Dollybird

by Anne Lazurko

  I shook awake, forcing myself to get busy. I built a teepee of kindling in the stove, stoked it into a small fire with wood chips and dried cow dung, then filled the large copper kettle and set it on top. It only took a few minutes. I wished there was more to do. Shuffling closer I could hear Moira quietly moaning on her bed; across the room Casey whimpered.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I think...,” she paused for breath, “...that it will come soon.”

  My chest was collapsing in so tight I could hardly breathe. When Taffy had moaned in the livery, I’d only prayed, trusting in God. But he didn’t give a fug then either. Shit, I needed more time to figure out what to do.

  “Moira. I don’t know. I’d better go get someone.”

  “No,” she almost shouted. “Don’t leave me alone.”

  She grabbed my hand so hard it felt like our finger bones were mashing together. Her eyes were full of pain and fear and something else too. I wanted to snatch my hand away.

  “Oh my back,” she groaned. “Prop me up with pillows, please Dillan.”

  It was hard to look at her and hard not to. I set the lantern by the bed and she squirmed like she was trying to get away from her own body, her face dripping with sweat, nightgown up around her thighs. She acted like I wasn’t there, like she didn’t care if I saw her nakedness. It made me want to try harder not to. Her face was squished up into itself and she was breathing heavy. I tried to help, propping her up with our few thin pillows, twisting a blanket into a roll to shove behind her. She pushed her back into it.

  “The baby must be upside down.” Every word came out in a pant. “The back of its head must be pushing on my back.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means it hurts like hell,” she yelled.

  I’d only asked a question.

  “If it won’t come when I start to push, you’ll have to reach in and turn its head.”

  “What? I can’t do that. I don’t know how.” It was an impossible thing.

  She screeched and Casey sat straight up, calling out. I went over to him. “Go to sleep. Whatever happens you stay in your bed. You hear me?”

  He nodded, found his thumb, eyes drooping as he lay down again. I went back to Moira. She grabbed my face hard between her hands.

  “Look. If you don’t do this, the baby won’t come.” She let go, pain washing into her face. When it left again, her dazed eyes found mine, and she spoke slowly, as though I was a two-year-old and this was her only chance to make me understand. “If the baby won’t come, it’ll die. And so will I.”

  I stared at her.

  “Dillan,” she shouted so I jumped back. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, yes,” I stuttered, trying to ignore the fear lodged in my throat, the pictures in my head of Casey howling for his dead mother. My breath came shallow and fast, keeping time with Moira’s. “All right then. What do you want me to do now?”

  “Rub my back.” She whimpered the words, as though my agreement to help had released her from needing to cope. “Please. It hurts so much. Right at the base of my spine. There, right there. Rub it harder.”

  I was afraid to push too hard, afraid to hurt her.

  “Harder.”

  She was frantic, up on all fours now, back arched like a cat rising to my fist digging into the spot she’d guided it to. I’d expected her to lie still and bring her baby into the world calm and organized like she was. All this twisting and screaming and carrying on; it was unnatural. Sweat beaded her forehead and ran down the wide bridge of her nose, dripping onto her upper lip. That instant she tucked her lip in, sucking it dry. The next she let out an animal grunt, her body twisting toward my hand again. I rubbed for hours, changing hands each time one went numb. We didn’t speak. She was away someplace where I was an outsider; yet if I took a break from kneading her back, she’d look at me quick and sharp.

  “Sitting,” she gasped suddenly. “I should be sort of sitting now. Help me.”

  I arranged pillows and blankets behind her and tried to cover her. She kicked the sheet aside, legs thrashing and hands grasping the sides of the bed. The fits were more intense now, closer together.

  She looked at me quickly, eyes narrowed, clear and alert. “It’s coming now.” She took a deep breath. Her face shot through with red and purple veins, eyes bulging, heels digging for traction. When the push ended she sagged into the pillows. In an instant another seized her, this one ending in a scream. Casey’s eyes were wide when I looked at him.

