Leaving Gee's Bend (3 page)

“Did you play it for the children? Same as you always done for me?”

“Sure did. It was just about the only way to get that baby to sleep. Me playing that piano.”

The smile faded and Etta Mae took a step back. “Ludelphia, I got to tell you something.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then placed her hands on my shoulders like she wanted me to listen and she wanted me to listen good. “Bad things happened when I was in Mobile. Real bad things.”

I held my breath. When my voice came, it was like a whisper. “What bad things?” It was like part of me wanted to hear what Etta Mae was about to say, but part of me didn’t.

Just as she was opening her mouth to talk, Mama started up coughing from inside the cabin. One cough came right on top of the other, rough as Daddy’s work britches against the washboard. Then there was a thump and the clatter of dishes hitting wood.

“Mama?” I said as I raced up the steps and into the cabin. I could hear Etta Mae following right behind me.

First thing I saw when I opened that door was Mama in a pile beside the kitchen table. She groaned, then let her head drop to the floor and didn’t even try to get up.

SOON AS I GOT TO MAMA, I CROUCHED DOWN BESIDE her. There was thick spit coming out the corner of Mama’s mouth and a wet spot spreading along the floorboards next to her legs. Mama was leaking from both ends!

“Ludelphia,” she said, her voice raw and broken, “I think it’s the baby.”

I touched Mama’s forehead with the back of my hand as she closed her eyes and started to moan. The top of her nose was dotted with beads of sweat.

“It’s too early,” Mama said, squeezing her eyes shut. She didn’t say it, but I knew she was thinking about them other babies.

“But your belly is a lot bigger this time, Mama.”

Mama groaned. “Don’t matter. It’s still too soon.”

It was like she had already given up. Like she expected the same thing to happen this time as before.

“But Mama. . . .” What she was forgetting was me. Me and Ruben. We’d come along just fine. Wasn’t no reason this baby couldn’t come along just fine too.

Etta Mae squatted beside me. “It’s the baby coming, all right,” she said, pointing to the wet floorboards. Now it was dripping through the slats onto the feathers and bits of cotton the chickens slept on at night. “Probably that mean cough is what brought it on. I seen this very thing happen when I was in Mobile.”

Mama’s eyes rolled under her lids the way they do sometimes when you’re dreaming. Then all of a sudden they popped wide open. “Get on with you, Etta Mae!” Mama waved her arms in the air like Etta Mae was a fly that needed swatting. “Don’t need your help. Just need Ludelphia.”

I locked my eye on Etta Mae but didn’t say a word.

So it was true. The devil’s lye was set out for Etta Mae. Whatever those bad things were that happened in Mobile, Aunt Doshie had already spread the word. And now my mama was so scared she was sending away the very person who could help her.

Now what was I supposed to do?

As Etta Mae eased toward the door, Mama worked to get her feet up under her. But each time she got about halfway up, she’d sink back down again. Etta Mae and me looked at each other, our eyes wide. Why was Mama so weak?

“Don’t go,” I mouthed to Etta Mae, then watched as she slipped outside the screened door. Wasn’t no sound of footsteps on the porch, so I knew she was staying close. I turned my attention back to Mama and tried to make my voice sound like Daddy’s. “It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

One more time Mama tried to lift herself. When she fell back, she landed crooked. Her eyes popped open as she hit and there was a crunching sound.

“The eggs!” she said, her voice cracking. She dipped her hand into the pocket of her apron. When she pulled out her fingers, they was dripping with egg yolk. “Every one of ’em broken!”

Broken eggs meant no corn bread for supper. Broken eggs meant waking up in the middle of the night with a grumbly belly. I felt my shoulders slump. I should have collected them eggs myself. Instead of planning my quilt and worrying about my eye patch, I should have been helping my mama.

I blinked back tears. “It’s okay, Mama.” I reached around her back to untie the apron strings. “Don’t you worry about them eggs.” Because we got bigger things to worry about, is what I wanted to say. But wasn’t no need to say such a thing. Mama was the one with weak legs and a cough and a baby ready to come out. Wasn’t much of nothing I could tell Mama that she didn’t already know.

Even though I knew Etta Mae was just out there on the porch, I ain’t never felt so alone as I did right then. Didn’t take but a few big steps to cross from one side of the cabin to the other, but did it ever feel empty with Mama stuck there on the floor.

