The Funeral Dress (28 page)

“She ain’t bleeding, Gwen.” But Gwen paid no attention to Leona and searched Emmalee’s hands for an open cut while Leona studied Emmalee’s eyes and her full belly. Most of the other women stopped their sewing and turned their attention toward the collar makers.

Easter scurried across the wide aisle separating the lapel makers from the other seamstresses and hunched behind Leona as if she were ready to take orders. “What’s going on here?”

“She’s about to have a baby,” Leona said firmly, never once taking her eyes off of Emmalee.

“It’s just a virus.” Emmalee moaned and held her arms across her stomach. “Wilma said so. I need to get home is all. I want to go home.” Emmalee fixed her eyes on the ceiling, and her breathing turned fast and shallow. She pulled on Leona’s hand. “Make them go away. Please make
them go.” Emmalee tightened her grip and moaned some more. “Leave me be,” she yelled at Gwen, who was still searching Emmalee’s fingers for a broken needle.

“Damn it, Gwen, she ain’t cut,” Leona said. “And Emmalee, this ain’t a virus. Surely you know that by now.” Leona stroked Emmalee’s head and pulled the stray hairs from her face. She pressed the palm of her hand against Emmalee’s stomach and promised this pain would pass soon. “Easter, go fetch a wet, cold cloth.” Easter scrambled from the crowd of women huddled around Emmalee.

“Leona, what are you doing?” Gwen asked, sounding frantic.

“Lord, Gwen, the girl’s pregnant. Hadn’t you figured that out?”

“No, no, I’m sick. That’s all,” Emmalee screamed as the pain took hold of her. “I got a virus. I need to go home is all.”

“Honey, it ain’t worth arguing about. You’ll see soon enough.” Leona balanced on her knees and looked up at Gwen. “Call Mrs. Fulton and then call the rescue squad. Hester and Basil may not run the ambulance service no more but she’s only a block from here. I saw her and Billy out watering in the yard on my way to work. Besides, she’s done this kind of thing a hundred times, and I don’t trust those men from the rescue squad delivering a baby.”

Gwen listened to Leona but did not move.

“Go on, Gwen. From the looks of things, I don’t think we got much time here.” Leona glared at the crowd gathered around Emmalee. “Everybody, get back. You’re going to suffocate the poor girl.” Gwen took to her feet and ran toward the front office.

Emmalee sobbed and squeezed Leona’s hand. “I don’t need an ambulance. I don’t need Mrs. Fulton. Not her,” Emmalee begged. “Please, not her.”

Leona stroked the girl’s head and held her hand tight. She thought of her own son’s birth. He had come into the world too soon and too fast. He tore his way right out of her belly and never had a chance. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel his limp body lying across her chest, his skin turning cold. She looked at Emmalee and reassured her everything would be fine. “It will all be fine.”

With the sound of the ambulance ringing close to the factory, the women who had gathered on the picnic tables for morning break rushed inside the sewing room. Several of them forgot to stub out their cigarettes on the way and stole a final puff as they watched Emmalee writhing on the floor. “Give her room to breathe,” Leona shouted.

The seamstresses obeyed and widened their circle but quickly swung forward, their curiosity nearly swallowing Emmalee whole. Some stood vigil, their hands clasped together in prayer. Others whispered in each other’s ears. Leona knew they were already spreading gossip too juicy to wait until the end of the day to share. A few returned to their machines, not willing to miss an opportunity to stitch another bundle of pockets or lapels. And Laura Cooley held her hands tight to her ears. The color siphoned from her face and beads of sweat collected on her nose, leaving some to think maybe she was the one who had taken ill.

Shortly Mrs. Fulton stormed into the factory wearing a pair of long pants and black rubber shoes speckled with wet grass. She shouted at people to move out of her
way and pushed aside those who did not obey. She was taller than most women, and her voice was strong. Billy followed behind his mother, although his pace slowed when he saw Emmalee on the floor. A man from the cutting room, dressed in dirty coveralls and holding a metal wrench in his hand, followed close behind the boy as if there was a piece of machinery needing to be tweaked.

“Let’s see what we got here.” Mrs. Fulton knelt by Emmalee, wedging between Gwen and Leona. She took Emmalee’s wrist in hers and monitored her pulse. “Emmalee, what’s going on with you?”

“Flu,” she mumbled. Leona caught Emmalee staring at Billy with his eyes wide and his skin white as chalk.