  “Quiet, okay.”

  He nodded, his face gone white, knuckles pushed into his mouth.

  Moira rested a moment.

  “I don’t think it’s coming.” She breathed hard. “Something’s wrong, Dillan.” The edge of fear in her voice sent me reeling again.

  “What do I do?”

  “You need to look.” And at my shock, “well what does it matter now, Dillan? Look.”

  I slid slowly further down the bed, fingering the flowered cotton edge of her nightgown. She yanked it up and pushed me toward the end of the bed, tears in her eyes.

  “Please, Dillan,” she whispered. “You have to.”

  All the people in my life whirled about us – Taffy, my father, Casey – fingers pointed, their eyes cruel, mocking my impotence, my sorry life. But Moira wanted me to do this. I didn’t know how to take control, had no talent for power. But she was giving it to me. I looked at her and she gave me a small smile. Taking her hand, I smiled back and nodded.

  She was beyond tired, lolling back and drifting off between spasms. I would have to be quick or she might not be able to finish the job. Fighting off embarrassment, I looked between her legs at the mound of wiry black hair, the swollen opening, gaping and wet with fluid. The mountain of her belly was the only sign of a baby even though she’d been at this for hours. Slowly touching her, gently as I could, I pushed my rough fingers in. I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel.

  “Reach as far as you can.” Her teeth were clenched.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Just do it.”

  Pushing harder, her body tightened around my hand, and I had to wait for the pain to pass before I reached again. Until finally there it was, a tiny mound of fuzz soft against my fingertips. Gently as I could, I felt the dip of its eyes, the small rise of its nose, the tiny mouth that would give it a voice to say its own name. It was face up, the back of its head wedged against Moira’s spine.

  “I can feel it, Moira.” I hadn’t expected the tears or the catch in my throat.

  “Turn it just a little to the left.” She was gasping, the pain making her voice fill up the room with each word.

  The top of the small head fit easily into my fingertips. I turned it as gently as I knew how, but Moira screamed. It was the cry of the wounded rabbit I’d once found in Da’s trap in the woods near our house. Knowing there’d be no supper, I’d released it anyway, holding its small, furry body close an instant. But I couldn’t give Moira such relief. Instead I left my hand inside her while the baby’s movement brought on another fit of pain, and then I turned it again, just a little. Then waited and turned, waited and turned. Moira was getting weaker; she didn’t seem to know when to push. All the while Casey was whimpering and edging himself off his bed and closer to me.

  “I can’t do it any more.” Moira sagged between the spasms, nodding off, coming to again. I watched her, squeezing her calf now and then to try to send encouragement. And suddenly the baby’s head was moving freely. I wanted to shout, but when I looked up Moira’s eyes were rolling back, her head lolling to one side.

  “You have to push, Moira. I think it will come now, but you have to push.”

  “I can’t. Leave me alone.”

  “Moira, just a little bit more. You can’t give up.”
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br />   “I can’t do it.” She wept as another wave hit her. “Just let me die.”

  “What?” My voice roared out of me and her eyes opened wide. “All this and now you want to die? I won’t let you die. You can die later. Right now this baby needs to be born.”

  I was glad for the hate in her eyes. She was back with me. I steadied her then, lifting her so she had more support for her back, and her feet could push against the bedposts. I felt old, like this moment had been coming for years – a lifetime of bad choices and worse decisions bringing me here to prove myself. I took a deep breath.

  “Now push, Moira. Hard. Just a few times. I’m sure it’ll come.”

  She gathered herself into a clenched ball and pushed, her scream shattering the night. Three more times, and the baby dove into my waiting hands. Slimy and red and wrinkled, it sat cupped there, stunned by the light. I could only stare like a jackass, relieved and amazed. And then I knew just what to do. I wiped her small face with a cloth and squeezed her tiny nostrils together and down to get rid of the nasty stuff in there. Then I held her upside down and smacked her bottom. She cried out, angry, just like Moira.