I fingered the needle and scraps in my pocket. Mama always said wasn’t but one way to do things, and that was one stitch at a time.

First I had to get them drippy eggs out of Mama’s apron. As I scooped the yolks and whites into a wooden bowl, I imagined tearing Mama’s calico apron into strips and laying ’em out to be the edges of the quilt I was making for Mama. All them reds and browns and greens would liven it right up.

When I was done with the eggs, I threw open the shutters to let some good light into the room. Then I hooked my arms under Mama’s armpits. “Come on, Mama,” I said as I pulled her toward the cornshuck pallet that was hers and Daddy’s. Mama lifted her body some and groaned as she settled onto the bed. Then her breathing started coming fast and noisy and I knew from the times before that she was having birthing pains.

I grabbed her hands, even though mine was shaking. “I’m right here, Mama.” But what good was that? I didn’t have no idea what to do next.

As Mama’s legs stiffened and she clenched her fists, I told myself that this is how it’s supposed to happen. Ain’t no way to get a baby out without pain. So I just kept talking to her, mumbling “it’s okay, Mama, don’t you worry” over and over again until the sounds joined together and it was like singing a song.

Only Mama wasn’t singing. She didn’t talk at all no more, and her breath only came in sharp bursts.

Then everything changed. Mama’s legs got limp and her breathing slowed down. I knew from before it wouldn’t be long before the pains came again. What I needed to do now was focus. Just fix my mind on something so I could start thinking straight. So I looked around the log walls of the cabin that was plastered with pieces of newspaper Daddy brought back with him from Camden. The
Wilcox Progressive Era
, it was called, on account we lived in Wilcox County, Alabama.

Wasn’t enough paper to cover all the cracks in them walls, but I got to tell you, every little bit helped to cut down on the wind that liked to creep in when you was least expecting it. Daddy said soon as there was a little extra money, he’d bring us home some more newspaper so we’d have something new to look at.

My favorite picture was the one just behind Mama’s head. It was an ad for “LADIES COATS As Low As $1.95” at W. E. Cook’s Department Store in Camden. The lady in the picture was tall, and she was wearing high-heeled shoes. Wasn’t hardly nobody in Gee’s Bend that had shoes at all, much less ones fancy as that.

And that coat. I ain’t never seen nothing like it, not in Gee’s Bend. It was some sort of fur that went from the lady’s neck all the way to her ankles. Could be rabbit or fox, Daddy said.

“Ludelphia!”

I jerked my eye away from the wall. Mama’s face was scrunched up just like a rotten chestnut. She grabbed her belly and started to pant like a yard dog after it’s been chasing a squirrel.

The pains was getting worse. I wrapped my arms around my middle and squeezed ’em tight against my dress. I ain’t ready for this, is what I wanted to say. My throat tightened and my lips was trembling. Slowly I began to take tiny steps backward.

I had to get help from someplace. If only Mama wanted Etta Mae! She was right there on our porch ready to help.

Wasn’t no getting Daddy and Ruben or the Pettways, not with them cotton fields a good two miles away. Looked like the baby was coming too fast for that. The Reverend Irvin and Mrs. Irvin? They’d sure come if I asked ’em to, but wasn’t no telling where they might be. If only I knew whether they was at the church or someplace else. Wasn’t no telling how long it might take me to find ’em.

I scratched up under my eye patch. That left only one person. Not a real doctor, but the closest thing we had in Gee’s Bend.

“Mama, I’ll be right back. I’m just gonna run fetch Aunt Doshie.” Even though I didn’t really want to. Aunt Doshie was the one that came with her potions them other times when the babies died. Her potions that seemed about as worthless as the visions she was always going on about.

Mama grabbed my arm. “Ain’t no time for that. Ain’t got nothing to pay her with, nohow.” I glanced over at Mama’s apron. For a short second I was glad about the broken eggs. I was glad there wasn’t no time and nothing to pay Aunt Doshie with.

“Then, Mama, we ain’t got no choice. I’m bringing in Etta Mae.”

“Ain’t having no witch in my house, Ludelphia!”

Witch? I stomped my foot in frustration. “Mama! It’s just Etta Mae!” Now was not the time to be taking Aunt Doshie’s rumors for truth.