Mrs. Fulton shook her head. “Lord, girl, what have you gone and done?” she asked as she touched Emmalee’s hard tummy. Emmalee screamed, and Billy winced at the sound of her cries. Leona patted Emmalee’s forehead with the damp rag. She told her to squeeze her hand a little tighter.

Mrs. Fulton yelled for someone to bring her some cotton sheeting as the sound of the ambulance wailed even closer. She folded the fabric in half and placed it over Emmalee’s waist and legs. “Leona, I’m not sure we’re going to get her to the hospital in time. You lift her right leg, and Billy you come over here and lift her left one so I can slip this other piece of sheeting under her bottom.” Billy stood frozen. “Son, what’s wrong with you? You’ve seen a baby born before. Come on.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. He inched closer and touched Emmalee’s thigh. She hollered, and Billy yanked his hands back and wiped them dry on his jeans.

“Billy,” his mother said, her tone growing angry. Again, he placed his hands under Emmalee’s thigh, this time touching her as though he was handling a piece of fine porcelain.

Emmalee screamed louder and pulled her leg from Billy’s hand. “Don’t touch me!” she cried. “Leave me be. Just leave me be.” Her crying grew stronger and stronger like a thunderstorm about to split wide open over the valley till Emmalee was gasping for her next breath. “Leona, please. Make him leave.”

Leona looked at Billy and then at Emmalee. She patted Billy on the shoulder. “Son, your mama and I got it under control,” she said. “Why don’t you go and check on the ambulance. Show them where we’re at.”

Mrs. Fulton did not notice her son slip out of the room. “Gwen,” she said, “call the hospital and tell Dr. Greer we got a baby about to be born. Tell him I don’t know how many of us are going to be in the ambulance when we get there.” Gwen stood and pushed her way through the circle of women holding firm on the sewing room floor.

Mrs. Fulton kept about her work, not once letting Emmalee’s pain distract her. She raised half of the stark white cloth covering Emmalee into the air and directed Leona to pull off the girl’s panties. Emmalee wailed like an animal in a trap, begging Leona not to touch her there.

“There’s no turning back now, young lady,” Mrs. Fulton said, her tone strict and resolute. “You got yourself into this mess, and you’re going to have to birth this baby. Good thing is these babies come on strong like this tend to come fast. So get ready.” Mrs. Fulton turned and looked for her son. “Where’d Billy go?”

“I sent him out to wait for the ambulance. He’s coming. I see him,” Leona said. She watched as Billy pushed through the women. Wilma put her hand on the boy’s shoulder and asked if he needed to sit down.

“Mama, rescue squad is here,” he said. “They want to know if you need them or if they should wait outside.”

“Tell them we got it under control for now. We’ll holler when we’re ready to move her,” Mrs. Fulton said.

Billy slipped away from the women and disappeared through the factory door.

Emmalee rocked her head from side to side and screamed as her belly contracted. Leona looked up to see Gwen with a magazine in her hand, her blond hair falling from its place high on top of her head. “Doctor’s been called. They’re ready when you are,” she said and fanned Emmalee’s face with a new copy of
Ladies’ Home Journal
.

Emmalee turned toward the cool air splashing over her while Mrs. Fulton tugged on her body, pulling her legs apart, pressing on her belly. With every touch, Emmalee screamed to be left alone, to be carried back to her house, but Mrs. Fulton demanded she open her eyes and follow her commands. The woman knelt on the wood floor between Emmalee’s legs and told her when to breathe and when to push. Emmalee panted and screamed louder, squeezing Leona’s hand as a small head pushed its way clear into the world.

With one more contraction, a baby girl was born with more than two hundred women there to greet her. The seamstresses clapped and cheered, but Emmalee closed her eyes. Mrs. Fulton placed the baby on her stomach, but Emmalee pushed her away. Leona took the newborn
in her arms. She wrapped her secure in some fresh cotton pulled from another bolt on the cutting table nearby. Tears clouded Leona’s cheeks as she held the baby in her arms. “You’re one pretty girl,” she said and pulled the baby close.

Leona heard the other women talk as she passed them by, holding the baby in plain view to be admired. Some said she was beautiful, the prettiest baby they’d ever seen. Others had already named her
Viruslee
and held their hands to their mouths to stifle a laugh. Leona paused in front of Billy. He took a long look at the baby and turned and walked out the factory doors.

