Julia's Hope (29 page)

“Let’s pray for Mrs. Hammond,” I told Sarah, and she took my hand.

“She’s havin’ a baby, Daddy. She’s gonna call it Grace. She told me so.”

“Fine name. I couldn’t think of a better one.”

I bundled up my daughter in my arms, and we prayed a brief prayer for the mother and her baby, and Emma and Julia too.

“They’ve got goats, Daddy. I broke the goat fence.”

She showed me the broken fence. It was no wonder the thing fell. Wasn’t much of a fence, held up by wire and a nail or two. The goats were now all crowded in a little pen on the far side, waiting for somebody to repair the damage and give them more space. I wondered what George would say if he came back and found me at the job. I could tell him I had to, since it was my daughter that broke it down. I couldn’t just sit there, doing nothing, that was sure. I needed something to keep my hands busy, or my brain would churn too much. It was as simple as that.

TWENTY-NINE

Julia

I’d never seen a breech birth, never dreamed I’d have to. But we were there less than an hour when Emma said it wasn’t the head coming first. What scared me most was that Wilametta had passed out limp on the bed.

“Sam could go after a doctor,” I whispered.

“Ten mile without no horse or truck,” Emma reminded me. “And she’s this far ’long. Baby’d be gone ’fore he got halfway here.”

Lizbeth was shaking like a leaf, poor girl. I would’ve had her out the door, but she’d begged to stay. She’d bathed her mother’s feet and her face, and now was squeezing her hand and muttering a prayer.

I had water to wash the baby and to wash Emma, but I ended up splashing some of it on the floor. These walls, these floors, everything needed scrubbing down, but I couldn’t do it now, no matter how much I wished to turn my mind to something mundane.

Emma had said she wanted me right by her side so I could hear every instruction she gave me. I heard, all right, and I did my best, but I was walking on jelly, my clumsy hands just going through the motions. I’d never felt so totally inadequate in all my life. Wilametta looked for all the world to be unconscious, her baby was breech, and I was not as strong as I’d thought myself to be.

“I done this once before,” Emma assured us. “Tricky thing, but you can be sure the good Lord’s got it all in hand.”

That set me to crying, and I didn’t know why. I could just imagine Emma suddenly keeling over, and then where would we be? God help us.

I passed Lizbeth another wet cloth to bathe her mother’s forehead and spread a fresh sheet at the foot of the bed to receive the baby.

“If George gets back, or Mr. Post, can we send them for the doctor?” I asked Emma hopefully.

“You can try,” she told me. “Barrett might go. But George wouldn’t. Not to save his hide, he wouldn’t. He don’t believe in it.”

Emma was up on the lumpy old mattress, balanced next to Wilametta’s knees, looking every bit of her eighty-four years and then some. “C’mon, now, Wila. Push,” she said. She looked worried, and I turned my eyes away. But somehow Emma knew that Wila was hearing her.

“Can’t,” Mrs. Hammond muttered, and I was mighty glad just to hear her voice.

“You’re gonna hafta, girl!” Emma scolded. “You want her out here with ya now, don’t ya?”

Wila didn’t answer, just gave out a terrible moan. I wondered why in the world she hadn’t told me before that she was having trouble. Maybe she hadn’t really known yet and didn’t think I could have done much anyway.

“C’mon, now, Wila.”

The poor woman suddenly screamed, and Lizbeth clenched her teeth and started to cry silently. She squeezed her mama’s hand again and kissed her cheek. Wila finally pushed like Emma had told her to, while I prayed. In the kitchen, the kettle was whistling, but not one of us paid it a bit of attention.

“Here come them legs,” Emma said. “Juli, honey, get yourself up here.”

That command made my hands shake, but there was nothing to do but obey. I got myself just as close as I could as Wila started pushing again.

“You be ready,” Emma told me. “If the head don’t come easy, you’ll have to give her a push.”

I didn’t know what she meant by that. And I couldn’t understand how Emma could look so tired but strong as the hills at the same time.

Wila gave out a yell that surely could have been heard all the way to the pond. “Can’t do this, Emma!” she shrieked. “Can’t do this!”

“You ain’t got no choice now, honey! Oughta see what I got here too. You got you a girl! Can’t stop now.”

“Grace,” Wila whispered and tried to lift her head. Strands of sweat-soaked hair flopped against her cheek.