  Moira was looking at me like I was someone she didn’t recognize. I smiled. “You can thank Doctor Gibson.” I settled the baby on her slack belly, found scissors among her things and snipped the cord like I’d seen Gibson do for Casey. Moira gathered the now-howling baby girl into her arms, and I covered them both with a light blanket.

  I brought Casey over. He reached out a shy finger to touch the baby’s head and then shrunk into my arms. I took him back to his bed asking him to wait a minute, and went to Moira.

  “Thank you,” she said, looking at the baby, then smiling up at me.

  We were awkward again, like when an intimate thing happens between people and suddenly the lantern is lit.

  “You can clean up later. Right now you should get to know each other.”

  Pictures of Casey and Taffy rushed into my head and I fled outside, ran to the corner of the house and threw up, legs damn near buckling. After a long while I pulled myself to the well, scrubbed my hands and face and slicked back my hair. The gift I’d been working on was hidden off behind the house under an old tarp. It had taken weeks to finish. Carefully I crept into the house and set it at the foot of Moira’s bed. The baby was sleeping in her arms, her mouth slightly open, eyes squeezed shut. I reached down to brush the hair from Moira’s face.

  “Thank God,” I whispered.

  She stirred and opened her eyes. “God had nothing to do with it,” she said, and drifted off again.

  Maybe she was right; maybe none of it had anything to do with God. Maybe we’re just proving ourselves to each other. I felt brave thinking it, but lonely too, realizing someone you’d called friend for so long a time was not who you thought he was.

  I grabbed the heel of bread from the table, picked up Casey and set out to the Miller farm, the red dog trailing behind.

  CHAPTER 25

  i i i

  MOIRA

  Alarm rang through my head when the baby shifted and stretched. I’d actually forgotten she was in my arms, had left her unattended as it were, and subject to harm. Her tiny, pursed lips sucked at the air, her fingers grasping, seeking comforts, perhaps the solace of my womb. Maybe the world was traumatizing in its brilliance, its overpowering smells, its cold air touching her virgin skin. She was minute and fragile and new, but wise with instinct, rooting now, signalling her need. I had forgotten what my breasts were for and fumbled with those foreign appendages, afraid her nose and mouth would disappear into their fullness and she would suffocate. She suckled weakly for a moment and promptly fell asleep as though knowledge of my presence was enough. For now.

  Seconds later I was nodding away with her again, acutely aware of how sore and naked I was, unable to address either of our needs. I was draped with a blanket, the blood and sweat of labour drying on everything. A mother. That’s what I’d become, what Dillan had helped me become, what was expected of a pregnant woman whether she was ready or not. Little choice. None really. Except now. Silas believed the birth would shake sense into my life, make my choices clear, the answers obvious. I looked at the baby. She was tiny and needy, but did she have to be mine in order to belong in the world? I was about to give in to exhaustion and sleep when I caught sight of the rocking chair, a beautifully crafted piece, the finished sheen of cherry wood.

  It seemed only moments later I was awakened by Mrs. Miller bustling at the stove, warming water, readying soap and towels. She whisked the baby from my arms and bathed her, then diapered her, dressed her and cocooned her in a blanket. Mrs. Miller’s competence was a relief. For all the babies I’d helped deliver, I had no idea how to care for one. Finally the tiny thing was settled in Mrs. Koch’s crib. A startling combination of fear and hope shot through me. The bad luck of the crib’s forbear might reach my child. Maybe I would be released from the responsibility and choices to come. But of course nothing would happen.

  “She’s beautiful, Moira.” Mrs. Miller turned to me and smiled. “And now it’s your turn.”

  “It’s all right. Really. I’m fine.” I pushed myself up, pulling the covers to my chin. “I’ll just clean up and get dressed.”

  She laughed. “No, my dear, you’ll do no such thing.” She quickly grabbed the sheet and swept it off, grinning when I shrieked and pulled at my bunched nightgown. “There’s a little warm water in the tub, enough for now. We’ll get you in and heat some more so you can have a nice soak. Are you very sore?”