The next day, Leona carried a pink crocheted blanket trimmed with pink satin ribbon to the hospital. She had stayed up late finishing it, figuring Emmalee had nothing prepared for this child. She carried bibs and cloth diapers, bottles and a few plastic toys, all gifts from the women at Tennewa. Leona held the baby while she sat in a cushioned rocker in the corner of the stark white room. She cooed and talked silly to the baby, who slept through it all. She soaked in her sweet scent and kissed her forehead with tender lips.

“She’s beautiful. And I can see you in this girl plain as day.”

“She looks like her daddy.”

Leona looked at Emmalee but did not press her for any details. “Have you named her yet?”

“No. Nurses keep asking me the same thing.” Emmalee adjusted the hospital covers across her body. “They want me to call her Sarah. Means princess or something like that. I’m thinking Kelly. No reason. Just like it.”

“It’s pretty too.”

“Kind of wanted to name her after my mama but didn’t want to be reminded of her every time I call this girl to supper. So maybe Kelly Faye.”

“Kelly Faye,” Leona repeated as if she was letting it float about the room. “That’s a very pretty name.”

“It’ll do fine.”

The nurses’ voices could be heard clear from out in the hall. A nurse laughed out loud and then their voices dropped to a mumble. Emmalee looked at Leona. “I heard the bottom hemmers was the ones nicknamed her
Viruslee
.”

“Don’t go listening to them. Just a bunch of fool talk. They don’t know when to shut their mouths most of the time.”

“It don’t bother me much,” Emmalee said, her cheeks flushing pink. “A nurse come by this morning wanting to know if I wanted to give her to some nice couple wanting a baby of their own.”

“Adoption?”

“Guess so.”

“You thinking about it?” Leona asked.

“Nolan said Ballards don’t give nothing away.”

“Nolan’s been here? At the hospital?” Leona smiled down at the baby.

“He come by last night,” Emmalee said and scrunched farther under the covers. “He was making a stop at the Trail Ridge and had to pass by here anyway. Heard I’d had a baby and wanted to see it for himself. He said Runt already come by the house asking about me and the baby.”

“Runt and Mettie want to take her?” Leona asked.

“Funny, ain’t it? Runt and Mettie can’t have one no matter how hard they go at it, and then I have one not even trying.”

Leona pulled the baby to her chest. She wanted to shield Kelly Faye from this talk. “Emmalee, let me ask you something. If you could wish for anything in the world right this minute, what would it be?”

Emmalee sat quiet in the bed. She looked out the window and back at Leona. “I’d want to be her,” Emmalee said and pointed to Kelly Faye. “I’d want to be somebody else’s little girl.”

Leona dabbed her eyes with the tip of her calloused finger. She guessed she had wanted the same thing once, a chance to start over. Leona kissed the top of the baby’s soft head and felt her tiny heartbeat pulsing beneath her lips. She placed her in the cradle next to Emmalee and covered her with the crocheted blanket.

E
MMALEE

T
HE
F
ULTON
-P
ITTMAN
F
UNERAL
H
OME

Mrs. Fulton picked at the wreath of white roses she was readying to hang on the front door. It rested across her forearm as she searched Rachel’s room for a wide satin ribbon she remembered storing in the bottom dresser drawer. She plucked at another petal with browned edges and placed it in her pocket.

The visitation was set to begin at five thirty, Mrs. Fulton reminded Emmalee as she rushed about her daughter’s room. She tapped her watch front, complaining she had less than an hour to finish the final preparations. It was an earlier start than she had wanted, especially for a gathering surely to be so heavily attended.

“Best to get on with it though,” she added. “People have been calling nonstop since late Wednesday night.”

Mrs. Fulton confessed to Emmalee that her husband was not pleased with Curtis’s face. He had resorted to
taping a white bandage over the right cheek to hide the raw wound and missing bone he had not managed to fully disguise with wax.

“My husband’s a perfectionist, and he feels like he has let the poor man down here at the very end.” Mrs. Fulton spoke softer. “Thankfully, the worst of his injuries were below the waist.”

Emmalee grimaced and focused her attention on Kelly squirming on the bed in front of her. “I think you grown some. Look at your belly,” Emmalee said and blew a bubble on the baby’s round tummy. The baby kicked her legs and flailed her arms while Emmalee dusted her bottom with powder. Mettie had packed an assortment of ointments, lotions, and creams in a paper bag along with some new clothes and other supplies. Emmalee was not sure what to do with all of these products, but she was afraid not to use them since Mettie placed them there. Besides, they smelled real good.