A Quilt for Christmas (17 page)

“The baby,” Eliza told Missouri Ann. “It's not due for another two months.”

“Yes, ma'am. She's had her baby come on, and I ain't never birthed no baby before, not less'n it had four legs.”

Eliza called to Luzena to watch over Nance, saying that she and Missouri Ann might not be back until morning. Then, not taking the time to hitch up the buggy, the two climbed into the wagon with Gage and started for Anna's farm. Gage left them there, then hurried on to fetch Mercy and Ettie. Eliza and Missouri Ann hurried into Anna's bedroom and found the woman thrashing about on the bed.

“I don't want to trouble you, but I didn't know who else to send for. Gage says the doctor is senseless from drink, and Mother is in a bad way herself. I don't want a hired man to deliver the baby,” Mercy told them between sobs of pain.

“Of course you should have sent for us. What good are friends if you can't call on them in time of need? We'd never forgive you if you hadn't,” Eliza said. She asked how long the labor had been going on, and Anna told her since morning. “Best I should take a look and see how far along you are,” said Eliza. “I have knowing of this.”

Anna nodded, and after examining her friend, Eliza took off her sunbonnet and sat down, saying it would be a while yet.

“I'll boil up some eggshells and have her to drink the water. That'll lessen the pain,” Missouri Ann offered. “You put her shoes upside down under the bed to keep her from cramping.”

After Missouri Ann left the room, Eliza muttered, “Shoes?” She smiled at Anna, then rose to collect the shoes and place them where Missouri Ann had suggested. “Well, who says it isn't worth a try?”

Anna smiled. The pains had let up, and she rested easier. “I heard if you put an axe under there, it will cut the pain.”

“And I heard scissors. My, but it will be awful crowded down there,” Eliza said.

Anna reached out and grasped Eliza's hand. Her face was red and her hair wet with perspiration. “I was afraid you wouldn't get here in time, that I'd have to have the baby alone.”

“Well, I'm here, and Ettie and Mercy are on their way. Even so, you'd have been all right. I delivered Luzena by myself.”

“You did?” Anna asked. She closed her eyes for a moment and dropped Eliza's hand as she dozed off.

Eliza remembered back to that time. Will had told her to ring the dinner bell if she went into labor, and he would come running. She did so, but Will was in the farthest field, breaking rock, and he had thought the faint sound was only the ringing of the sledge on stone. She could have sent Davy for Will, but she thought her husband had heard the bell and would be there at any moment, and so she had spread an old blanket on the table and lay down on it. Her labor with Davy had been short, no more than an hour, and she knew the real birthing pains would come on soon. She prayed Will would get there in time. Davy was on the floor, playing with her saucepan and a ladle, and paid little attention to Eliza's moaning.

When she realized that Will had not heard the bell, she told Davy, “Fetch Papa.” She twisted in pain.

The little boy stood up and looked at her. He was only two, but he knew his way about the farm. “Dinnertime?”

“Yes,” she said, knowing that would make Davy hurry. “Find Papa. Quick now.” She was frightened, because she had lost a half-made baby only the year before.

She watched as Davy went outside, then squatted down to study something on the ground, a bug perhaps, and she called to him to hurry. The pain was bad, and she realized she might have to deliver the baby herself.

When the contraction ended, Eliza climbed off the table and gathered the things she had already put aside for the birthing—clean cloths, a knife, string, a container for the afterbirth, a piece of wood to bite on—and poured water from a kettle resting in the fireplace into a basin, and washed her hands. She set the items on a chair beside the table and lay down again. “Please, God, let him get here before it's too late,” she prayed. She couldn't see Davy now, and she hoped the little boy had gone off in search of his father. Then a pain wrenched through her, and she knew the baby was coming.

It was a frightening birth for Eliza, with no one to aid her. She gripped the edge of the table each time the labor pain came, biting her lip instead of the piece of wood, since the stick had been knocked to the floor. She did not want to cry out because Davy might still be about and Eliza did not want to frighten him. There was a great pressure inside her as the baby struggled to be born. Eliza pushed hard, bearing down and grunting, breaking her nails as she clutched the table. Where was Will? What if she could not deliver this baby by herself? What would become of Will and Davy if she failed—and of the baby that tore at her to be born? What if the baby was sideways or was positioned feet first? How could she deliver it by herself?

