by Karen White
“Excuse me, Dr. Watkins. Don’t you need to wash your hands?”
He regarded me with complete disdain. “Madam, I am the doctor here. If you would like to assist me, I will accept that. But please leave the doctoring to me.”
I bristled under his dismissive attitude. I was tired, cranky, and thoroughly confused with the situation I now found myself in. My temper sparked. “I’m sorry, Doctor, but your unsanitary methods are not acceptable. Haven’t you ever heard of germs? Not sanitizing your hands could kill both Julia and her child.” I remembered how “childbed fever” had been one of the leading causes of death among women in the nineteenth century and now I knew why. I didn’t really know the woman in the bed, but there was some kind of a bond between us. Whether it was a bonding of two mothers was immaterial. But it was suddenly very important to me that she and her baby survive this birth.
I bent over the form writhing in the bed and laid my hand on her arm. “Julia, I know I can help you here. Please ask Dr. Watkins to follow my instructions, or it could be a matter of life or death for you and your child.”
Julia looked up at me with my fear mirrored in her eyes. But I also saw trust in them, and a woman’s bond was formed.
“Charles, please listen to Laura. Do it for me and for William’s baby.”
The doctor put the sheet back down slowly and stood at the other side of the bed. “I will do this for you, Julia, and for the baby. But not for William. Not anything ever again for William.”
“Thank you.” Her voice weakening, Julia stifled a shout as she ground her teeth.
I went to the door and called out Sukie’s name. She appeared quickly and listened attentively as I gave her a list of items I thought we would need: clean towels and sheets, alcohol, whatever kind of soap she could find, and lots and lots of boiling water.
My mind raced as I tried to think of what kinds of anesthetics they used to have. I faced the doctor. “Do you have anything to help with the pain?”
He turned on me with harshness in his voice. “Madam, suffering in childbirth is not only dictated by God, but is also necessary to induce maternal love. Her mind needs to be unclouded now to realize and appreciate this blessed event. I would say that using anything to lessen the pain would be sacrilegious.”
“Obviously spoken by a man who has never had to suffer through childbirth!” I snapped. “If you care anything for this woman, you will find something for her. The contractions are taking away her strength—and if her labor continues for a long time she won’t have the energy needed to push the baby out.” I was almost choking on my anger and anxiety and I might have actually laid my hands on the man to physically send him on his way, but Stuart’s entrance stopped me.
“You two step out of this room immediately so you can discuss whatever it is without disturbing Julia. I could hear your voices outside on the porch.”
A sudden groan brought everybody’s attention toward the bed, where Julia struggled to prop herself up on her elbows. Through gritted teeth, as she staved off yet another labor pain, she managed to gasp, “Stuart, it is all right. Charles knows . . . what he needs to do and he had better do it pretty soon. . . . This baby is not . . . waiting much longer.” She squeezed her eyes shut and then managed to say, “Now get out!” Her burst of strength disappeared as she dropped back down to the mattress and another labor pain assaulted her small body. The doctor left the room.
Her spirit made me smile, and I went back to the bed. Dipping a cloth in the washbasin that Sukie had placed on the nightstand, I wiped Julia’s forehead.
“You’re an original steel magnolia, aren’t you?”
She smiled weakly and I turned to Sukie, who had returned with the requested items.
“Can you stay with her for a few minutes while I talk to Mr. Elliott and the doctor?” Without waiting for a reply, I grabbed Stuart’s elbow and led him out the door.
The doctor spoke first. “Mrs. Truitt, you are probably unaware that the South is surrounded by a Yankee blockade. Even if I wanted to give Julia some laudanum, I couldn’t. We have not seen laudanum or morphine in a long, long time.”
“Is there nothing we can do to help her pain?”
The doctor shook his head. “No. There is not. Just comfort her. It is not her first, and they do get easier.”
“I’ve got to get back to Julia. Go wash your hands, Dr. Watkins—and don’t forget to scrub under the fingernails.”
The doctor glared at me as he turned to go.
