The Sisters from Hardscrabble Bay (3 page)

Idella turned her face into the pillow and fell asleep.

 

There was a sound. Idella could hear it, strange, dragging at her from outside of sleep. She turned restlessly. It’s the baby, she thought, remembering. The baby’s crying. But it didn’t sound like a baby. Idella stiffened. A scream shot through her whole body. But it wasn’t her scream. It came from down below. “Oh, God, the pain! The pain! It’s going right through me!” It was Mother.

Idella listened hard. The house had changed. There were footsteps, both men’s and women’s. She could hear men’s voices outside. Dad was there. She sat up and looked out her window. It was still nighttime, but she could see shapes. Blackie was out there, Dad’s horse. He was jumpy, and someone was holding him steady. “Change ’im at Mulligan’s, Bill. They’ve got good horses, and they’re ’bout halfway.” Dad swung up onto Blackie in one motion and took off fast. No wagon, just the horse, pounding down the road in the darkness.

“Della?” Avis was whispering beside her. “Why is she crying? The baby’s come already.”

“I don’t know, Avis. Dad just took off on the horse.”

Idella went to the door and opened it a crack. The kitchen lamps were full on. She could hear Mrs. Doncaster at the stove. “We need more rags. Fred, go over the house and get more rags. Bring the sheets and blankets if you’ve got to. We’ll tear ’em up. These are black with it. And bring our kettle for clean water. I’ll stay here till the doctor comes, and then I’ll take the baby.” Idella heard Mr. Doncaster’s heavy footsteps leave before Mrs. Doncaster had finished talking.

She crawled out into the hall. She could see Mrs. Doncaster stirring things in the big washtub. There were ugly dark splotches across the front of her dress, on her skirt, and up her arms. It was blood. Black blood was coming from out of Mother, soaking up all the rags. And Dad had gone twenty miles for the doctor on horseback in the night.

The bedroom door opened. Mrs. Pettigrew, from down the road, came out holding the baby. “You’d best take her now, Elsie. The poor thing needs to suck. I’ll take over here. Lord help us get through this night.”

Mrs. Doncaster was wiping blood off her arm with her apron. “Give it to me. I’d take it on home, but I don’t want to leave Emma.” She put her hand carefully under the baby’s head. “Any letup?”

“Not to speak of.” Mrs. Pettigrew moved to the stove and looked into the steaming kettle of rags. “Lord, how quick these have all been gone through. And she keeps on so about the pain. Straight from her heart, she says, straight through her.”

Idella lay flat on the floor and pushed her fist tight against her mouth. She wanted Mother. She wanted to run down the stairs and send all those people home and take care of her. She wanted the pain and the bleeding to stop. So much blood was flowing that it made everything black.

A sharp cry came from the bedroom. “Go on in to her, Petty, and do what you can.” Mrs. Doncaster stood holding the baby, rocking it, with her pinkie finger up against the corner of its mouth. The baby turned to it and began to suck.

“What’s going on? Who’s down there?” Avis was whispering through the cracked door.

Idella motioned Avis back into the bedroom and then crawled in after her. “Mother’s sick,” she whispered, pulling the door to. “I’m going down there.”

“You can’t go down, Della. We ain’t s’posed to. Dad said.” Avis took hold of Idella’s nightgown. “Mrs. Doncaster said, too. Please, Della, don’t go down and leave me up here.”

“I’ve got to, Avis! Mother’s not right. They got the doctor coming. Let go!” Idella pried Avis’s fist from her nightie. “You stay here.” She was not going to tell Avis about the blood.

She returned to the hall and peered down. No one was there. All the voices were coming from the bedroom, and the door was closed. She had to get down there. She pressed close to the banister, slunk to the bottom of the stairs, then slipped onto the narrow plank bench tucked away behind the stove, where they put their socks and mittens to dry in the winter. It was dark back there. No one would take notice of the bench or of Idella on it.

She pressed her knees and feet together and looked out into what she could see of the kitchen. The table had been pushed over closer to the stove. She could see last night’s supper, plates of stew stacked right into each other. Part of the loaf of bread was sitting where Dalton had torn into it. The big knife was gone.

The bedroom door opened. Idella pulled herself closer in behind the stove. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” It was Mrs. Pettigrew. “She was healthy as a horse.”