At the sound of her name Etta Mae poked her head inside the door.

“Mrs. Bennett,” she said, “least let me bring up a pail of water. You gonna need it.” Etta Mae didn’t wait for an answer.

“Lord, Jesus!” Mama leaned her head back against the wall of the cabin as the pain eased up for a moment. She took two big breaths. “You trying to kill me, Lu?”

I gritted my teeth and pressed my lips together. “No, Mama.” What I was trying to do was save her. And the baby.

Mama didn’t say nothing more. Just lay there quiet for a minute with her eyes closed. I stroked the hair back from her damp forehead. She was burning up.

As Etta Mae came through the door, water sloshed out of the bucket onto the floor. She didn’t pay it no mind, just set right to work dumping the water into the iron pot.

When she was finished, she wiped her hands across the front of her dress. “Lu, you stoke the fire while I check on your mama.”

I jumped right up and started poking the fire. As the embers caught new pieces of wood and the flame rose higher, my heart began to slow down a little. It felt good to finally be doing something useful.

Meanwhile Etta Mae took a closer look at Mama. If Mama noticed it wasn’t me by her side, she didn’t let on. She was too busy groaning as the pain took hold again. As Etta Mae tucked the quilt in around her shoulders, Mama wrinkled her nose and pushed her lips out like Delilah does when the hay has begun to mildew. Then she started taking short breaths like she’d just run clear across the cotton field.

“Something ain’t right, Ludelphia,” Mama said between breaths. “Something ain’t right!” Mama’s eyes darted around the room like she was searching for something but just couldn’t find it noplace. Then she pulled her legs up toward her chest and started shaking so hard her teeth was rattling. I reckon on account of the fever.

“Need a good knife,” Etta Mae said, turning away from Mama.

I took a deep breath and made my voice stay calm even though my insides was shaking just as fast as Mama’s teeth. “What for?”

“To put under the bed. To cut the pain.”

I ain’t never heard of such a thing, but I nodded my head anyway and pointed toward the spot high in the wall where Mama kept the knife. The blade caught the sunlight and flashed like lightning when Etta Mae yanked it out of the wood. Next thing I knew, Etta Mae had pushed that knife deep into Mama’s mattress where you couldn’t see it no more.

“Everything’s okay, Mama,” I said, even though at that moment I wasn’t sure it was true.

I studied the pot of water. Steam was just starting to rise. “Water will soon be ready, Mama.” The one thing I did know about was what to do with the water. “Then we’ll wipe you down so everything’s good and clean for the baby.” I swallowed. “And when the baby comes, we’ll wipe it down too.”

Mama didn’t make no reply except to start up with a new round of coughing that jolted her body in an unnatural way. I couldn’t watch no more, so I let my head hang down until I was looking through the floorboards at the chickens.

I wanted to cry. I want to blink and have it all be over.

“Ludelphia,” Etta Mae said, “now, you know there’s gonna be some blood, right?” She waited for me to nod. “Just the way it is when babies come. Don’t you worry about it none. You just do what I say and everything’s gonna be just fine.”

I nodded again and felt my shoulders relax. After all these years, I was used to Etta Mae telling me what to do.

“Get two good quilts,” she said. “Put one up under her legs, keep the other one down near her feet. That one will be for the baby.”

From the stack next to the door I pulled Mama’s favorite Housetop quilt and an old Nine Patch pattern that was ripped in places. Just as I was getting Mama’s legs settled on top of the old Nine Patch, Mama got quiet and sat straight up in bed. Her eyes was open, but they was blank as the chalkboard on the first day of school.

“Lord, Jesus,” Mama said in a loud, clear voice, “I’m coming home!” Wasn’t no mistaking them words. Mama reached out her arms like she was gonna hug somebody. But there wasn’t nobody there. Just me waiting at the foot of the bed and in between us nothing but air.

“Big Mama? That you?” Mama said, her eyebrows raised and the whites of her eyes shot with little red lines. Then she grabbed hold of my wrist. Her fingers clamped down so tight wasn’t no way for blood to get to my fingers. Just as they was starting to tingle, Mama all of a sudden turned me loose.

“No, Mama.” I rubbed my wrist with the fingers on my other hand. “It’s just me, Ludelphia. Ain’t nobody else here.”