After the Fire (20 page)

“Somebody ought to get to Red right away,” Karen decided. “I’ll go.”

“I’ll come with you,” Rat offered.

“I’ll be along as soon as we finish up here,” Homer said.

Red was sitting outside on the steps of Miss James’ cottage when they arrived. Karen could tell she had been crying.

“Where is she?” Rat asked.

“In her chair by the window,” Red said.

“Homer’s coming right along,” Rat said over his shoulder as he went inside.

“It’s what she wanted,” Karen said, sitting down beside Red on the steps.

“I know,” Red said, “but I didn’t. I wanted her to see the baby. It’s not long now. She could have waited for that.”

“Is there anyone to notify?” Karen asked.

Red shook her head.

“Hen?” Karen suggested.

Red shrugged.

“Oh Red,” Karen said, putting an arm around her oddly insubstantial shoulders.

“I’ve never seen anyone dead like that,” Red said. “Just dead. Nothing else but dead.”

“I’m sorry you had to find her,” Karen said.

“Who else?” Red asked.

“Do you feel all right?”

“I guess so,” Red said, touching her stomach.

Karen took her arm away quickly as she heard Rat coming back.

He stood on the step above them, looking down the drive for the ambulance Homer would be driving.

“Do we know what to do?” he asked.

“She said she left instructions in the middle drawer of her desk,” Red said. “She belongs to the Memorial Society.”

“That simplifies things,” Rat said, approving. “Who’s next of kin?”

“Nobody,” Red said.

“Did she have a lawyer?”

“In town,” Red answered.

The ambulance swung into the drive, and Homer got out. He looked around at the brightly blooming garden and shook his head. Then he looked down at Red.

“You all right, girl?”

She nodded without looking up at him.

“You got a bag with you?” Rat asked.

Homer nodded and turned back to the ambulance.

“Thing about a body,” Rat said, addressing his remark to no one in particular, “it’s just a body.”

Karen wondered if she would feel that way. She had no interest in finding out. She urged Red off the steps and out of the way as the two men went back into the house.

“We don’t have to watch,” Karen said.

“I do,” Red answered.

So Karen stood with her a little distance off among Miss James’ flowers, until Rat and Homer carried out the bag which contained the body. When they’d placed it in the ambulance, Homer walked back to the young women.

“We ought to lock this place up,” he said.

“There’s no key,” Red said. “She didn’t believe in that.”

“Well, there’s all her things,” Homer said, looking worried. “People hear she’s gone, they might …”

“Shouldn’t we call Hen?” Karen suggested again. “She’d probably know what to do.”

“Miss James didn’t want a funeral,” Red said, “or anything.”

Homer was looking at the door.

“I could get a padlock,” he decided. “Could you maybe just stay here until I send somebody to fix it?”

Red nodded.

“I can, too,” Karen declared. “And I’m going to phone Hen.”

“Tell her we’re getting hold of the Memorial Society. We’ll take care of that,” Homer said and then turned to Red. “I’m real sorry, Red. You should be looking out for yourself now.”

Rat came up beside Homer.

“Come have supper with us tonight,” he said to Red.

“Thanks,” Red said.

Karen felt a flash of frustrated resentment. Why should Rat be able to be so casual in offering comfort when Karen hadn’t ever dared to ask Red for a meal because of what Red might think, what other people might think? Then she was ashamed of resenting any small kindness that came Red’s way.

“Do you want to stay out here while I phone?” Karen asked.

“No,” Red said. “I’ll come with you.”

How cheerful the kitchen was, full of late-afternoon sun. This house was so much Miss James’ that its mood should have shifted into mourning. But there on the counter was a half-eaten jar of blackberry jelly, a banana and an apple in a pretty pale blue bowl, and fresh daisies on the table. Red sat down at it and put her head on her arms. Karen moved to the phone, noticing the volume adjuster. Henrietta’s hello boomed out at her.

“It’s Karen,” she said. “I’m over at Miss James’ with Red. I’m sorry to have to tell you Miss James is dead. Homer and Rat have taken her away, and they’re going to get in touch with the Memorial Society, and Homer’s going to get a lock for the door. We’re not sure what else we should do.”