Stuart turned to face me. “What, exactly, is a steel magnolia?”
“I’ll explain later. Could you bring me some whiskey? Not for me—for Julia. It might help calm her nerves.”
He nodded, and I returned to Julia’s side to begin my vigil. Sukie washed Julia and placed towels under her hips. I washed my hands up to the elbows in preparation and sat down to wait, and wondered what I was supposed to do when it was time for the baby to be born.
The sun dipped low on the horizon, sending a bright sliver of yellow light through the window. I’d given her a little whiskey, but it had made her choke and she wouldn’t take any more, no matter how hard I tried. Every once in a while Julia would moan but she never cried out. I finally turned to her and said, “It’s okay to scream. We all know it hurts—there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
But still she lay quietly, her drenched face a mask of pain. The grandfather clock in the hall ticked on, marking the minutes of Julia’s labor, its solemn ticking interspersed occasionally by the groans of childbirth.
As the clock struck nine, the doctor reported that Julia was ready to deliver. I tried to remember anything I’d learned in Lamaze, but my mind came up blank. Julia screamed, and I put my hand in hers as she began to bear down. The bones in my hand ached from the pressure, but I hardly noticed as the baby’s shoulders appeared and were gently turned and guided out by Dr. Watkins.
The baby was laid on top of Julia as the doctor cut and tied the umbilical cord. Wet membranes covered the child, but the startling blue skin underneath shone through clearly. Sukie handed the doctor a cloth that he used to wipe the child. The doctor looked strangely agitated and started to gently slap the baby on the bottom. It was then I realized the baby wasn’t crying. The doctor tried a few more slaps and movements to revive the child, but the baby lay still and blue, ethereal and peaceful. Solemnly, the doctor shook his head and handed the still form to Sukie, who wrapped the small boy in a blanket.
“Charles? What is it? Why isn’t the baby crying?” Julia’s feeble voice called out from the bed. I moved to her side and reached for her hand.
I stared dumbfounded. This couldn’t be happening. All that pain and effort for nothing. The doctor directed Sukie to press on Julia’s abdomen to deliver the placenta and then took the baby from her. “I’m sorry, Julia. Your son has been born dead. There is nothing I can do.”
Her sob brought me out of my stupor. As the doctor started to walk from the room, I remembered the infant and child CPR class I had taken when Annie was born.
I quickly walked over to the doctor. “Dr. Watkins, please let me have the baby. I think I can help.” I reached for the swaddled baby but the doctor eluded my grasp.
“Woman, the child is dead. He has been delivered unto God and we cannot reach him. Cease your squawking right now so this family can mourn their loss.”
Out of desperation, I tugged at the blanket. “Damnit, give me the baby!”
Startled, he relinquished his grasp. I took the limp bundle from his arms and laid the baby down on the floor and knelt down by his side. I tried not to think how much this child resembled the little girl in the morgue with the translucent skin and dark lashes. I put his head in a neutral position with one of my hands on his forehead and the other hand under his chin, just like I’d been taught. Placing my mouth over his nose and mouth, I gave two slow breaths, and watched his tiny abdomen rise an
d fall. I checked for a pulse in his upper arm and couldn’t find one. With my two fingers on the child’s breastbone, I methodically began to do cycles of chest compressions and mouth-to-mouth breathing, periodically checking for a pulse. My knees ached from kneeling on the hardwood floor and my fingers felt as if they would break, but I continued. I was aware of other people in the room but I focused on my task. I was about ready to collapse with exhaustion when a feeble pulse beat in the baby’s arm. I put my face down and felt warm air coming out of the baby’s mouth. Quickly, I picked the baby up and shook him gently, causing a startled cry to come out of him. In my relief, I fell back, slid down against the wall, and sat there, cradling the child. My shoulder ached from my exertions, but it didn’t matter. The child was alive.
Two hands reached out to take the baby from me and I resisted until I realized it was Stuart. He took the child over to Julia, who seemed dazed.
