedroom. “Dalton, go get Elsie. Tell her the baby’s coming. I’ll go for Mrs. Jaegel.” For once Dalton ran to do Dad’s bidding. Dad went out to harness the horse to the wagon and go get the midwife. Mrs. Jaegel lived just up the road.

The sisters sat at the table, not daring to move from their chairs. Mrs. Doncaster, who lived the next farm over, came running back with Dalton. Her arms were full of rags and sheets. The bottoms of old dresses and torn work shirts were all rolled together across her wide front. She looked like she was carrying laundry, but Idella knew it was for the baby. For the waters.

Mrs. Doncaster was smiling. “I just get one baby to sleep and I have to take care of another.” Her baby, Austin, was three months old. Mother’d gone over in the middle of the night and helped deliver him.

Mrs. Doncaster saw the puddle Mother’d left on the floor. “Della, honey, take this rag and wipe that up. That’s a big girl.” She dropped a rag onto the floor and took the rest of her bundle into the bedroom.

The waters soaked the rag a pale yellow. There was still a warmth to it, and a kind of sweet smell.

“What’s that water for?” Avis asked, still seated at the table.

“I don’t know.” Idella mopped the thin trail that led to the bedroom. “Maybe it was for the baby to drink.”

“It looks like pee.” Avis laughed. “Like it was drinking pee.”

Mrs. Doncaster came out of the bedroom. “We’ll have a new baby by midnight.” She stooped and took the rag from Idella. “Now, you girls eat up your supper. Your ma’s goin’ to be busy. Probably the last proper meal you’ll have for a while, if I know your father.” She put all the used rags in the tin dishpan and rolled up her sleeves.

“I can cook.” Idella sat back at the table. “I can make Parker House rolls.”

“I should say.” Mrs. Doncaster was busy at the kitchen pump. She filled the pan with water, then started scrubbing her hands with the lye soap.

“I’ll be eight in July. I’m more eight now than seven.”

“Well, you’re skinny as blades of grass, so you girls eat that supper.” They watched as she scrubbed her arms all the way up to the elbows and then disappeared into the bedroom. Her hearty voice came right through the closed door.

No one ate another mouthful. It was too exciting.

The wagon drew up to the house. Dad came in, followed by Mrs. Jaegel. She was a short, squarish woman. She had a black suitcase with her, the same shape as she was, only smaller. Mrs. Jaegel went directly into the bedroom, nodding to Mrs. Doncaster, who had returned to the kitchen.

“She’s doing fine, Bill.” Mrs. Doncaster smiled at Dad.

“You’re a godsend, Elsie.” Dad walked over to the table and picked up his plate and stood till he finished his stew. “Damn baby’s interfering with my meals right off. I’ll probably lose sleep tonight, too.” He tore off a hunk of bread and headed for the door. “You know where I’ll be.”

“Not yet you don’t, sir. Get the washtubs filled and going on the fire. You ought to be some help.”

“Now, Elsie, let me get the hell out to the barn. You women take care of it best yourselves.”

“Jesus, Bill, fourth time around and you’re still useless.”

“I get things started pretty good.” They both laughed.

“You do know that much. Now, get my water going and then get out to the barn.”

Dad came in with the big tin tub they used to take baths in and a bucket they used for washing floors and such. He put the tub up on the stove, added wood down below, and got the fire going strong. Then he went to the sink pump and started filling up the bucket and pouring it into the washtub till it was mostly full.

“You girls get on upstairs. Della, get Avis to bed. Do what your mother does. Don’t come running down bothering the ladies.” A sharp cry came from out of the bedroom. “Go on,” Dad said. “Get!”

There was no lagging when he gave an order. The girls ran up the stairs and into their bedroom. They heard the door slam as Dad went out to the barn.

“It hurts to have a baby.” Avis rolled on the bed from side to side with her knees up, making moaning sounds.

Idella sat down on the bed beside her. “Quit that, Avis.”

“I’m going to listen.” Avis sneaked out of the room and crouched at the top of the stairs.

With the door open, Idella could hear Mrs. Doncaster moving about the stove. Suddenly she heard the rapid click of footsteps. “I seen a mouse, I swear it.” Mrs. Doncaster stood at the bottom of the stairs. Avis came flying in and closed the door.

