Luna (29 page)

Phoebe, Selena thought. Her hands, gripping the steering wheel, were sweating, the muscles running up the palms to her wrists were aching. Her coat felt much too confining and bulky, as if she might be able to see the road better if she weren’t wearing it.

“We’re almost there,” Rhea said.

“What?” Selena asked, surprised. “How can you tell? I haven’t seen a fencepost or a crossroads or a stonepile in the last fifteen minutes.”

“I can tell,” Rhea said calmly. “There!” It was so sudden and so loud that Selena slammed on the brakes, throwing them all forward and then back.

“Jesus, Selena!” Diana said, more ruefully than angry.

“There what?” Selena asked Rhea, angry with her again.

“The turn-off to your place,” Rhea said calmly. Selena stared through the windshield but couldn’t see anything in the darkness and the blowing snow. “Just back up a little and you’ll see it,” Rhea said.

“What if I back up into the ditch?” Selena muttered, but shifted gears and backed the car as slowly as it would go.

“Eighty years I’ve lived in this country,” Rhea said. “I guess I know your turn-off when I come to it.”

Selena had stopped the car again and was peering, mystified, into the storm. But there it was, the new fencepost Kent had sunk in the corner of the field when one of the neighbours had run off the road in the mud and snapped the old one off.

“Well, holy cow,” she said, and sat for a minute in surprise before she shifted back into low. They started down the side road toward the house at the other end which had been swallowed up by the night and the storm.

Now Selena knew. Phoebe was in labour, and she was alone.

“Phoebe’s in labour,” she said, her voice low, filled with apprehension.

“What?” Diana asked, startled.

“I know,” Rhea said.

Phoebe was in the kitchen. She had apparently been trying to phone because the phone was off the hook. The chair that sat under the phone was on its side on the floor and Phoebe was lying next to it, on her side, her knees drawn up, her eyes closed, her arms over her belly. Selena was
on her knees beside her at once, reaching for her pulse, one hand on her forehead. Phoebe’s face and neck were slick with a fine film of sweat, but her body was not clammy to touch, only warm, as it should be. But her slacks were soaked down to the ankles, and Selena, frightened as she was, couldn’t suppress irritation with Phoebe.

At her mother’s touch, Phoebe opened her eyes.

“It’s coming,” she said, and gasped, stiffening, tossing her head from right to left and back again. Her face contorted and she let out a grunting cry. Selena looked up at Rhea, who stood at Phoebe’s feet.

“Calm her down,” Rhea said. “I think she can make it upstairs to bed.”

Diana crouched beside Phoebe, opposite Selena, and began to stroke Phoebe’s damp hair, to lift it from where it was plastered to her face and neck, and to murmur to her, “It’s okay now, Phoebe dear. We’re here. It’s all right now.”

“Phoebe,” Selena said, her voice crisp, “we’re going to get you upstairs to bed. Do you hear me?” Phoebe gasped, grimaced, then, as the contraction passed, relaxed a little.

“Okay,” she said, lifting her head a little. “Just let me … rest a bit.”

“You can rest upstairs,” Selena said. “We don’t want your baby born on the kitchen floor. Now get up.” Phoebe rose on one elbow, the other arm still holding her abdomen. Selena lifted and pushed on her left while Diana did the same on her right. They managed to help Phoebe onto her feet and start her moving down the short hall to the stairs. The next contraction came before she had put her foot on the first step, and she hung onto the newel post and cried out.

“When we get you to bed,” Selena said, “I want you to stop fighting it, you’re only making it worse.”

“It feels … like … my bones are being … pulled apart,” Phoebe gasped.

Selena held to her more tightly, but Diana said, both wry and grim at the same time, “I guess nobody’s told her that labour isn’t pain,” and Rhea snorted.

“She’s just scared,” Rhea said, behind them, and Selena was surprised, had forgotten she was there. They had almost reached the top of the stairs when the next one came, and Phoebe would have fallen if Rhea had not
been behind her, and Selena and Diana on each side, lifting and holding her upright.

“Thank heavens we changed all the sheets this morning. Her bed is clean and ready.” Rhea gave instructions while Diana threw back the covering on the bed and Selena helped Phoebe undress.

“We’ll need some scissors and some boiling water to sterilize them in and I guess … some old sheets, if you have some, Selena. We’ll put them under her so she doesn’t ruin the mattress. And where are the baby clothes and the blankets?” She looked around the room. On the other side of the window the wind howled and whistled and plastered wet snow against the pane. “I can’t think of anything else,” she muttered, her hands on her hips.

Diana had already hurried out of the room to collect the things Rhea had asked for. They could hear her opening and closing closet doors. Phoebe, lying on the bed with pillows propping her into a half-reclining position, began to moan and gasp. She clutched at her mother, tears smearing her contorted face.

“Oh, God!” she gasped. “I can’t … stand … it.”