I couldn’t move. I didn’t know whether it was from the physical exertion of the past few hours or the realization of the power I had over these people. I had just altered history. This child would not have survived if I had not been there to save it. Would this event change the course of history’s path? I didn’t know. And I was too tired to care.
At that moment, a large dark-skinned man, his black hair streaked with gray and running down past his shoulders, pushed open the door and walked in. In his broad hands he carried a delicately carved wooden cradle, which he placed at the side of Julia’s bed. At his heels followed the dog, Charlie. I looked at Charlie, and his features somehow seemed familiar to me. I glanced up at the doctor and immediately saw the resemblance: the droopy brown eyes, the perpetual frown. Someone had obviously given the doctor a namesake. Looking between the two, I burst out laughing and continued to howl until the tears ran down my face.
CHAPTER SIX
“Where was I before I was born?” . . . Perhaps, in the beginning, there was a curious room, a room like this one, crammed with wonders; and now the room and all it contains are forbidden you, although it was made just for you, had been prepared for you since time began, and you will spend all your life trying to remember it.
—ANGELA CARTER
Wailing pierced the silence and I shot straight up in darkness. Disoriented, I leapt out of bed, only to crash against the chest of drawers. Steadying myself, I gradually remembered where I was and what the noise was all about. I groped my way to the door and pulled it open.
After the birth of Julia’s baby, whom she had named Robert and immediately shortened to Robbie, I had gone up to my room to sleep and collapsed, unaware of the time. I had no idea how long I had slept, but it was still dark outside. After a futile search for a light switch, I trailed my hand on the wall and followed the shrieking to the master bedroom. Tapping gently on the door, I walked in. This room never ceased to startle me, as the furniture and its placement were identical to the way it was in my own time. The candle on the bedside table cradled the two occupants of the bed in a soft, glowing light.
Julia leaned against the headboard, her head propped on a pillow and the baby nestled in the crook of her arm, mouth open wide and still bawling. Her dark, wavy hair spilled over the white pillow like a spider’s web. Her eyes were sunken with exhaustion, the lids heavy.
I leaned over and gently lifted the baby from her arms. “Did he eat?”
Julia nodded. “And I changed him. But he still won’t settle.”
“Sometimes they do that. Let me take him for a little bit while you get your sleep.”
She nodded, her eyes already closing as I blew out the candle.
The full moon outside shone through the hall windows, bathing everything in its gentle radiance. I made my way down the stairs and entered the front parlor.
I stood by the window, absorbed into the tranquillity of the moonlight-flooded room. The baby fretted, so I took him off my shoulder and cradled him in the curve of my arm. He focused on the great orb filling the sky and he gurgled, raising a fist as if to grab a moonbeam and bring it back to earth. I leaned down to kiss his cheek and saw the moonlight reflected in his eyes.
Oh, moon, where do you shine tonight? Is my Annie looking at you now, as I am, and wondering where her mother is?
I began to sing softly, swaying the child gently in my arms. Without thinking, the words flowed automatically from my lips. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray.”
A splash of moisture landed on Robbie’s chin and I realized I was crying. A door opened and an arc of light appeared on the wall next to us. It grew larger in circumference until the room seemed swallowed by it. At the sound of approaching footsteps, I faced the window again, hoping not to draw attention to myself.
Someone coughed quietly behind me. I pivoted and saw Stuart. He was still dressed, but his dark hair was tousled, as if he had been running his fingers through it.
He set down the lamp and took the baby from me. I had neglected to put on a cover over my nightgown and was painfully aware of my undressed state.
“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked.
“Pardon me?”
“I thought a herd of cows was trampling you in your room, from the sound of it.”
“Oh, that,” I said, rubbing a bruised elbow. “No, I just decided a midnight waltz with my chest of drawers would be a good idea.” I smiled. “What are you doing up so late?”
Patting the baby’s back, he whispered, “I have been going over the plantation books. They are in a bit of a mess. I am afraid my brother did not have much interest in record keeping.” He swayed with the baby snuggled onto his shoulder, as if he had done it many times before.