“Don’t you be movin’!” Emma warned. “Not yet, Wila. You’ll be holdin’ her soon enough, now.” She braced herself as Wila fell back against the pillows, yelled, and pushed again.

I could see most of the baby laying across Emma’s arm and prayed we were finished. But Wila was still pushing and getting no farther.

“Right here!” Emma commanded me. “You feel that? Push now! Gotta get her head free so’s she can draw breath!” I put my hands just where she showed me and could feel a hard little lump in Wila’s abdomen.

“You watch! When Wila gives her a good hard push, you push too, now!”

She reached for Grace’s head with her free hand, and I felt like my stomach had been flipped over sideways.
Did
you have this in mind, Lord? Did you know what I was getting
myself into, wanting to stay here?

“’Bout got her, I think. Come on, now, baby.” Emma had a strange gleam in her eye, a passion I could not fathom. God help me, I wanted to run. I would have run, clear out of the room, if there’d been anyone else to take my place. But Emma wanted to be here and would stay even if a wagon full of doctors rolled in. She would stay just to take Mrs. Hammond’s hand. And I thought I finally understood her. Hammonds were family too.

“Wila, honey, I think I got her,” Emma announced. “Lord willin’, I do! Push now. Come on and push.”

Wila barely had any strength left. She moaned and strained and then fell back against the pillows again.

“It’s all right, Mama,” Lizbeth coaxed. “We’s almost done. Emma, ain’t we almost done?”

“Almost. Don’t you go passin’ out on me again, now, Wilametta, hear? Push. You’re gonna have this baby t’ the breast ’fore you can say jumpin’ Jehoshaphat! Come on!”

I looked up at Emma and saw the sweat dripping down from her wrinkled old nose. She looked worried, but just about mad too, she was so determined to see this through. I thought I heard boys’ voices outside for just a minute, and then Sam’s, but I wasn’t sure. Wila was pushing again, and I pushed too, and suddenly the hard little lump was gone.

“Looky there!” Emma exclaimed. “Oh, praise the Lord! Ain’t that the prettiest thing you ever seen?”

Wila gave out a moan and then sank away in a faint. It wasn’t till then I realized Emma was crying. I grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat and tears from her face, thinking that she had to be able to see. It was more than a marvel, her doing this when she couldn’t manage to get her own needle threaded. But she grabbed the towel away and wiped off the baby, blowing on the little face at the same time.

Little Grace Hammond hadn’t made a sound or moved a muscle. Emma wiped around her nose and mouth and gave her little feet a swat. “Get me some water,” she ordered. “Not too hot. Let’s get her good and mad.”

I brought the bowl and dipped a clean cloth in it. Emma bathed the tiny child’s face and neck, and the baby finally wiggled one arm and made a little noise, like the bleat of a sheep. Emma took a clean towel and patted her dry.

“Did you hold them scissors in the fire?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Get ’em. Got to cut this cord, honey, so we can wrap her up and keep her warm.”

I lifted the scissors, but I was scared to do the cutting. What if I did something wrong?

Emma tied the cord in two places with bias tape she’d brought in her sewing basket. She looked up at me and must have seen the terror in my eyes, because she took the scissors and did the one quick cut herself.

“Get me the little blanket Lizbeth brought in.”

I handed her the pretty thing that really may have been Lizbeth’s, it looked so old. But it was clean. Trimmed with lace and bands of yellow, it was one of the nicer things I’d seen in the Hammond house. Emma wrapped the baby and handed her to me.

“You take her, Juli,” Emma said. “I gotta see to Wila, get that bleedin’ stopped. Lizbeth, rub her good, will you? See if you can get her stirred back ’round.”

I felt so dumb and helpless, just standing there, holding the baby. I was scared Wila would die, scared Lizbeth would give up and get hysterical, scared Emma would fall over from exhaustion. I prayed hard, wishing I could run outside and scream for the whole world to pray with me. Tears coursed down my cheeks before I could stop them, and then little Grace Hammond finally let out a holler.

“God bless my mama,” Lizbeth cried as she clung to Wilametta’s hand.

“She’s breathin’. Now don’t you worry,” Emma told her.

Wilametta moaned and opened her eyes a little bit.

“Get that baby over here,” Emma called, and I rushed forward.

“It’s a girl, honey,” Emma said, and I could see Wilametta smile.

