Miss Julia Rocks the Cradle (11 page)

Hazel Marie, however, seemed lighthearted and content, laughing as she played Old Maid with Etta Mae, Lloyd, and Latisha. Occasionally, though, I saw her hand rub the small of her back as if it bothered her.

Later in the night, after I’d banked the fire and been asleep for some time, I heard the shrill whisper of a voice right in my face. My eyes sprang open, then just as quickly closed in the glare of a bright light. Latisha was standing by my bed, her head practically in my face as she aimed a flashlight at me.

“Miss Lady,” she whispered, “that sleet’s not comin’ down no more.”

“What? Oh, Latisha, well, honey, that’s good, but move that flashlight out of my eyes. Thank you for the report, but you better run on back to bed.”

“Yes’m, but I looked out an’ that snow’s a-comin’ down like sixty.”

“What?” I said again and began to get out of bed. Reaching over to turn on the lamp, I felt a heavy cold seep inside my flannel gown. It got even colder when the lamp didn’t come on.

“Oh my goodness, the power’s off.” I grabbed my robe and stuck my feet in bedroom shoes, worried immediately about Hazel Marie.

“Yes’m,” Latisha said. “I ’spect it is, but it’s real light, anyway.”

And it was, as soon as I opened the draperies. The snow that was falling and had already fallen lit up the inside of the house, and we had no trouble going down the stairs. Even so, I was glad to have Sam’s flashlight in hand.

“Let’s go build up the fire, Latisha,” I said, “and get you wrapped up. We’ll let the others sleep as long as they can. At least they’ll be warm in bed.”

We crept into the living room, where I was thankful to see a few embers still glowing in the fireplace. I piled on the wood, then began lighting candles, putting them safely away from the edge of tables or curtains. Latisha curled up on the sofa with a throw wrapped around her.

I sat in my Victorian chair as close to the fireplace as I could get, listening with apprehension to the wind buffeting the house and rattling the windows. The house was rapidly chilling down, and I wished to my soul that we had taken Hazel Marie to the hospital. At least there’d be generators there.

“Why’d you wake up, Latisha?” I asked.

“I had to go to the bathroom, but it was so dark I almost didn’t make it.”

I smiled, then with a jerk, I came straight up out of my chair as a bone-chilling wail emanated from the back of the house. “Hazel Marie!”

I nearly broke my neck getting to her room, the beam from the flashlight in my hand jumping from wall to floor and back again until I finally reached her door and aimed it at Hazel Marie. She was standing in the middle of the room, the hem of her nightgown clutched in her hands and a look of distress on her face.

“Oh, Miss Julia,” she moaned, “I think I’ve ruined your rug.”

In the beam of the flashlight, I saw her bare feet standing in a large wet spot that had darkened the colors of my Oriental.

“Oh, Lord, don’t worry about that,” I cried, running to her. “Get in the bed, Hazel Marie. Lie down. Are you in labor? I’ll call somebody.” Grabbing her by the shoulders, I led her back to the bed. “Lie down and be real still.”

“I, uh, don’t think I can,” she said. “So much pressure.” She lowered herself gingerly on the side of the bed, groaning with each breath.

“Is them babies comin’?” Latisha asked. I swung the flashlight around to see her, wrapped in the throw and standing in the doorway taking it all in. Her eyes shone in the light.

“Latisha,” I said, trying to steady my voice, “get your flashlight and run upstairs. Wake up your great-granny and Miss Etta Mae. Tell them I need them down here, but don’t wake up Lloyd. Then I want you to get back in bed and stay there.”

“Well, I wanta see them babies.”

“There are no babies here and there won’t be. We’re going to the hospital. Now run on as fast as you can.” I turned her around and sent her on her way, then went back to Hazel Marie. She was sitting on the side of the bed, her hands clasping her spraddled knees, an inward look on her face.

