“Mr. Hooper, whatever are you doing?” she asked.
Jim did not answer. He wasn’t sure what to say. He supposed that he must have appeared very foolish indeed.
Doctor Fielding stirred, saw his wife standing at the door, and sat up fully awake. She gave him a questioning look, her eyes darting from him to Jim and the baby and then to the pistol lying next to her husband on the settee.
“Mrs. Fielding, would you fetch the baby a bottle?” he requested politely of his wife.
“Certainly, Doctor,” she said, her curiosity seemingly unsatisfied. She left the parlor for the kitchen.
“Morning, Jim,” he said cordially, as if the other man hadn’t threatened to kill him the night before, as if they were old friends and had often shared such experiences.
Jim avoided looking at him, ashamed, now that his rage was gone, for what had transpired between them. “Mornin’,” he replied.
“Mind if I go and get myself cleaned up?”
“Nope.”
A few minutes later, Gilda returned with a glass bottle filled with warm milk and a brown rubber nipple rolled over the lip.
Jim hadn’t moved from the rocker and reached for the bottle. “I’ll feed the little beggar,” he said.
The baby took to the bottle hungrily, sucking loudly, making smacking noises with his lips, fists balled and working furiously near his round cheeks, like a boxer feinting punches to the cadence of his swallowing. Jim grinned at the baby’s enthusiasm. Gilda hovered nearby, observing.
The bottle was nearly empty when Doctor Fielding returned, freshly shaven, dressed in his usual professional clothing with his thinning hair combed back. When he came through the door, Gilda nodded ever so slightly and then disappeared. Whatever was going on there, it seemed she knew she was not a part of it. At least not yet.
“Well, look at that. He’s got a powerful thirst.”
Doctor Fielding hesitated before he said, “Jim, you’ll have to go now. I’ve got work to do, and they’ll be here for that baby this afternoon.”
Jim stopped rocking and turned to the doctor, suddenly somber. His eyes dropped back to the baby, and he studied the boy thoughtfully. As he stared down at the tiny baby, Jim could sense apprehension in the doctor. It made sense, given what his purpose in going there had been. He knew that he should give the baby back, but he found himself holding tight to the little bundle, unable to do it.
“What’s gonna happen to him?”
“They’ll care for him down at the children’s home, Jim. He won’t go hungry. They’ll feed him and clothe him.”
“A little feller ortta have kin that’ll raise him. You send him down there, and he ain’t got a chance.”
“He’s got more of a chance down there than he’s got with that Borden bunch. You ought to know that.”
“Either way, ain’t no good.”
“What do you propose I do with him then?” The doctor looked at Jim’s face and said, “Oh, no, you don’t. Get that fool notion out of your head.”
“I’ll take him,” Jim said. “I’ll keep him on my farm.”
“You can’t do that, Jim. All by yourself, that’s just crazy talk.”
“Nobody else’ll have him. I’ll have him. I’d care for him. I’d keep him in clothes and feed him. I’d do right by him.”
The doctor changed his approach, his stern façade replaced with a softer one. “Jim, you don’t know what you’re saying. You’ve been through something terrible…awful. So it’s understandable that you feel sad, but you still have a life to live. You should be home tending to that crop of yours. That’s where you should be.”
“What good is that there terbacca to me? What good is it if ain’t nobody to share it with?”
Doctor Fielding shifted uneasily, looked down at his shoes, and cleared his throat. “What will you do with a baby? You don’t bring in that crop, and you’ll lose everything, Jim. These days, there isn’t any cushion to fall on. The bank’ll take every blamed thing you own. What will you do with a baby then?”
“I’ll care for him. I’ll see to it that he’s got what he needs. Don’t you worry none ’bout that.” It offended him that the doctor had insinuated that he wouldn’t see to the necessities of this little one.
The baby finished the milk in the bottle but kept sucking, taking in air through the empty nipple. Doctor Fielding pulled the bottle out of his mouth. “Don’t let him take that air in. He’ll have some bellyache if you let him do that. Now hold him up and pat his back.”