“I thought the blood was going to drain right out of her. It’s let up some.” Mrs. Doncaster was huddled with her next to the outside door. She was holding the baby up tight against her and seemed not even to notice she had it.

“In the name of God, I wish that doctor would come.” Mrs. Pettigrew opened the door and looked out into the night. “We give her them after-birth pills, for the pain, but it don’t help. She’s crying for more. We can’t give her but what they say.”

“No, I don’t think . . . The doctor’ll know about that. Leave it open, Petty. Fred’s coming right back.” Mrs. Pettigrew nodded, and both women stepped into the open doorway. “The air feels good,” Mrs. Doncaster said, and sighed. “Will this night ever end?”

“Her color’s gone so bad.” Mrs. Pettigrew lowered her voice to a hissing whisper. Idella strained to hear. “I never seen anyone turn that color.”

“Gone black, I swear to God.” Mrs. Doncaster lowered her voice, too. The women stood silent for a minute, looking out.

A loud scream came from the bedroom.

“Mother of God, I’ll try to help Mrs. Jaegel.” Mrs. Pettigrew rushed back into the bedroom.

Mr. Doncaster came in carrying more sheets and another big kettle. Mrs. Doncaster looked at her husband and shook her head. “You get that kettle filled and on the stove. We need clean water. Then take the infant back to the house. Tell Lilly to keep an eye on it. Maybe it’ll stay sleeping for a while now.” She stood holding the baby until Mr. Doncaster had hoisted the second kettle up onto the stove and poured buckets of water from the pump like Dad had done. Then she handed him the bundled baby and took the armful of sheets into the bedroom. Mr. Doncaster carried the baby out of the house. It seemed swallowed up against his red plaid shirt.

The women stayed in the bedroom a long time with Mother. It got quiet. Every once in a while, the door would open and Mrs. Pettigrew or Mrs. Doncaster would slip out, the door swooshing softly behind them. They’d check the water on the stove or go to the window, looking out toward the road for the doctor to come.

The whole while, hours, Idella sat on the wooden bench. The rough edge of it rubbed under her knees. The warmth from the fire pressed on her face, like someone breathing close up against her cheeks and forehead. Wisps of hair stuck against the side of her cheek. But her bare feet were cold. If she put them against the stove, someone might see her. She put one on top of the other and tried to rub them warm. She could see out the window from here. She couldn’t see the road, where the doctor’d be coming from, but she could see out over the field.

It must be getting on toward dawn, Idella thought. The light had gradually changed. Morning fog had pushed up from out of the bay, hovering gray outside the windows. It’d swirl around your feet like smoke when you walked on the fields. Mother said it was like walking through the clouds, only better, because it smelled of the sea.

Idella had been up this early before. There were times she and Avis and Mother would hold up the lanterns for the men after they’d been out fishing all night. The men would clean the fish and set them on racks to dry in the sun. Herring. Some would be kept for winter, and some would get barreled and pickled and sold to people all over the world. Idella’s arm would grow achy trying to hold the lantern just right. Mother told her to concentrate on the coming and going of the fog, to listen to the birds and the sounds of the water from the bay. That made it a little easier, and Idella knew that what they were doing was important, but she always wished she was back in bed.

Her back felt awfully tired. There was nothing she could lean up against. She dared not move from her spot on the bench, not even a little. She knew that she should do like Mother said, concentrate on the fog and the coming of the day. Birds were starting up. She heard the cows. Dalton must be out in the barn, seeing that they were milked. He hadn’t come in at all. Idella wondered what he knew.

The bedroom door opened. Idella drew back. Mrs. Doncaster went to the bottom of the stairs and looked up toward the girls’ bedroom, listening. Idella thought she heard the door close up there. Avis. Then Mrs. Doncaster went to the window by the door. She stood for a long time. Idella could see her plain. Mr. Doncaster came into the house. He put his arm around her, and she leaned up against him. Idella’d never seen anything like that between them. “She’s awful weak,” Mrs. Doncaster whispered, “awful weak.”

“The infant’s crying. I come to get you. Lilly don’t know what else to do with it.” He brushed her hair out of her eyes.

She nodded. “The best I can help her now is to feed her baby.” Mr. Doncaster kept his arm around her and helped her out the door.