“Hazel Marie, get your coat and shoes on. I’ll heat up the car. Hurry now, and I’ll be right back.” I left my flashlight for her, then ran to the kitchen, bouncing off a couple of walls in the dark, grabbed another flashlight and clicked it on. Slinging a coat around my shoulders, I snatched up the car keys and flung open the back door. And stood there, my mouth gaping open. It looked as if a solid white wall had come down between me and the yard. In the beam of the light, I saw thick snow, not falling, but blowing crosswise with the wind howling like a freight train. I stopped in wonder, having never seen the like before. But this was no time for hesitation. I crossed the small back porch, pushed open the screen door with some effort, and plunged outside, sinking shin deep into snow. The wind whipped around me, throwing up snow and blowing it until I couldn’t see anything but more of it. I couldn’t see the cars; I couldn’t see the garage; I couldn’t even see the house behind me. Everything—ground and air—was wrapped in swirling snow with the wind lashing at me so that I could hardly stand upright. The word
blizzard
flashed through my mind as I jiggled around in the snow, stepping on my gown and almost upending myself.

But blizzard or not, I was not going to be stopped on my appointed rounds. I took a step toward where I knew the car to be, then stopped again as a loud crack scared the daylights out of me. A swishing, crashing noise followed the crack and I saw the large oak on the edge of Mildred Allen’s yard flash through the snow and land across my driveway, limbs covering the back of my car and Etta Mae’s as well.

Blocked in! Frenzied with fear and stiff with cold, I sloshed back through the snow and felt around until I found the screen door. I lunged for it and held on for dear life. Pulling myself out of the snowdrift, I left my bedroom slippers behind. Half frozen, with my feet like blocks of ice and the hems of my gown and robe wet with clinging snow, I stumbled back inside.

I closed the door, knowing we couldn’t get to the local hospital, much less to Asheville. We couldn’t even get to the car sitting right out there in the driveway, which wouldn’t do us any good anyway because the car wouldn’t be going anywhere until a few snow shovels and a power saw uncovered it.

With shaking hands, I snatched up the telephone, heard no dial tone, and ran back to Hazel Marie’s room, thinking
cell phone, cell phone.
“Hazel Marie, where’s your cell phone?”

She hadn’t moved from the bed while I’d been gone, except now she was rocking back and forth, moaning with each rock. “On the, uh, the dresser.”

Finding it, I dialed 911, waited an interminable time before hearing, “911, what is your emergency?”

“We’re having a baby!
Two
of them! We need help—please send some help! Hurry!”

“Calm down, ma’am. What is your location?”

I told her, then pled for an ambulance and a doctor.

“All our crews are out on emergency runs, ma’am. Can you get her to the hospital?”

“No! That’s why I’m calling you. We can’t get the car out. It’s snowing over here and trees are falling!”

“Yes, ma’am, I understand. We have some volunteers in four-wheel-drive vehicles, so somebody’ll be there as soon as possible.”

“But we need help now! What am I going to do? I’ve never had a baby or delivered a baby and—oh, Lord, Hazel Marie! What’re you doing?”

Hazel Marie had fallen back on the bed, her knees raised as she groaned deep in her throat with a sound that sent a cold shiver down my spine.

“Ma’am? Ma’am? ” the dispatcher said with a little more urgency than she’d heretofore exhibited. “Is she crowning?”

“Is she
what
?” I gripped the phone hard enough to crush it, trying to understand the question.

“Crowning. Is she crowning?”

“I don’t know what she’s doing,” I wailed. I glanced at the bed. “Hazel Marie, are you crowning?” Then to the dispatcher, “She can’t talk. Please, please send some help.”

Hearing another awful groan from Hazel Marie, I dropped the phone, thinking
thank goodness for Etta Mae
. If push came to shove, which it was fast becoming, she’d know what to do.

About that time she and Lillian, with bathrobes flapping, ran into the room, both of them exclaiming, “What’s happening?” “What’s going on?” “Is she in labor?” They hurried to Hazel Marie, took one look at her, and stopped cold.

“What’re we going to do?” I asked, as tremors ran from my head to my feet. “All the emergency crews are busy and a tree is down. I can’t get the car out—I can’t even get
to
the car, and the power’s off and we’re going to freeze to death!”

