The Back Building (15 page)

When I returned home I hung the clock and filled the shakers before placing them in the center of the oak table. Combined with the pillows, things were looking more like a home. I tucked the baby blanket into my closet, behind my clothing so James couldn’t see it.

Every night I waited for my husband to come home, but more often I ate and fell asleep before he walked through the door. He put his earnings on the counter and climbed into bed beside me, sometimes without eating. He was over-worked, but never complained. The pay was good and we would be able to save for a family this way. I only minded when he was too tired to bed me. I looked forward to our intimate moments all day long, sometimes bathing right before he was due home so I would smell enticing.

Weeks went on this way and I started spending more time with Jennifer. She invited me to a sewing club, but I declined. I was far too ashamed by my skills to join a club of ladies who were sure to be advanced. Jennifer offered to come to my house once a week for a few hours to sew with me, she didn’t mind what my skill level was, she just wanted the company, she said.

So every Tuesday at ten a.m., Jennifer arrived with sweets and her sewing basket. I had to pull out my pillowcases that I was embroidering and pretend to enjoy myself. Hetty stood behind Jennifer and belly laughed.

“Is someone behind me?” Jennifer asked one day.

“Oh, no, I was just thinking of my old friend, Hetty. She always tried to get me to sew. If she could see me now!” I laughed. Then I thought about sewing with my mother, she always grew impatient and frustrated with me, whereas Jennifer had the patience of a saint. We laughed at my mistakes and didn’t seek perfection.

“You’re coming along fine, all you need is practice. Now what are you serving your husband for supper tonight?”

“I hadn’t thought about it yet, usually we have eggs and biscuits, or a slab of ham and some pancakes.”

“Let’s put the sewing down and cook a nice pie. I brought some fresh berries from our bushes. Ben and I can’t eat them all before they go bad so I hoped maybe you’d like them.”

“How kind. I would love to make a pie, but honestly, Jennifer, I don’t know how.”

“I am here to teach you. The crust is the hardest part, but if you can make biscuits, you can make pie crust.” So our first cooking lesson began. I cut the cold-pressed lard into the flour mixture as explained to me and then mixed it into a large lump. Then I rolled it out to create a nice symmetrical circle. I laid the dough out into a pan and cut the edges off so they didn’t hang over and burn when cooking. Then I filled it with a mixture of fresh berries we had let stew with sugar. The leftover dough was used to make lattice-work on top of the pie. We baked it for forty minutes and put it on the windowsill to cool. I was proud of the accomplishment and couldn’t wait to show James. However when he came home, it was one of the evenings he was too tired to eat, think, talk, or bed me.

That night I ate the pie directly from the pan with a fork, not cutting slices but starting in the center and working my way out. I felt nauseous all the next day and wondered if it was my cooking. My brows sweat and I had to sit down a few times. I felt better as the afternoon passed, but the following morning after I ate, I felt like I would vomit. When the week passed and Tuesday arrived I dreaded visiting with Jennifer. She could tell right away something was wrong when she came through my doorway.

“Iona, is it possible you could be pregnant?” We were seated together on the couch.

“Oh my goodness, I suppose!” I laughed and jumped up from my seated position grabbing Jennifer’s hands and circling the room with her in a dance.

She hugged me and offered her congratulations. We figured I was still early in my pregnancy and that I should keep it a secret a little longer in case it didn’t take. She promised to show me a few other recipes that I could make easily and quickly with little ones in tow and then she pulled out two skeins of yarn from her infamous, bottomless, basket. Next she pulled out two wooden needles.

“Let’s teach you to knit so we can make booties and sweaters and hats for the little one. It’s so exciting.”

It was exciting, but terrifying as well. I didn’t have a good relationship with my mother and hardly knew how to be a mother. I couldn’t focus on Jennifer’s instructions on how to knit and purl.

“You’re scowling. What is it?” Jennifer asked.

“I just want to be a good mother, that’s all.”

“Well, you’re a good wife, so you’ll be a good mother too!” She had no doubt at all that I would do fine.

“I suppose.” Hetty held the scowl now and later when my guest left I would find out why.

My nausea came in waves. I felt better at night-time, but in the mornings I was unable to keep any food down. I was bone tired all day long and spent most of my time in bed. When James came home that evening I was still slumbering.

“Iona?” he called.

I stirred and suddenly jolted from bed, I had nothing prepared for supper as my husband was rarely home at this hour.

“Are you sick? You look a little peaked.”

“You could say that.”

“Is that a riddle, you are either sick or you’re not, which is it?” He was slightly crabby which wasn’t unusual lately.

“James, sit. I have news.” I couldn’t keep this from him, I was terrible at keeping secrets.

My husband pulled out a chair and sat with his elbows on the table.

“What is it, Iona, you’re scaring me.”

“You’re about to be a father, you should be scared!”

“What?” His expression changed from one of surprise to terror, then to elation. He swept me off my feet and kissed me on the lips.

“Really, are you certain? We’re having a baby?” He put his hands protectively across my flat belly and grimaced.

“It’s early yet, just wait, he’ll be kicking in no time.”

“I am just so happy, our own little family. Gosh, we are doing it, aren’t we?”
“Making our way? Yes, we are, but James, I admit I am afraid. I don’t know how to be a mother. I can barely cook for you and me, let alone keep up our home. I am afraid you won’t love me the same if I can’t do it all.”

“You’re giving me a child, what is better than that? I can help cook and clean and I’ll tell Ben I need shorter hours once he or she arrives. Until then maybe I should double up and save extra money. What do you think?”

“I think it gets lonely here all day without you.”

“I know. Ben is apprenticing me so I can take over one day. He won’t work forever and his children are not interested in mill-work. It could be ours one day to run and operate, it would secure our future so that we can buy a nicer house and have all kinds of special things for our family.”