Karen talked so quickly she didn’t give Henrietta time to respond. She felt clumsy and stupid. When she hung up, she turned to Red’s bowed head and said, “She’s coming right over.”

Red sat up and rubbed her eyes. Karen went into Miss James’ bathroom and found a washcloth. She dampened it and went back to Red who offered up her face to that soothing like a small child.

Henrietta sat for a moment to take in what Karen had said. She was surprised to find how calm she was, and grateful. At times in the last weeks she had despaired of ever asking anything of herself again. For someone so emotionally dependable for so many years, it was a humiliation to be unable to trust her own responses, little shreds of hysteria floating up at her at the oddest moments.

Lily Anne James was dead, as she wished to be, in time for Red’s baby to have a home. It seemed to Henrietta quite an accomplishment to die on such a calm, bright summer day. Though she would miss Miss James, it was not going to be a hard mourning. There was to be no funeral, but there would have to be something for those who needed it. They were all too interdependent to do without.

In the meantime, she must go over to the house and tell Red what Miss James’ will contained. Perhaps she should take it out first and read it to be sure that some ancient quirk of scruple hadn’t made Miss James change it at the last moment.

Henrietta found Red and Karen sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea out of Miss James’ fine china cups. One had been set out for her.

“Thank you for coming,” Karen said, getting up to offer Henrietta a chair. “I’m sorry I babbled like that on the phone.”

“It’s always a shock,” Henrietta said, giving Karen a reassuring pat on the arm. “Red, you mustn’t mind too much, dear. She wanted to go.”

Red nodded bleakly. The strength of her loyalty to Miss James had been no less than to Henrietta in these last hard months. Even a desired death could be no comfort to her.

“It’s funny to think she had no family,” Karen said, “no one at all to notify.”

“We’re her family,” Red said.

“Yes, we are,” Henrietta agreed. “That’s how she felt about it exactly.”

Henrietta took her time over tea, mixing what she now recognized as platitudes with their musings. But platitudes were the sane safeties necessary to cover up feelings too dangerous to deal with if they could be avoided.

“You mustn’t upset yourself too much,” Henrietta said to Red who had begun to cry again. “You have to think of the baby.”

It was time to check the will and to offer Red the solider evidence that Miss James really did think of Red as her own. The will was in the desk drawer she had taken it from to show Henrietta, and it said what Henrietta had expected it to. She sighed in satisfaction. It wasn’t often solutions were so clearly satisfactory. Now Red could move out of that little cabin with its dangerous wood stove and have her baby here in a house she already knew how to care for, with all Miss James’ books, with her fine china.

“No!” Red cried out. “No!”

Nothing either Karen or Henrietta could say did anything to quiet her.

“How could she want to die for the baby?” Red wailed.

“This isn’t the way to think about it,” Henrietta protested.

She might have been watching herself, engulfed in guilt and shame and anger she could hardly explain to herself now.

“Listen to me, Red,” she said firmly. “Listen to me. You mustn’t do this. You haven’t got time for it. You’re about to be a mother.”

“I don’t want the baby!” Red shouted. “I don’t!”

She ran out of the house she had just been told was hers. Karen followed her.

Henrietta sat down heavily. She hadn’t the strength to go after them. It was the first violent shaking of grief, that was all. It wasn’t a mistake. It couldn’t be.

Karen followed Red running clumsily down the path to the shore. When Karen was only a few yards from her, Red suddenly stopped, put her hands on her stomach, and looked down at her feet.

“It’s broken,” she said softly, watching the water of her womb flood down her legs into her shoes.

“I’ll call the ambulance,” Karen said. “Come on. Come on back up to the house.”

“The ambulance is gone,” Red said.

Karen then remembered it would be on the evening ferry taking Miss James’ body away to be cremated.

“We’ll call the helicopter. Come on.”

“No,” Red said. “Take me home.”

“You can’t go home,” Karen said.

“Yes I can.”

Red was in so irrational a state that Karen was afraid to do anything to cross her. She might throw herself into the sea. Karen could take her home and phone from there.

Red allowed herself to be led back to Karen’s car. Karen was afraid to leave her even long enough to tell Henrietta what had happened. When Henrietta heard the car, she’d know Karen had Red with her.

At the cabin, Blackie, tied to a stump, barked and wagged her tail.