“You’ll get us in trouble.”

Avis plopped back onto the bed.

“Come here,” Idella said, “I’ll brush your hair.”

Avis sat still. Idella brushed her chestnut hair, the same color as Mother’s.

“I have an idea of what we could name it,” Idella said. “If it’s a girl.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mother said that I could maybe help with the naming.” Avis turned and stared at her in that squinty-eyed way she got when she was mad about something. “If it’s born tomorrow, on May Day—” Idella stopped and smiled shyly. “I thought, maybe . . . Daisy May! Like May Day backwards.”

Avis puckered her mouth into a tight wad of wrinkles. “Daisy May! That’s stupid! That sounds like a cow name.”

“Well, what would
you
call it?”

“Cow Patty!” Avis cackled.

“Be serious. And quit picking the straw out of the mattress.”

“If it’s a girl,” Avis asked, lying back and dangling her legs over the bed, “will she have to sleep in here with us?”

“She won’t get a room of her own!”

“Three in one room.” Avis groaned. “I think Dalton should share with whatever it is.”

Idella climbed into bed. The girls stilled their bodies and listened for any sounds from down below.

“Della,” Avis asked, “do you think the baby will get in the way?”

“Of what?”

“Of giving her the basket. What if she don’t notice it on the doorknob?”

“She’ll notice.” Idella rolled toward the window. “I think she will. Now, go to sleep.”

She was tired. Avis kept shifting around and rousing her from near sleep, whispering, “Are you asleep, Della?” She didn’t answer and pretended to be. Soon enough she really was.

 

“Della! Wake up!” Avis was tugging on her. “It’s here! I heard the baby cry. I been awake the whole time.” Avis ran to the door and opened it.

Idella roused herself from the bed and stood in the doorway behind her. There it was! A thin little cry barely made its way up the stairs.

“It sounds like a lamb. Baaaaaa,” Avis whispered.

The bedroom door opened downstairs. “I’ll go tell Bill he’s got another girl.” It was Mrs. Jaegel’s voice. “He must be in the barn.”

“He’d best be sober,” Mrs. Doncaster said. “He was wanting a boy. Go tell him. And Dalton, too, if you see him. Funny kid.”

Mrs. Doncaster came to the bottom of the steps carrying a lamp and looked up at the two girls. “I thought you scamps was moving up there. Come on down, then. Mother wants her girls to see their new baby sister. Be quick, mind, and be quiet.”

“What day is it, Mrs. Doncaster?” Idella asked. “What’s her birthday?”

“Well, that baby’d be born on the first of May, Della. Just after midnight.” Mrs. Doncaster held her lamp up for them as they tiptoed down the steps. It made their shadows slide along the wall beside them. Mrs. Doncaster waited with a cautioning finger pressed to her lips.

“Your mother’s very tired. It come easy, but it still takes a lot out of a body.”

The girls followed Mrs. Doncaster into the bedroom. The lamp by the bed was turned to a soft flicker. Mother sat propped on a pillow, her hair hanging loose down her back. She was holding the baby across her front. But it was so bundled that they couldn’t see anything of it to speak of.

“Here’s all my girls. Together for the first time.” Mother smiled. You could see her smile, Idella thought, no matter how dim the light. The girls leaned as far as they could toward the baby to see what it looked like. Its tiny hands were pressed against Mother. Its face was closed up. “It looks like a walnut,” Idella said.

“Oh, Della.” Mother smiled again. “I can’t even wake her up for long. She’s sleeping the sleep of the newborn.”

“Can I touch her?” Idella couldn’t take her eyes off the tiny knots with fingers.

“You can each touch her gently. Just don’t push on me, sweetie. Don’t touch my belly.”

Idella brushed one finger on the baby’s cheek. It felt soft as warm butter. Avis laid her palm lightly over the top of the little head and then pulled it away quickly. “It’s wet!” she said.

“That’s right.” Mother gave her a hug as best she could. “Now, it’s high time everyone got back to bed.”

Mrs. Doncaster came forward. “Come, girls, I’ll take you up.”