“My Grace! Oh, is she pretty, Mrs. Wortham? God bless you! Lizbeth, is she pretty?”

“Very pretty, Mama.”

I laid little Grace between Lizbeth and her mother. Wila didn’t look to have the strength to hold her, but Lizbeth scooted her up to her mother’s chest.

“Oughta known after nine babies that this’un wouldn’t be long at comin’,” Emma scolded. “You shoulda sent George after me first thing.”

“No, no,” Wila said, looking pale. “You rest, Emma. Lizbeth, make her rest.”

But Emma would have none of that. She got me started cleaning up but she wouldn’t leave me to do it alone. I was surprised at the stamina she had shown that day, hovering over Wila and refusing to rest her own weary bones. You learn more about a person when you live things right beside them, and I imagined I’d learned Emma pretty well after all this, though I’d known her so short a time.

George came in about a half hour after the birth and didn’t say anything at all. He just gave Wila’s hand a squeeze and touched little Grace’s cheek, and then went back out. I’d never seen him look that way, like a boy almost, humbled by something bigger than himself. I felt the same. I expect we all did.

THIRTY

Samuel

I knew the birthing was done. I’d heard as much. I’d sent Sarah farther off into the barn to sing with Mrs. Post and was still piecing together fence when George came out the back door of the house. He didn’t see me at first and almost walked right past me. When I asked how they were inside, he jumped.

“Kinda hopin’ there won’t be no more’n ten,” he said.

“Wilametta looks so blame tired, I don’t know what we’ll do.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

“Got a girl,” he told me. “I ’spect that ain’t no more’n right.” He took a hard look at the fence and at his pliers, which were still in my hand. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

He didn’t sound angry, just surprised to find me on his property, let alone with my hands working on anything.

“I . . . uh . . . wanted to help. I heard that my Sarah broke your fence.”

“She done this?”

“Yes, sir, but not for trying to.”

“S’pose it coulda been the old billy just as easy, or one a’ my little ol’ wild injuns runnin’ around.”

“Maybe.”

“Your wife’s inside,” he said, as if he’d just woken up to who I was.

“I know.”

“I got me another girl.”

“You told me.”

“Wilametta’s already callin’ her Grace, but I been thinkin’ we oughta call this’un Emma. Stands t’ reason, don’t it? Emma Grace. How’s that sound?”

I couldn’t help but smile, seeing a side of George Hammond I hadn’t seen before. “It sounds fitting.”

“I didn’t think she’d come,” he said solemnly, turning his face toward the distant field. “Bein’ sick, you know, and havin’ you to turn her again’ me.”

“That wouldn’t gain me anything. Emma cares about all of you.”

“I reckon she cares ’bout ever’body.” He was quiet, just studying the horizon. “You know Miss Hazel means to have you ’way from here, don’t you?”

“I know.”

“What’re you gonna do about it?”

I tried to think of what to say, but the first words out of my mouth weren’t at all what I’d had in mind. “I’m going to build Emma a wheelchair.”

“What?”

“I’ve got to get it done,” I explained. “No matter what else happens. She needs it, and she’s always doing for everybody else.”

George cocked his head. “You know how t’ do somethin’ like that?”

“Almost have it figured out. I need some bolts, though, and a couple of smaller wheels for balance in the back. I saw a picture of one once that a fellow made for his granddaughter after she had polio.”

“Well . . .”

He let that one word hang in the air a long time. “I got plenty a’ hardware in a couple a’ buckets in the barn,” he finally said. “Can’t say it’d be what you need for bolt size, but you can use what you want. I’d have to study me on them wheels, though. How big you need?”

“Not less than six inches, I don’t think. Or much bigger than a foot. It’s got to handle the rough ground but not be too big and heavy.”

George looked down at his scuffed gray boots. “Wilametta and the baby don’t appear too strong, but they’ll come out fine. Did I tell you they’d come out fine?”

“I understood you to mean that.”

“Need help on that chair?”

His offer took me by surprise. The last time I talked to this man, he’d been as hard as a stump.
Nothing like a birth to soften
things,
I decided.
And having us here right in the middle of it too.

“I might need help,” I admitted. “Getting the chair on the wheels so they can still turn, but not bounce her clear out of there. I need a metal piece under each side of the seat for some give. You know what I mean?”

“Like buggy springs.”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“When you workin’ on this?”

“At night. So she won’t know.”