“Lie down!” Red commanded, and then she turned back to Karen and said, “I don’t need any help.”

“Of course you do,” Karen said.

“I can do it myself.”

“You can’t be alone. What if something went wrong?”

“It’s all wrong,” Red said flatly.

“It isn’t!” Karen said, and she was suddenly more angry than frightened. “Miss James would be ashamed of you, behaving in this stupid, ungrateful way. She thought you had guts. She thought you could cope. She thought—”

“Well, she’s right. I can,” Red said between her teeth. “So get out.”

“I won’t,” Karen said. “I won’t leave you. I don’t know the first thing about having a baby. I don’t even know how to boil water on a wood stove, and I’ll probably throw up or faint. But I’m not leaving you alone.”

Red turned away to the neatly made bed in the corner of her one-room cabin, stretched out on it and put an arm across her eyes.

For the first time Karen had a chance to look around an interior she had often imagined. It was very plain and neat but even more primitive than she had expected. There was no electricity, no running water. A couple of kerosene lamps and several candles were all the light they would have as night came on. If she was to boil water, she’d not only have to build a fire in the wood stove but haul water from the well. How had Red ever imagined she could take care of a baby here? But obviously she had. At the foot of her bed was an old-fashioned cradle, beside the one window an old wooden rocking chair. Two straight chairs drawn up to a bare table were all the other furniture Red had. Her clothes hung on a few pegs in the wall in one corner of the room. There were a dozen books on a shelf under the window, the thickest one on childbirth. Karen reached for it, opened its densely printed pages and threw it down again.

On the bed Red’s arm was now over her mouth, and her eyes were hard and staring.

“Red,” Karen said, going to her and kneeling by the side of the bed, “I’ve got to get help.”

“Call Jane,” Red said with an effort.

“Jane?”

Red nodded.

Why Jane? Was she a midwife? Well, whatever she was, at least she was somebody else, and anybody else would be better equipped than herself. At least Jane had had children of her own. Karen looked up her number, thanking heaven for the phone.

“The car’s down at the fire hall,” Jane said. “Homer left it there when he took the ambulance.”

“Can you get somebody to bring you? I don’t want to leave her.”

“I’ll get there,” Jane said.

“Thank you,” Karen said. “Thank you very much.”

Red was resting easier. Karen moved one of the straight chairs over to the bed, sat down and took Red’s hand.

“How far apart are they?” Karen asked, a question that came out of TV shows rather than any knowledge.

“Two or so minutes.”

“Does that mean it’ll be pretty soon?”

Red’s hand closed down on hers, and Karen held her breath. When Red’s hand relaxed, Karen blacked out for a second. What was she doing, holding her breath like that?

“I think so,” Red said in answer to a question Karen couldn’t remember asking.

Through the next pain, Karen nearly hyperventilated. She had no idea what Red was supposed to do. She only hoped Red remembered what she had read and was doing it right. Karen looked at the book she had thrown on the floor and wondered at how much womanly knowledge she had refused to learn.

“I’m sorry,” she said and knew it was what she always said.

Though the sky still held some high summer light, it was nearly dark in the cabin. She had lighted a couple of candles. She had found a towel to wipe sweat from Red’s face. And she struggled against willing Red to wait, wait until there was help.

Finally Jane was there, remarkably calm and knowledgeable and blessedly bossy, quite unlike the timid little woman Karen saw at the pub with Homer. Karen was actually hauling in water, building a fire in the stove, lighting the lamps, all under Jane’s clear direction while Jane also directed Red whose concentration was entirely focused now. She never cried out, but she grunted harshly, more like a man pitting his whole strength against a stubborn object.

There was a wet sound, and then the room was flooded with a new fleshly smell. The object in Jane’s hands mewed rather than cried, and Jane gave a low laugh.

“It’s a girl, Red,” she said.

“Oh, the poor little thing,” Red said, “the poor little thing,” and reached out her arms.

Karen stood back, tears of relief bathing her face. A girl, poor little thing indeed, but a girl.

“What are you going to name her?” Jane asked.

“Blue.”

Karen’s tears turned to laughter. It was so like Red. She hadn’t thought of a blue-eyed child. She was naming the baby for herself.