There was another heaving, and Eliza felt herself stretched to the point she feared she would tear wide open. Frantic, she pushed, taking great gulps of air. And then the baby was out, a tiny wet thing lying on the table, squirming and mewling.

It was over. Eliza let out a deep breath and for just a second lay back on the table, too exhausted to move. She had done it! She had delivered the baby alive, and by herself! Eliza began to cry as she roused herself to cut the cord and tie it. She wrapped the infant in a cloth, then saw to herself. Not until Eliza was finished did she stop to see that the baby was a girl. She had cared only that the birthing had been done right and that both she and the baby were alive.

When all was finished, Eliza swaddled the baby in a cloth and sat down in a rocking chair, examining the tiny hands, the blue eyes with their lashes like bits of thread, the hair that was as soft as a chick's down. Her heart swelled with love—and a little pride.

Will found her there, rushing through the doorway, ducking because Davy was on his shoulders, gasping for breath. Davy had found him, and Will had picked him up and run with the boy. Will stopped when he saw Eliza in the chair, confused, and then he glanced down at the baby and looked again at Eliza with wonder. “Are you—”

“We're fine, both me and your daughter.”

“A daughter? A girl?” He grinned. “Well, isn't that fine! I thought it might be a girl.”

“A girl or a boy. I thought it would be one or the other.”

They smiled at each other, then Will turned to his son. “Look, Davy, what's this?”

“Baby,” Davy replied, without interest. He returned to the pan he had left on the floor.

Will picked up the baby and held her, rocking her back and forth in his arms. “What will you name her, Mother?”

“I would like to call her Luzena, for your mother, Lucy, and my mother, Zena. Do you approve?”

“I couldn't think of a better name, except maybe Eliza, but that name is already taken. And I don't believe anyone else could live up to it.” He set the baby back in Eliza's lap, and sat down on the floor beside her, and for the first time since she had known him, she saw him weep.

*   *   *

Anna stirred and cried out, biting her lip to keep from screaming. Ettie and Mercy had arrived, and together, they readied the room. They took turns fanning Anna and rubbing her back. Missouri Ann made Anna drink the eggshell water, then went back into the kitchen to prepare some concoction for Anna to drink after the baby arrived. She'd said it was to bring in the mother's milk.

Anna gasped, saying the baby was coming, and the women gathered around her. They had all gone through childbirth, all of them more than once, but they knew that each time seemed like the first, and that Anna was bewildered.

“You forget the pain,” Ettie said. “It always surprises you the next time.”

“I never saw the need for pain. It ought to be easier,” Eliza said.

“Eve's pain,” Mercy observed.

“Oh, hush,” Ettie told her. “Plenty of men in the Bible did wrong, and men don't get childbirth punishment passed down to them.”

The baby came quickly. Mercy took the little girl, while Ettie and Eliza cared for Anna. When they were finished, Anna held out her arms for the baby, who was no bigger than a kitten. “I didn't want her. Up to this morning, I never wanted that baby, but now I think I'd fight a dozen wolves to save her.”

“That's the way of it,” Eliza said. “You may hate being pregnant, but the minute the baby is born, she is God's precious child, given to you as a gift.”

*   *   *

That precious gift was not to be. Eliza volunteered to take the first turn sitting with Anna. The others were preparing to leave when the baby began to cough and then to gasp.

“She's got something in her mouth,” Missouri Ann said, putting her finger down the baby's throat, but she found nothing.

“We'll steam her,” Ettie said. She put the kettle on. But before the water boiled, the baby took a deep breath and was still. Ettie held the girl by her ankles and spanked her to get her breathing again, but it was no good. The women worked on the baby, but at last, Ettie said, “She was too early. She didn't have the strength to live. We'll have to tell Anna.”

