Dances Naked (2 page)

The baby was not big; he was actually scrawny
,
and Sarah could tell why. The woman was most likely trying to nurse the child while in the advanced stages of pregnancy. Mother, youngster
,
and in utero infant were all suffering as a result. “Would you care to share my lunch?” she asked the girl
,
offering
her a hand to help sit down in the shade.

The woman accepted the help
and settled next to the maple tree.
“If you’re sure you have enough,” she answered softly, allowing Sarah to see her smile of gratitude but still keeping her head bowed low, avoiding eye contact.

Sarah gave her a cheese-filled tortilla wrap sandwich
,
poured out a cup of water from her canteen
, and
then
handed it to her. She sat down beside her new acquaintance and laid out the baby, placing it on the skirts of her dress. She took the kerchief out of her pocket, wet it with water from the canteen
,
and used it as a washcloth to wipe the baby’s mucous matted face and eyes. The baby’s clout was soaked and stinking
, but she couldn’t do anything
about it here and now. She didn’t have a dry one with her although there were plenty at the house. She briefly thought of inviting the little family to her home
,
but she
knew she
should find out more about them first. The woman seemed safe enough
,
but the man had an aura of evil about him that disturbed her.

“Where are you headed?” Sarah asked nonchalantly as she pulled the baby’s sticky and sweaty gown away
from her, or was it his, body; t
he child was covered in heat rash.

“None a yer business,” boomed the man who had come over to investigate their little picnic site. Sarah had expected as much from him by his appearance
,
but it still took her by surprise when the rude words came out with such disdain. She turned to see the woman’s reaction. Apparently
,
she didn’t care what he said. All she cared about was eating the cheese burrito and gulping the last of the water in her cup
,
stealing glances at the canteen. Sarah took the hint and poured the woman’s cup half full. She wanted to make sure she didn’t give it all to her. It was a long walk home and the little bit of water in the jug was all she had.

The man remained standing over the two women, lording over them with the stance and tone he had taken. He brought out his own canteen, sneered at the women
,
and then started drinking heartily from it. S
arah doubted that it was water—
it had the distinctive smell of raw alcohol.

“How about you—
when are
you due?” Sarah asked. Hopefully,
the woman was just tired from the walk and not as dense as she appeared.

The only answer she gave was a shrug of her shoulders. She either didn’t know or was afraid to answer. “Soon enough,” the man answered for her. “Come on, let’s go. There’s no reason to laze about while the sun’s still shinin’.”

Sarah took pity on the woman as she struggled to get to her feet. She ignored her own better judgment and asked compulsively, “Would you two like to come to our place for dinner? You could sleep the night in the barn on clean straw and get a fresh start in the morning?”

The man looked as if he was getting ready to say no
,
so Sarah played her trump card. “We have me
at,” she said. “And fresh milk—
it would be good for your wife.”

The woman’s eyes stole a look at the man then cut back to watching the ground. Sarah could tell she wanted to go
,
but he was a hard case. “I could pack you a little bit of food for the road tomorrow, too,” she added, not wanting to beg but very concerned about the girl.

The man looked up toward the sun then down the road they still had to travel. “I guess we could take a break. We still have a couple a days to go and I could do with some meat. Do you have whisky?” he asked greedily.

Sarah didn’t know how to answer that. The lure of having meat should have been enough of an enticement for the couple. She shook her head slowly then looked away, knowing he would be able to tell she was lying if he saw her face. “I think my husband traded the last of the whisky for some wheat.” She turned to face him, “We do have some ale though,” she added truthfully, letting him see she was being honest, at least with her last remark.

He sighed. “Lead the way then.” He smiled to
himself—maybe there were other t
hings worth stopping for.

Near Pomeroy’s Place

August 12, 1781 late morning

S

arah walked home with the ragged pair in tow. She had carried the baby for the first half mile, giving the young mother a break
,
until the man stepped in front of her and stopped, his feet planted firmly apart
,
his
arms crossed in defiance. “Give the babe back to her,” he growled. “It’s hers to take care of.”

Sarah didn’t think it wise to challenge him so handed the now sleeping baby to the mother. The woman-child looked a little better for having the break but st
ill appeared worn out. Hopefully,
a hearty meal, a good night’s sleep
,
and someone to help care for the baby for a few hours would help her further. She wished she could do more
,
but there was only so much an interfering bystander could do.

Prince Charles the jackass brayed to announce that someone was nearing the house. I saw a rag tag trio led by Sarah coming up the road. Apparently
,
she had rounded up a few strays, one of them very small, and brought them home to graze. “Here, let me take the baby,” I suggested as I reached for the dirty and stinky bundle of rags. A red, pimply face poked out from beneath the threadbare cap, the eyes vacant and staring. The mother didn’t like my gesture and clutched her child tighter, reluctant to relinquish her charge. She paused
,
shot a panicked look at Sarah
,
and then returned to her head bowed down position, emphasizing her fear and uncertainty.

“Let her take the child,” Sarah gently admonished as she laid her hand on the young woman’s shoulder. The disheveled and tired girl loosened her grip on the baby, lifted the mass of cloth away from her chest
,
and tentatively handed him or her to me.  I led the way into the house and the two women followed, leaving the man to walk about the yard where he investigated the fence
,
then headed toward the barn.