“Tsk! Tsk!” Rhea clucked disapprovingly. Phoebe fell back, letting go of her mother, and Selena finished pulling off her wet slacks and soaking panties. Gently Rhea bent the girl’s knees and spread her feet. Another contraction seized Phoebe and she reached out blindly, thrashing, as if to strike someone. Selena took her daughter’s arms and pulled them down to her sides, smoothing her forehead with her palm.

“Phoebe, you’ve got to stop this,” she said, her voice unexpectedly sharp. “I’m disappointed in you. You’re not a child anymore. You’re a woman—a mother—now calm down. Stop this nonsense.”

“Get her to come down the bed this way,” Rhea said, her voice still calm, as though she hadn’t noticed what was going on between Selena and Phoebe. “Take those pillows out from under her now.”

Selena obeyed, carefully lowering Phoebe onto the cool sheet. Phoebe opened her eyes. That old, inward-turning look that had so disturbed Selena was gone. The old Phoebe was there again, alert and fully present, only her body was in the lead now, speaking to her with an urgency that would not allow retreat.

“Having a baby does have a way of getting your attention,” Selena said, laughing, tears blurring her eyes because Phoebe was at last returned to her, but Phoebe paid no attention, probably didn’t even hear.

“Concentrate on your breathing, Phoebe,” Rhea said. “Take long breaths now, and when you have to push, don’t fight it. Push hard, the harder you push, the faster the baby will come.” Phoebe had begun to push again, her mother murmuring encouragement to her, and holding her hand. They could hear Diana coming up the stairs, two at a time. She deposited three of Selena’s sheets, folded neatly, at the foot of the bed, and as Phoebe relaxed, panting, they lifted her just enough to slide them under her.

“You took that class,” Selena said to Diana. “Isn’t she supposed to puff or something, at some point?”

“Honestly, that was three years ago,” Diana said. “I don’t remember.”

“I don’t recall puffing when I had my children,” Rhea remarked, and the other two had to laugh. Rhea had rolled the long sleeves of her dress up past her elbows and her arms still looked firm and strong.

Diana said, “I phoned Kent and Tony,” but Phoebe had begun to push again and she didn’t finish what she was going to say.

“A long, deep breath,” Selena instructed Phoebe. “Now let it out, slowly, slowly.”

When the contraction released, Selena went into the bathroom and put a facecloth under the cold tap. It was cold in there, it always was, and she shivered in the blast of cold air that found its way around the old, worn-out window frame, then turned to go back to the bedroom.

Jason had appeared in the doorway, squinting in the light, his pyjamas rumpled and his hair standing on end.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep. Selena didn’t know whether to laugh or be angry with him.

She was about to tell him, but overcome by irritation, snapped, “Nothing! Now go to bed!” He put one hand up, the palm forward, to shade his eyes, trying to see her, then gave it up, turned, and went. She was impatient with him because the two boys had been so resentful of Phoebe’s condition, as if she had done it on purpose to embarrass them,
and because he had let her down tonight. But they were her sons, after all, and Jason was still more child than adult. She hurried back to the bedroom and sponged Phoebe’s face with the cloth.

“I can see the baby’s head,” Rhea said, suddenly, and there was a new note in her voice.

“Push, push, that’s it.” Phoebe was responding now, working with Selena, she was going to deliver this baby. “It’ll be over in a few minutes now. That’s the way. You’re really working now. Good.” She bent and kissed Phoebe’s wet cheek.

Diana said, “The weather’s letting up. The men said they’d come right over on the snowmobile. I know that thing, they’re probably having trouble starting it. They’ll take her to the hospital on that sleigh thing Tony bought for the kids.”

“No need for that!” Rhea said, not raising her head. “She’s doing fine right here.”

Phoebe was pushing again and Selena and Diana urged her on, praising her and encouraging her.

“Where’s that water?” Rhea suddenly demanded.

“Coming,” Diana said. She hurried to the door and was gone, her feet tapping hard and rapidly down the stairs. In a minute they could hear her coming slowly back up.

“The head’s coming,” Rhea said, and couldn’t hide a little delight.

“Now work,” Selena said, “work!”

“It’s out!” Rhea said, as a moan escaped Phoebe, the first one since Selena had scolded her, and Selena put one hand on each side of Phoebe’s face, and held them there. “I’ve got it … only a little more, Phoebe, dear,” Rhea said. That rich, powerful scent of flowers filled the room and this time, as Selena became aware of it, it no longer seemed strange, but instead, fitting and right.

“Aaaah,” Rhea said, and lifted up a squirming, slick little bundle, setting it to rest on Phoebe’s stomach. Diana, still holding the basin of hot water, quickly set it down on the chest of drawers, fished the scissors out of the basin, and handed them to Rhea, who cut the cord, as if it were something she did every day, knotted it and handed the scissors back to Diana.

“What is it?” Phoebe asked, lifting her head, reaching down with one hand to touch her baby.

