“A little.” Deirdre reached for the cup at Hannah’s bedside and offered it to her. “Drink it slow or you might be sick.”
Hannah drank too greedily and sputtered, the water dripping onto her sweat-soaked shift. “Am I going to die tonight?”
A sudden vision of Hannah, wasted, still, and pale, intruded upon Deirdre’s mind. She shook it off and pulled in a steadying breath. “You won’t die, ma’am. Not tonight. Just you lay back now and breathe.” She put one hand on Hannah’s forehead, and laid the other on the swollen, blue-veined rise of her belly, ignoring the niggle of fear in her own. Deirdre closed her eyes and focused her thoughts until they were sharp as an arrow: Rest, Hannah. All is well. Let your body do the work and the baby will come.
Within a few moments, Hannah’s breathing settled into a steady whisper and her belly softened. She rocked her head toward Deirdre and blinked drowsily. “You sure do have the prettiest eyes, Miss Deirdre. Blue as a jay’s wing. And your hair, so fine and dark. Surely you’ve a beau?”
Deirdre glanced down at Mama, where she knelt at the foot of the bed. Mama gave an encouraging nod. Right. Keep her talking.
“I . . . I have a beau, though he’s yet to talk to my pa,” she whispered, low enough that Mama wouldn’t hear. “I reckon we’ll be betrothed soon.” If Pa ever returned from laying track out west. Indian raids on rail crews and accidents were a constant worry that kept her and Mama pacing the floors when too much time passed between his telegrams. Anything could happen out in the western territories. “How did you and Mr. Bledsoe meet? I’ve never heard your courtin’ story.”
“How funny, I was most certain we’d spoken of it. At my tea social, after we returned from our nuptials. Remember?”
The Bledsoes had never socialized with Deirdre or her family. Deirdre counted it as labor delirium that Hannah thought they’d shared such an intimate conversation. Hill women and city women didn’t mix, as a rule. But for all their differences, Deirdre was certain they were the same age. There was a kind of kinship in that. “I’m sure we did speak of it, but I’ve forgot. Tell me again, Mrs. Bledsoe?”
“Please call me Hannah. Oh—” Hannah’s words were stolen by another contraction. She knotted her hands in the coverlet and howled. The panic flared in her eyes, and she thrashed her legs, nearly kicking Mama in the head. “Holy Jesus! It’s like I’m being torn in two!”
“Just breathe,” Deirdre soothed, calling forth her healing touch once more as she placed a hand on Hannah’s pain-knotted brow. “Don’t fight it.”
“Don’t fight it,” Hannah echoed. After a few moments, the contraction eased. Outside, the rain started up, bringing a welcomed coolness to the humid room.
Mama was busy between Hannah’s legs, whispering prayers. “Baby’s comin’ fast now, Deirdre. Get her on her feet.”
“All right now, Hannah, it’s time.” Deirdre scrambled across the bed and grasped both Hannah’s legs behind the knee and swung them over the side of the bed. She gathered all her strength and lifted Hannah beneath the arms in a tight embrace.
“I can’t stand!” Hannah’s knees crumpled and threatened to pull Deirdre down to the floor. She was shaking harder than a spring sapling in a hard wind.
“Then stay right here in a squat and lean against me. We’re goin’ to have this baby now, hear?” Between Hannah’s thighs, Deirdre could see the baby dangling half-born, slicked with birth fluids and blood. It was a boy.
Mama cupped its tiny buttocks in her hands, and gently rocked back and forth, trying to help the shoulders slip free. The baby began to turn, guided by Mama’s motions. “Now, when I say so, push hard as you can, Mrs. Bledsoe.”
“I can’t!” Hannah howled.
“You can and you will!” Mama worked fast, her fingers disappearing inside Mrs. Bledsoe. Suddenly, the pulsing, tangled length of cord unfurled from Hannah’s womb. Relief flooded through Deirdre. They were almost there.
“Push!” Mama ordered.
“Push now, Hannah!” Deirdre hollered. “Hard as you can!”
Hannah gripped Deirdre’s shoulders and bore down with all she had. She took two panting breaths, gave a hearty cry, then pushed again.
Mama shouted in victory. The baby’s head popped free, covered in masses of dark hair. A moment went by. Thunder shook the walls of the Bledsoe mansion. As if startled to life by the sound, the baby gave a lusty cry. His face filled with blazing color. “You’ve a perfect baby boy, Mrs. Bledsoe,” Mama said, laughing. “He’s even got your husband’s hair.”
“Oh, praise be to God!” Hannah sobbed, reaching for her hard-won infant.
Deirdre laid the babe across Hannah’s chest while Mama worked at massaging Hannah’s belly as deeply as if she were making Sunday bread. The afterbirth slipped free with a wet slop into the basin between Hannah’s feet. They’d fry it up with beaten eggs and serve it to Mrs. Bledsoe to renew her strength and help her milk come in fat and rich.
Mr. Bledsoe burst into the room, his eyes wild. He caught sight of Hannah, then the baby nuzzling at her breast. He rushed to his wife’s side and bent to kiss her cheek.
“You’ve a healthy baby boy, sir,” Deirdre said, smiling wide.
“Praise Jesus. What shall we call him, Hannah?” Mr. Bledsoe asked, his voice quavering.
“Collin Peter, after your father and mine.”
“Yes, my own love. Collin Peter Bledsoe. It’s a strong name, for a strong boy.” Mr. Bledsoe kissed Hannah full on the lips then, so deeply that Deirdre blushed and had to turn away. With kisses like that, she and Mama would be sure to deliver a whole passel of Bledsoe babies in the years to come. She couldn’t help but want the same thing for herself, someday. She imagined the babies she and Robbie might have. The thought cheered her, even through the fog of her aching head.
Mama stood, swaying slightly. A rattling cough tore through her. She turned away, but not before Deirdre saw the fresh spatter of scarlet on her sleeve. “Come along, Deirdre. Let’s finish our work and head on home. It’s fixin’ to come a flood.”
FIVE
GRACELYNN
1931
I wake from the dream, sweat slicking my neck and my heart skittering so fast it might burst. It’s the same dream I’ve had for weeks. Two women in a clearing, before a burning tree. They turn to me as one, their eyes lit with fire, beckoning me. Then the flames burn me up from the inside, blazing with an unearthly heat that lingers even after I wake.
I wipe my brow with the corner of the quilt, careful not to disturb Caro, sleeping next to me in the brass bed. A stir of sound comes from across the room. It’s Morris, rocking back and forth on the floor, trying to pull his britches on without standing up.
“I can hear you,” I rasp. I prop myself up on one elbow. “Better hope your ma’s sleeping deeper than me. She’ll skin you dead.”
Morris smirks in the narrow blade of moonlight coming through the only window. “She ain’t here, so I reckon it’s all right if I sneak out for a spell.”
“What? She ain’t never come home from that revival?”