Idella was trembling. Mrs. Doncaster was going to feed Mother’s baby. It didn’t have a name. No one was even thinking about giving it a name. Idella pressed her knees tighter and tighter till they hurt. She started rocking back and forth, hugging her whole self with her arms.

Suddenly Mr. Doncaster ran back. “They’re coming! They’re riding full out!” Idella forced her body to be still. Mrs. Jaegel came out of the bedroom. Idella could hear Mother’s groans when the door opened. She listened as Mrs. Jaegel filled a bowl with hot water and rushed back in.

The bench trembled beneath Idella as the horses approached. “Is she here? Is she still here?” Dad shouted as he rode up.

“I’ll take the horses, Bill!” Mr. Doncaster was shouting, too.

Dad and the doctor rushed through the kitchen and into the bedroom, closing the door behind them. They didn’t even wipe the mud off their boots. The muffled sounds of the men talking were low and thick. Idella strained to listen. Sometimes she heard Mrs. Pettigrew’s voice, or Mrs. Jaegel’s, but barely.

Someone came out of the bedroom. It was the doctor. Idella pulled herself back. He walked right up to the stove. Idella could hear his breath, still coming hard from the ride. The stove door opened and shut. Then he went back into the bedroom as quickly as he’d come out.

Idella sat on the bench, alone in the kitchen, not daring to move, for a long, long time. She watched as the room grew lighter. It was morning now. Avis must be awake, afraid to come down, lying up there with the door cracked, listening. Idella placed her hands on her stomach. She realized that she was hungry. She wished she could reach out and grab a piece of the bread from off the table. Mother had made it just yesterday. How could she be hungry with something so bad happening?

Suddenly the voices got louder. “Emma! Emma!” Dad was calling Mother’s name. Something made a loud noise, like a crash, something heavy hitting the floor. There was commotion. Then everything stopped all at once and got quiet. There weren’t even whispers. She listened and listened, pressing her whole body down so that nothing would move, but there was still no sound.

Finally the bedroom door opened, and Mrs. Jaegel came out carrying the bowl of hot water, holding it with both hands. Steam was still rising from it. The water droplets slid down her face. She stood in the middle of the room and said aloud, quiet but clear, “She’s gone.”

Mrs. Pettigrew came behind her, like a drunk person. She reached out to keep from falling over and collapsed into a chair, flinging her head and arms down over her knees. She was crying. Idella could see her body shaking.

Idella’s mouth was dry, her tongue thick and heavy. Everything was far-off-sounding, as though the fog had come into the house and filled it up.

“Them pills.” Mrs. Jaegel walked slowly to the table and put down the bowl. She bent over next to Mrs. Pettigrew and whispered. “He threw them pills into the fire. He took one look at her, and he took that packet and come out here and threw the whole thing into the fire. You seen it as well as me.”

Mrs. Pettigrew sat up in the chair. “Do you think . . . ?”

“He walked right up and threw them in.” Mrs. Jaegel gestured toward the stove. “She was healthy as a horse. You know it. That baby come out easy. Then we give her them pills he give her for the after-birth pain. That’s when the trouble started. And she kept asking for more.”

“But we’ve all took them pills when it was our time.”

“He took one look at her, and he took them pills and threw them into the fire. Just like that.” Mrs. Jaegel made a quick throwing motion.

Mrs. Pettigrew looked over at the closed bedroom door and then back up into Mrs. Jaegel’s face, which had come to life with a thick rage. She wiped her eyes with her skirt. “Holy Mother of God. Did Bill see it?”

“He took no notice. He was on his knees to her, poor man.”

“It won’t do no good to tell him. It won’t bring her back. He’d kill him with his bare hands.”

Dad came out of the bedroom. The women stopped talking. He stood in the doorway, staring out at the room. Then he crossed the kitchen and went out onto the porch. “That bitch! That goddamned Christly bitch!” Dad’s fist, his boot, something, was hitting hard up against the side of the house. “That goddamned bitch!” Idella could feel the vibrations as he kicked and kicked and kicked at the porch posts.

“He’ll hurt himself,” Mrs. Pettigrew whispered. “He’ll break a window.”

“Leave him be,” Mrs. Jaegel said. “Leave the poor man be.”

Gone. Idella heard the word over and over in her head. Gone, she thought. Mother was gone. Idella crumpled over onto the bench. The cries that she had held off for so long came shuddering through her.