He stopped abruptly, narrowing his eyes as he stared at my face. “Why are you crying?”
I wiped the remaining tears off my face with the sleeve of my nightgown. “It’s just the moonlight. It always makes me think of Annie.” I walked closer to the window and pressed my forehead against the cold glass, my breathing making circular patterns and obliterating my reflection. “She disappeared when she was almost two. She’d be seven now. I don’t even know if I would recognize her if I did find her.”
“How did she disappear?” he asked quietly, still swaying with the drowsy baby on his shoulder. Soft sucking sounds filled the room.
I took a deep breath. “My husband and I took her up to Moon Mountain to view a comet during an eclipse. When it was over, Annie was just gone. She was sleeping, you see, so I had placed her on a blanket where I thought she would be safe. . . .” My voice broke and I stopped.
He rested his free hand on my shoulder, offering comfort. His touch was warm through the fabric of my nightgown, and I had the bizarre impulse to lay my head on his hand.
“Don’t blame yourself. No matter how good a mother you are, things often happen that are out of your control.”
I turned to face him. The baby was finally asleep and Stuart had stopped swaying. He looked at me intently.
“Thank you for trying to help. And I know you’re right. If only I had a grave to visit or some knowledge of what happened to her, I’d feel better. But I have no closure.”
His brows furrowed in his forehead. “Closure?”
I smiled at my careless use of twentienth-century psychobabble. “It just means that my grieving has no end. I’m not sure if I should be mourning her or searching for her.”
He nodded silently and I was struck, not for the first time, by how handsome he was. Not in the fair, evenly chiseled good looks that made women turn and stare at Michael, but in a dark, powerful way that made my eyes seek him out when we were in the same room together.
“Do you think Annie might be in Roswell?” His words brought me out of my examination, and I flushed when I realized I had been staring at him.
“I really don’t know. It’s been five years. She could be anywhere. Or she could be . . .” I couldn’t bring myself t
o finish the sentence.
“If she is here, I am sure we will find her. But I will tell you that it is a small community. If anybody here or in the neighboring towns had found a child on the mountain, we would have heard about it. I do not remember anything—but Julia might.” He shifted the baby on his shoulder. “And then we need to find out where you belong.”
I swallowed, the sound audible in the quiet room. His expression changed, and his eyes flickered briefly in the dim lamplight. “Why do I feel as if you know more than you are saying, Mrs. Truitt?”
My palms moistened and I quickly swept them through my hair. I couldn’t tell him the truth. I could never allow myself to forget he was on the losing side of this conflict, nor the fact that I had knowledge that could possibly change the outcome of the war. I wanted to find my daughter, if she was here, and return home—my home with its host of memories. That was all I had left, and I wanted it back. I had no desire to get embroiled in these people’s lives. I just wanted to go home.
I shook my head slightly, not meeting his eyes. “I don’t know. But I appreciate your opening your home to me. I promise to be gone and out of your hair as soon as I can find a way home—or at least find where home is.” I reached for the baby, and Stuart placed him gently in my arms. “Thank you. You have a way with babies, I think.” I smiled. “Good night, then.”
Before I got to the bottom of the stairway, I turned around with a question. “Who was that Indian man who brought the cradle for Robbie?”
Stuart limped over to me. “That was Zeke Proudfoot—my grandfather. He lives in a small cabin in the woods behind the house and only comes up here on special occasions.”
I nodded, then glanced down at his leg, where he was rubbing the knee joint. “Where were you wounded?”
“In the leg,” he said, a smile creeping across his face.
I grinned back. “Obviously. But which battle?”
“At Champion Hill, back in May.” He straightened and took a deep breath. “I am lucky to still have my leg. But Zeke rode out to bring me back and have Charles take care of me. Those army sawbones just want to chop everything off. Zeke and Charles saved my leg, and probably my life, too. We are lucky to have Charles—just look what he did for Julia today.”