Sarah guided the very pregnant girl to my chaise and helped her bring her feet up off the floor, lifting her tattered shoes to the foot of the couch, relieving the burden on her lower back and feet. I would guess that the girl, she could hardly be called a woman although she was very pregnant and the baby she was toting appeared to be hers, was only fifteen or so. And
,
I didn’t know who stank worse: her or the child. Either way, I was glad there were two of us here to take care of the pathetic pair. They were definitely going to be a challenge.

Sarah helped the girl peel off her sweaty shawl. The stink almost made me heave. I grabbed the wooden tray next to the cupboard and used it as a makeshift fan to move the air. We didn’t need me to add to the reek by losing my lunch.

“What’s your name?” Sarah asked
,
both as a way to distract her from my impromptu air freshening antics
as
to make her, and us, more comfortable.

“They call me Rachel,” she said softly, her head bowed down in apparent shame. Sarah looked over at me and raised one eyebrow. By the look of shock mixed with exasperation on her face
,
I could tell that even in the course of guiding the girl and the man on their long walk to the house
,
she had never seen the girl’s eyes. Those four words were probably the first ones Sarah had heard her utter. Her body language was loud and clear though. She was a beaten woman; whether by whip or by words, it made no difference. She was a meek and totally subservient creature.

“I’m Evie and Sarah here is a healer,” I offered as a further introduction and as an attempt to warm up the chilly atmosphere in the otherwise sweltering room. “Would you let her listen to your belly and see if the baby is okay?” I started to add that she didn’t look too good and that we were both concerned about her
,
but bit back the words. They wouldn’t have helped her or the situation anyway. I wasn’t a doctor, nurse
,
or midwife
,
but her gray pallor could only be bad news. She gave the briefest of nods. Sarah moved in with her paper tube, her jaw set with concern. She too, could see what
my untrained eyes had observed—
a pregnancy in distress.

Sarah had everything under control so I decided to distract myself with the now sleeping child. His clothes were stuck to his body with his mother’s sweat. I knew that very young babies didn’t perspire and that was why his face was covered in the red pimply heat rash.  I hated to waken a baby to change a dirty diaper
,
but this one was too rank not to take care of right away. Besides, it would only get ranker with time and the heat of the day.
I looked around for something to place on top of the table before beginning the bath. I settled for my old blue patchwork skirt as a drop cloth. I spread it out
,
set the basin and towels on top of it
, and
then walked to the window to take one last deep breath of clean air. This was going to be tough.

The baby’s cap was stuck on with a mixture of mother’s milk, sweat
,
and baby vomit. I used a small, sopping wet cloth as a means of soaking off the cap from her/his head. I got a memory flash of the last time that I had to soak off disturbing fabric from someone’s skull: Ian’s bandage around his ears on the first day of our acquaintance. I shook my head and mumbled, “not now,” and proceeded south with the disrobing.

Sarah looked up from her ministrations. I guess I’d been talking to myself louder than I thought. “It’s nothing,” I explained lamely, knowing that she would understand.

I unbound the layers of cloth on the child as I held my breath. I finally had to gasp. I couldn’t leave the child and run back and forth to the window for fresh air like I was performing a task underwater. I knew I could get this done only if I breathed through my mouth. I opened my mouth, gulped air
,
and
then realized the stench was so strong that I could actually taste it. I turned my head into my shoulder a
nd breathed in my own body odor:
warm, moist and musky but preferable to the baby poop and puke stench. I turned back to my task, once again holding my breath.

The baby woke up halfway through the unwrapping but just lay there, staring at the ceiling. I didn’t know whether to be happy or sad that he or she was holding still and not kicking.
I still needed to get the crap-
encrusted diaper off in order to clean up the source of the stink. I pulled the clout away as gently as I could. Most of it came away with a squishy ‘plop
.
’ His legs j
ust lay there: slack and leaden,
his little penis bright red
,
and his balls huge. I knew baby boys’ scrotums looked big in relationship to their bodies
,
but this was ridiculous. “Sarah,” I called gently, trying not to show the panic I felt.

Sarah stood up straight from her bent over position. She had been listening with her improvised stethoscope for the heartbeat of the unborn baby in Rachel’s belly. She didn’t ask what
,
but she knew I needed her to see something. She followed my look and gasped. “Good God,” she swore mildly. “Wipe the soft stuff off as best you can then soak his little bottom in the basin. I don’t want you to rub
,
but let the water do the work on all the stuck on pieces of,” she looked at me then ended her sentence with the silent, mouth-formed word, “shit.” She shook her head then tipped her head toward Rachel who was reclined with eyes closed, letting me know wordlessly that her situation didn’t look too good either.

Sarah sat back down at
the girl’s
side but without the makeshift stethoscope. “When was the last time you felt the baby move?” she asked
compassionately
, as if this was her own daughter who was pregnant.

Rachel shrugged her shoulders then replied, “I don’t know. I can’t remember, but it was days ago.” A tear was blazing a trail in the dust on her cheek. She knew the baby she carried was dead. “What do we do now?” she asked, her head tilted up, finally brave enough to look Sarah in the eye.

“Well, there are herbs I can brew that will get the uterus to expel its contents
,
but the pains will feel just the same as when you delivered your son here. It’s still going to hurt
,
but Evie here knows a few tricks so it won’t be quite so bad. Just let me know when you’re ready
,
but I have to tell you, the sooner we get this done, the better your chance of survival.”