“James, I don’t need any of that. I grew up in a fancy house with all the trimmings and look where it got me.” My home may have had a lot of fancy furnishings and finery, but it was sterile and dry. The irony that my mother told me dozens of times that ‘one day I’d be sorry if I didn’t learn to stitch and knit, sew and cook’ hit me with full force now. I was indeed sorry I hadn’t learned these skills, yet at the same time I still didn’t want to learn them. I wanted this child, and to be a mother, but did that mean I had to become a slave to the household?

Chapter Ten

Lucy

Lucy was born seven and a half months later. The contractions started slowly at first, but when my water broke at four in the morning the pain left me breathless. James was sound asleep besides me, but I was tossing and turning all night long with the feeling of indigestion. When I could no longer bear the intense cramping, I tapped James on the shoulder to wake him. He was startled upon seeing my discomfort, but jumped to action. He knew his first order of business was to get Jennifer and the midwife.

I was fine alone for the hour it took him to gather the ladies. I paced the well-worn floors holding tight to my belly. I took small sips of water and wiped my sweating brow. All the while I prayed for an easy delivery. The midwife had come to check me several times through-out my pregnancy and she declared that my hips were made for birthing. I wasn’t so sure I agreed. The labor put extra pressure on my pelvis, making me feel that I had to relieve myself. I had an urge to push but promised I would wait for help. In moments the door flew open and the ladies came in. They assessed the situation and began getting my bed ready for the birth. James came to my side, but was sent into the kitchen to boil water and make tea.

“I need to push, Kathy,” I told the midwife.

“Let me check you first.” She knelt down between my legs and agreed the baby was coming quickly. It’s head was already visible so she told me to push. I pushed three times and the baby’s head was out, followed by the rest of her. Her cries echoed in my bedroom and nothing could keep James from entering. He came in the room and went straight to his daughter, counting her fingers and toes. Then he smiled at me with new-found amazement. He kissed his baby on her forehead and then kissed me. The women gathered the birthing sheets and mopped the floor before giving us our first moments alone as a family.

“She is beautiful, just like her mother,” James said.

“Are you disappointed, James?” I asked because it was a girl and not a boy as I hoped.

“How could I be? She is lovely. What shall we name her?”

“I like Lucy. What do you think?”

“Lucy it is then.”

Kathy came back into the room with fresh towels for me to expel the afterbirth. Then she taught me to nurse. She had me cradle the baby’s head in alignment with my breast and nipple. Lucy latched on lazily and kept slipping. I had to hold my nipple in her mouth and express milk until she latched on firmly and could extract the sustenance on her own. Once she learned how to nurse she became an expert.

James took the ladies home when they were certain everyone was healthy. When they left, I dozed on and off with Lucy beside me. I would keep the blue baby blanket tucked away in the closet for our next little one. I felt a sense of pride and accomplishment when I stared into the eyes of my sleeping beauty. Her tiny fingers latched onto my own and the feeling caused my milk to let down. I put her to my breast, but she was too tired and full to want to bother with feeding. I held her and nodded off. I only woke when James crept back into the bed, cradling the baby between us, safe and sound.

She woke urgently a few hours later, crying to be fed. I was happy enough to nurse her although exhaustion was setting in and my woman’s parts were tender. I put her to my right breast and then alternated to the left, but she kept falling asleep in between. She never got her fill, instead she became a constant snacker. I was unable to do much else, so her chronic nursing didn’t bother me.

“Hello, darling girl. You are beautiful, yes you are.” I cooed, picking up my darling girl, breathing her in and kissing her forehead. I unclothed and bathed her with a washcloth and warm water in the sink and noted how she startled when the water trickled down her belly. She enjoyed her bath and even opened her eyes wide enough to investigate me.

Hetty reached out to hold her, but I told her no. I continued with the bath before drying and then swaddling my little girl. I was told that most babies sleep a lot, but Lucy had other ideas. She cat-napped for ten minutes here or there, but never for long stretches. I was ready to collapse after a week of constant feedings and very little sleep. My nipples were cracked and bleeding, and there was searing pain when Lucy latched on. I developed the chills and James called Kathy to come check on me at once. She assessed the situation and diagnosed me with mastitis on both breasts. The baby would need to have an alternate way of feeding while I healed. We wrapped my breasts in cabbage leaves and changed them every two hours in order to draw out the infection. We tried glass bottles with Lucy, and while she was reluctant at first, after several tries she finally accepted the fake nipple and drank a few ounces.

I admit I felt relieved when she took the bottle from James, and I prayed that tonight he would give our daughter her night time feedings so that I might sleep solidly for a few hours. I hardly heard her cries, but felt James climb out of bed to prepare the bottle for Lucy. I drifted back to sleep and didn’t wake again until morning and by then Jennifer had arrived to help. She fed the baby all day long and insisted I stay put in bed. She filled the bath for me and brought me more cabbage leaves for my breasts. Lucy was very content and I felt so much better as the day progressed.

I watched my friend as she comforted my baby. Her movements were natural and calm. I was in awe at how easily nurturing a baby was for her. I felt awkward and questioned all of my movements. I was tired and cried often now as a result. I wasn’t myself and didn’t know if I ever would be again.

My body healed and I was physically capable of caring for my child. Lucy was quite needy and cried more than she rested. Jennifer called it ‘colic’ and claimed one of her boys had it too. Colicky babies were fussy and hard to soothe she explained, but it got better with time, she assured me. I tried holding Lucy with her belly positioned against my arm, I rocked her, walked her, and sometimes just let her cry herself to sleep. I was at my wit’s end by the afternoon. Preparing supper was nearly impossible with a baby that required so much attention. Still I tried to at least scramble eggs or make toast.