“A girl,” Rhea replied. “It’s a girl, a female child.” Then she lifted the baby, holding it in one big hand. “Get me a clean, wet cloth,” she said. Diana turned to the bureau, did something, then turned back again, handing Rhea a small, wet cloth. Rhea took it and wiped the baby’s tiny face with it. She cried then, a good, strong wail and Rhea reached out, dropped the cloth and pressed the baby against her bosom, murmuring to it. Then Selena gave her a baby’s blanket that lay folded on the chair by Phoebe’s bed and helped Rhea wrap the child in it, and then they set the baby in the crook of Phoebe’s arm.

“I have to push again,” Phoebe said, alarm in her voice.

“It’s only the afterbirth,” Rhea said matter-of-factly, and bent over Phoebe again. Diana had picked up the child and was holding it, touching its little face with her fingertips, smiling at it, while Rhea muttered at the end of the bed. “Go ahead, there, nothing to it.” The afterbirth came, Phoebe groaned, this time with relief that came close to pleasure.

Rhea gathered the sheets they had placed under her and, with Selena’s help, thrust them into a garbage bag Diana must have brought upstairs. This surprised Selena. She had never thought of Diana as competent, able to look after things, and this revelation pleased her immensely.

“What a team we are!” she said, laughing, and Diana laughed, too.

“It’s twelve, no five after,” she said. “She must have been born at midnight.”

“We should bathe her,” Selena suggested.

“Time enough for that,” Rhea grunted, fussing around between Phoebe’s knees. “Hand me that basin and another cloth.” Selena hurried around the bed and gathered the things Rhea had asked for, brought them to the foot of the bed and set them down.

Rhea began to wash Phoebe, and Selena protested, “I’ll do it.” Rhea moved back then, and let Selena wash her daughter while she and Diana returned the pillows to the bed, propping Phoebe up a little so she could see her baby better. Then Rhea sat down in the chair in the corner, folded her hands on her lap, and closed her eyes.

Diana was searching through Phoebe’s drawers, looking for a clean nightgown for her. When she found one, she set it on the bed, took another cloth, and helped Selena sponge Phoebe all over. Then, together, they put the fresh gown on her and covered her, tucking the blankets in around the baby.

Finished, Selena stood back.

“Oh, good,” Phoebe said. “I feel really good,” and she smiled. “I think she’s asleep,” she said, looking down at her child. “Isn’t she?”

“What are you going to call her?” Diana asked.

Without taking her eyes from the child, Phoebe said, “I didn’t think of names.” Diana opened her mouth as if to offer a suggestion, but Phoebe went on. “But I kept thinking, just now, I mean, that I could smell flowers—roses, I think.” She laughed, looking up at her mother. “I know it’s silly, but I thought I could. So maybe her name should be Rose. No, Primrose, like those little yellow evening primroses that grow out there …”

“Or the big, pink, gumbo primroses,” Selena offered. Those ones that spring up in the most awful places, where the soil is terrible and absolutely nothing else will grow.”

“Yeah,” Phoebe said. “Primrose. I like that. Her name is Primrose.”

“She’s so beautiful,” Selena said, and began to cry.

“Poor Mom,” Phoebe said, “it must have been awful for you.” Selena was amazed to hear so little regret, so little sympathy in Phoebe’s voice. She stopped crying and looked at her daughter, but Phoebe had eyes only for her child. She has no idea what it was like, Selena realized, and blinked, floundering in her effort to get a grip on this. She saw now that she had been expecting the baby’s birth to change things. But why should it? she asked herself. Growing up, understanding other people, takes a lifetime. One labour won’t do it. Sympathy for Phoebe, for all that lay ahead of her, flooded Selena.

The women rose, straightened the bedcovers, picked up the wet towels, the basin full of water, the cloths and the garbage bag and the scissors, and left the room. Behind them, Phoebe drowsed, her baby nestled against her.

In the kitchen Selena put the kettle on to boil. Rhea and Diana sat down at opposite ends of the table, and Selena sat between them.

“I’m exhausted,” she said.

“I feel great,” Diana said.

“I am very tired,” Rhea said. “I never thought I’d help deliver another baby. I thought I’d seen my last. I didn’t know this was what I was waiting for.” Diana and Selena looked at her quizzically, but she said nothing more.

“I was surprised at Phoebe,” Selena said. “I never thought she’d make a fuss like that.”

“Well,” Diana said, “you can’t blame her for at least lodging a protest with the gods for what was happening to her. It’s a bit much, after all.”

“That’s true,” Selena said, “but still. In this country we don’t carry on like that. We just do it. There’s no use making a fuss about it.”

“Maybe we should,” Diana said. “In Europe women yell and scream and everybody expects them to. It makes sense to me.”

“Never,” Selena said. “I’d never do that.”

“There’ve been a lot of changes since I had my children,” Rhea said, “in the way we think about having babies, I mean. What with birth control pills, and overpopulation, and all.”

“Honestly,” Diana said. “I don’t know which is worse: the old ‘having a baby is suffering and torment and pain,’ or the new ‘having a baby is fun, something the whole family can do together.’” They laughed at that.