But Anna, having heard the commotion in the kitchen, had gotten out of bed and was standing in the doorway. She did not cry out but grasped the back of a chair with one hand and reached for her baby with the other. “Let me hold her.” She sat down in the chair and rocked the baby back and forth in her arms, cooing. Her friends gathered around her and waited until Anna relinquished the girl and, without a word, went back into the bedroom and knelt down beside the bed, her head bowed, muttering. Eliza could not tell if Anna was praying or cursing.

The funeral was held the next day. Eliza brought a wooden box not much bigger than a bread pan, lined with her silk shawl, the one she had brought with her from Ohio. Kansas was no place for silk shawls.

So with the Reverend Hamlin presiding, the women buried the baby in the family cemetery, beside the graves of two other children Anna had lost. Gage offered to dig the grave, but the women insisted it was their job, saying it was the least they could do for their friend. The digging didn't take long, because the grave was so small.

As they left the cemetery, Missouri Ann told Eliza, “Maybe it's best. How'd she care for that baby anyway, what with her other'ns and a farm to work?”

“It's never best,” Eliza replied. If Cosby Bean did not come back from the war, Anna would grieve even more that the child was lost, Eliza knew. When Will had gone for a soldier, Eliza had been grateful she was not pregnant. But now, with Will gone, Eliza wished he had left behind the start of a baby who would have been a part of himself.

*   *   *

As the women returned to the house, John took Eliza aside and said, “This is not the right place, but what is these days? I would ask if you thought it proper that I call on Mrs. Eagles, even though her husband has not been dead quite a year.”

Despite the solemn occasion, Eliza could not help but smile, as she thought that even in the saddest times, there could be moments of happiness. And there would be great happiness if John and Mercy were to join their lives together. She was silent for a moment, as if giving the question great thought. Then she replied, “I believe it would be quite proper. With all that has happened these past years, we cannot be shackled by the proprieties of grieving as we once were. We must take advantage of life, because it is so fragile. You yourself must have seen how Mr. Ritter is already courting Missouri Ann. Widowhood has sorely tried Mrs. Eagles, and I believe she would welcome a chance to enjoy the company of a gentleman.”

“I thank you.”

Eliza caught sight of Mercy standing in the doorway, looking out at them, and thought it would not be long before she and John Hamlin were engaged. Even before that, Print Ritter would declare himself to Missouri Ann. That would leave her the only real war widow. But she would not be envious. She would be happy for her friends. There was no man in Wabaunsee County who could measure up to Will. She had had him, and that would be enough.

As Eliza and Missouri Ann started for home, Eliza nodded at John, who was helping Mercy into her wagon. “I expect them to announce their betrothal any day now,” she told Missouri Ann.

“You mean…”

Eliza nodded. “I am premature, of course, but can you think of a better match?”

“I cannot.”

“Me, neither,” Eliza told her, “except one.”

When Missouri Ann caught Eliza's meaning, she raised her chin and said, “He's just told me he's going to go off to the gold fields, and besides, he ain't asked.”

“I hope you would accept if he did. You must not spend your life mourning Hugh.”

“I never mourned Hugh,” Missouri Ann said hotly. She took a breath to calm herself, then added. “I misspoke. Hugh was a good man.”

Eliza studied her friend as they rode along. “What do you mean you never mourned Hugh?” She glanced back to make sure the children in the back of the wagon weren't listening.

“I said I misspoke.”

Eliza shook her head. “I don't believe it. He was not such a good man after all, was he?”

Missouri Ann looked out at a cornfield. The stalks were green, and if the weather was good, the crop would be plentiful. “I want Nance to grow up thinking her father was a decent man, not like the other Starks. She ought'n to think her daddy was evil.”

“But he was?” Eliza asked.

“As bad as the rest. He begged me to marry him, but I wouldn't have him. So he held me down and forced me and said he'd make sure I'd have him and nobody else, that nobody else would want me when he was done.” She stopped and gave an involuntary sob. “I begged him to stop, but he laughed at me, and he said I was spoilt for anybody else, except maybe his brothers.”

“He forced himself? He…” Eliza could not say the terrible word.