“Where’s Bill?” Mother asked as Mrs. Doncaster was closing the door. “Elsie, get Bill. He should be here.”

“Mrs. Jaegel’s gone to tell him, dear.” She paused. “You all right down here?”

Mother nodded. “Just so tired all of a sudden.” She gave a little wave with her hand and blew them a kiss, then lay back on the pillow and closed her eyes.

“That father of yours.” Mrs. Doncaster shook her head as she ushered Avis and Idella up the stairs. She was whispering under her breath as she came up behind them, but Idella could make out what she was saying. “Damn fool if he’s drunk.” She watched the girls climb into bed. “Now, I don’t want to hear a peep from this room till morning,” she warned, and she softly closed the bedroom door.

Avis and Idella lay staring up at the ceiling. “Do you think he’s drunk?” Avis asked.

“Could be.”

“Do you think it’s ’cause it’s a girl?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe he didn’t want one more baby.”

“Too late. It’s here.” Idella turned toward the window and pulled the blanket up over her shoulder.

“Quit hogging.” Avis pulled it back. “I’m here, too, you know.”

The door opened downstairs. The girls listened. Dad’s footsteps crossed the kitchen. The steps of a man sound different, Idella thought. They land so heavy on the floor.

“He’s going into the bedroom,” Avis said, lying flat again.

“If he’s drunk, at least he’s not roaring,” Idella whispered.

“I hope he ain’t.” Avis kicked out from under the blanket entirely. “It’s kind of funny looking, don’t you think?”

“I couldn’t see much face to it.” Idella had been alarmed by the puckeriness of the face. She knew that sometimes babies didn’t come out right.

“Are you sleepy?” Avis was sitting up.

“Maybe.” Idella pulled herself tighter into a ball.

“I’m not,” Avis said. But she lay down, and soon enough Idella heard the familiar sounds of slow, steady breathing.

Idella couldn’t make her thoughts stop, even when she kept her eyes closed for a long time. She opened them and stared at the window. The sweep of the trees made soft sounds outside, their branches studded now with tiny buds. She could feel how full up the house was. It felt heavy with people. And there was the new baby.

It seemed to her that they had plenty of people in the family already. Where was the need? “You take what you get,” she’d heard Mother say once to Aunt Francie. Idella wasn’t sure if they’d been talking about babies. She’d just heard that phrase, and it stuck with her.

Another time Mother told Aunt Francie that they were “always scraping.” Idella thought that was a funny thing to say. She thought about all the scraping she did: scraping the dishes, scraping the floor, especially where the mud got dried all over from the men’s boots, scraping the potatoes from out of the field. That was a lot of scraping. It was like the rows of potatoes would never end. And they scraped the fish insides. Guts, the men called them. She didn’t do that scraping. But she held up the lantern so the men could, when they came in off the water at dawn.

Oh, and she helped Mother scrape wallpaper. That was fun. They got the water real hot and took big rags, sopping-wet ones, and rubbed them all up and down the walls in Mother and Dad’s bedroom. Then they put up the new. Lovely blue cornflowers all over the walls. Mother had ordered it from a catalog, and it came on the train from down in Portland, where she grew up. Dad said he felt like a “goddamned mealy bug going to sleep with all them flowers.” Idella’d felt bad when he said that, but Mother had laughed and said it wasn’t the first field of flowers he’d laid down in.

When Mother had first said, “Idella, we’re going to have a new baby come spring,” Idella’d looked at her for a long time and then finally asked, “Does Dad know?” “Oh, yes, Dad knows.” Mother had laughed in that warm way she did. “He’s my rooster, and you’re my little chick.”

Mother called them lots of funny things when she was happy. They were her sweet peas or her toadstools or field mice. She called them things like that, and then she’d chase them around the kitchen and tickle them. Avis would get wild with giggling. Then Mother would march them out of the house. They would scatter like bees in a frenzy until she gathered them in. “Come back, come back!” she’d call across the yard or up into the hayloft, where they sometimes hid. “It’s time to do something useful.” And they’d come. Together they’d set about cleaning something . . . or patching a quilt . . . or shelling those endless beans . . . or peeling . . . or scraping.