  “No. Yes. I’ll be fine.”

  “Moira, believe me. At this point you need to take any help you can get. That baby will be nursing at all hours. You won’t get much sleep, and you’ll wear yourself out keeping up with everything else, including Casey and Dillan.” She pointed at the tub. “Get in.”

  The warmth of the water slid over parts of my body that had never known such pain. I was only vaguely aware of Mrs. Miller stripping the soiled bedclothes and replacing them with clean sheets and blankets she’d brought from home. She added more hot water and gently washed my hair, back and legs, rinsing away the sticky evidence of birth. Reclaimed at last, my body felt itself again, my slack stomach a welcome, if wrinkled, sight. I was a freed hostage, released from the baby and the fear of its birth.

  The baby cried in the crib and I leapt to my feet, splashing water on the floor. A pain, almost as intense as a contraction, gripped me. I doubled over, my euphoria premature.

  “It’s okay, Moira. It’s an afterpain. Try to breathe.” Mrs. Miller’s hand on my arm was strong, steadying. “You get dried off and dressed. I’ll rock her for a bit ’til you’re ready.”

  Father claimed afterpains were nonsense, a woman’s attempt to get back the attention transferred to the baby on its arrival. I’d have something to tell him.

  “Thank you.” The rough towel rubbed over the pores of my shivering skin. I dressed in a clean nightgown and gingerly sat in the rocking chair. Its arm fitted snugly in my hand, each spindle perfectly carved. I swallowed hard around the lump in my throat. Mrs. Miller caught this moment and nodded.

  “Why are you doing this?” I asked.

  “Why?” She didn’t appear surprised by the question. “I’m here because I know how alone a person in your position can be.”

  “Did you have no one to help you when your first baby came?”

  “They could have helped. But they chose not to.” The edge in her voice carried a hint of sadness with it.

  Exhaustion overcame curiosity about what she might mean.

  “Here let’s get her fed.” She settled the baby in my arms. Her tiny tummy met my own. “It’s a little tricky the first few times. You have to tuck her right into you.”

  Positioning her, learning to have her latch on rather than nibble and bite, burping, diapering. By the time we laid
her in the crib again, I could barely stand. “I think you must have been a very good mother.”

  “I did all right.”

  “But why would no one help you?” I crawled into bed, melting into crisp sheets and blankets that smelled of pure summer days.

  “Let’s just say I’m more like you than you know.”

  My eyes fluttered open, but closed again of their own accord.

  “I’ll be leaving now and coming back in a few hours. If you need anything sooner, have Dillan come for me.”

  “Thank you.” I didn’t hear the door close.

  CHAPTER 26

  i i i

  Only the Millers came to see us in the month after the baby was born. I was happy when Carla finally showed up, riding bareback on a small pinto pony.

  “I’m so sorry I couldn’t come sooner,” she said, and jumped down lightly where I stood surveying my neglected garden, looking past me then at Dillan standing in the doorway. A blush spread to her throat. Dillan came toward us, Casey in his arms, light-footed, almost dancing, and kicking up a little dust. I took Carla by the arm and led her over to him.

  “Dillan, you remember Carla?”

  “Yes, um...hello,” he managed before Casey shrieked.

  “HELLO. I CASEY.”

  “Well hello Casey.” Carla was almost as loud.

  We laughed, awkward adults saved by the silliness of a child, and trooped into the house, where I fixed cold tea.

  “Your place looks wonderful.” Carla swallowed her drink in one long chugging gulp, then blushed at Dillan. “This heat.”

  “It’s taken a little while to get everything arranged,” I said, conscious of how pleased I was she’d noticed, how domestic it was of me to care.

  “And there’s the infamous crib.” Carla nodded to the corner where it stood next to my bed, all made up with the sheets and blankets the women had given me, a tiny handmade mobile hanging above it. “And such a beautiful girl,” Carla crooned, bending over to stroke the baby’s downy head.