“No, we’re not,” Etta Mae said, putting her arm around Hazel Marie’s shoulders and helping her up. “Build up the fire, Miss Julia, and get some blankets and pillows. Hold on to me, Hazel Marie. We’re going to the living room. Miss Lillian, spread out some newspapers on the floor. Put down some plastic trash bags too.”

As Etta Mae walked Hazel Marie toward the living room, she had to stop twice as Hazel Marie bent over with deep groans. “I think it’s coming,” she panted. “I think it’s coming!”

I ran ahead and moved the coffee table and the fireside chairs back, while Lillian spread newspapers and plastic bags on the living room floor. Then she ran to Hazel Marie and with Etta Mae’s assistance managed to lay her down in front of the fire. I threw a blanket over Hazel Marie’s shoulders and put a pillow under her head. Then I ran around closing all the doors to keep the heat in the room and to prevent any noise from drifting upstairs.

“Oh, Lord,” Etta Mae said after a quick look. “It’s coming! What do we do?” Her face was as white as a sheet.

“Don’t you know?” I asked, my voice rising up the scale as I realized that my backup plan was turning out to be as futile as the original.

“I’ve read about it, but I’ve never done it,” she said. “Old folks don’t have babies.”

Hazel Marie interrupted with a bone-grinding, bearing-down groan that even I knew presaged some kind of expulsion.

Lillian got down on her knees beside one of Hazel Marie’s, took a look, and said, “Warm one of them blankets, Miss Julia, an’ be ready for this baby. It comin’ real soon.”

I went to the fireplace to warm a blanket, which put me at Hazel Marie’s feet—right in the line of sight. But I didn’t look. My stomach was knotted up enough without actually
seeing
anything.

Lillian put her hand on Hazel Marie’s abdomen. “Here come another big ole cramp. Now, Miss Hazel Marie, don’t you worry none. It be a fac’ that when babies come on they own like this, they don’t have no problems.”

Lillian worked around Hazel Marie, humming softly to calm her, then said, “One more, little mama, an’ we have us a baby.”

“Ah-h-h,” Hazel Marie said, her neck extended and her hands scrabbling on the plastic beneath her. With a sudden gush, a tiny, wet baby slid out onto the warm blanket that I’d put in place. I thought I’d faint dead away.

“Gimme something!” Lillian said, then took the hem of her robe and wiped the baby’s face. She held it up by its heels and gently patted its back until it emitted a quavery cry.

Hazel Marie lifted her head. “Is it here? Is it all right? Let me see, let me see.”

“We gonna give her to you. Jus’ wait a minute—this fine girl gonna have her mama in a minute. Law me, jus’ look at that head of hair.”

I took a look and was amazed at the thatch of black hair on that infant’s head. Was that normal? I didn’t know, but one thing was for sure: Mr. Pickens had made his mark.

“Miss Julia,” Lillian said, turning to me, “we need us some string and some scissors, quick as you can.”

String and scissors, string and scissors.
I ran to the kitchen, my bare feet slapping on the floor. My mind was going ninety miles an hour while my heart fluttered in my chest as I tried to think what I could find. “Scissors, scissors,” I said to myself, pulling open a drawer.

I grabbed Lillian’s kitchen shears, then stopped. String? What kind of string? Sewing thread? My sewing box was upstairs, and the rough twine in the pantry wouldn’t do.

Lloyd’s shoelaces! There they were on the counter, still in their wrapper. I snatched them up and ran back to the living room, the wet hem of my gown flopping around my ankles.

“Perfect!” Etta Mae said, as I handed them to her. She knelt down, tore off the wrapper, then looked at Lillian. “What do I do with it?”

“Tie it on real tight here and here,” Lillian said, pointing, but I didn’t look to see where.

“Now cut it right about here,” Lillian said, guiding the kitchen shears, as Etta Mae did the snipping. Lillian whispered a few more words of instruction, then she wrapped the baby in the warm blanket and laid it in Hazel Marie’s arms.

There is nothing in this world more beautiful than a mother’s face as she holds her newborn. I could’ve cried, as she was doing, with relief, until I remembered that we had another one to go. Or rather, to come.