Jim did as he was told. He cradled the baby against his shoulder and began to thump his back.
“Not so hard.”
Jim slowed down, and his patting grew softer.
Doctor Fielding looked doubtful when he said, “It isn’t easy caring for a baby. It’s downright difficult at times.”
“Nothin’ in this here life is easy.”
The doctor waivered in uncertainty. “I don’t know, Jim…” he began.
“Doctor Fielding, might I have a word with you please,” Gilda piped up from where she lingered in the doorway of the parlor.
It was evident that Gilda Fielding did not share her husband’s sentiments. She voiced her disapproval in the privacy of her kitchen, with Jim listening with rapt attention as he peered at them through the crack between the door and the wall. Gilda’s eyes were wide in disbelief. The doctor’s shoulders were rounded and defensive as they spoke in whispered tones.
“It would be folly to allow Jim Hooper to take a poor helpless baby off and subjecting it to who knows what,” she said breathlessly.
“He doesn’t have anyone and neither does that baby. Now they might both have each other at least. And besides,” he said, “Jim Hooper’s right about one thing: the state home is only slightly better than having that boy raised by animals.”
“You think he knows how to care for a baby? You think he can do that on his own, with a farm to run and nobody to help him?”
The doctor shrugged. “Truthfully, I don’t know. But I don’t have it in my heart to say no to him. Chances are he’ll have enough of the midnight feedings and constant attention that a newborn requires, and he’ll come slinking back with his tail between his legs, asking us to take the baby off his hands before the week’s out.”
“You’re soothing your conscience. That’s what you’re doing. It isn’t your fault she’s dead. I know he’s had a hard time of it, but this won’t fix anything.”
“Yes, well, you may be right. I don’t know. I just know that I feel that baby would be better off.”
“Is he even capable of caring for that child? Do you even know if he’s capable? Do you really even know that man at all? We know only what we’ve seen of him, and that isn’t much.”
“I suppose he is as good as they come. He always treated his wife with respect. She told me herself once that he was a good man. One of the best of them. She said that he found a mouse in the barn with a mess of babies at her teats. She said he didn’t have the heart to kill it because it wouldn’t flee to save its own life. It stayed to protect its babies. A man as tender-hearted as that must have some good in him. You know as well as I do he would have done anything for Edith. And he always kept his farm in good order. Those things ought to say something about a man.”
“That is no indication as to whether he is capable of raising a child. And I believe there’s a whole lot more going on here than you’re telling me!” she accused.
The doctor paused, threw his hands in the air and said, “Well, then you go in there and tell him no.”
She opened her mouth as if to say something. Jim could see her wringing her hands in dismay, and then she shut her mouth again with a huff. “I don’t want to be the one to tell him no,” she grumbled.
“Nor do I.”
“Very well, then, you play God, and you choose that child’s future for him, but if you think for one minute I will stay out of this, you’re dead wrong, Doctor Fielding,” she said. “I plan on going up there
and checking on that poor child anytime I am of a mind to! It’s my duty, and yours too, for that matter, you thick-headed mule, to see that no harm comes to that babe!”
She and the doctor returned to the parlor, doing their best to appear unruffled. The only telltale sign of their quarreling was Gilda’s usually pale complexion which was now flushed.
With her strong conviction that the doctor’s decision was dreadfully wrong, perhaps she might have told Jim no herself had he not looked into her eyes with a pleading that left her speechless. He knew that it was pity that held her tongue, but he didn’t care. There was a flicker of life in him again, and he was willing to accept the gift of the child on such terms, if that was what it took.
Yes, she, too, did not have the strength to dash his hope. Whether she thought it a good idea or not, she would allow it. Gilda packed a flour sack with some of the essentials he would need, a few bottles and nipples, some canned milk, and some cloth diapers.
“Now, my Edith, she already done made some right purty little things for him to wear, and I got that there crib I done made and all. Don’t need much more than what you got here.” Jim didn’t want her going to too much trouble.
It was at that point that she teared up, and her resistance completely crumbled. There was nothing to do but educate him. She explained to him that he shouldn’t get the umbilical cord wet, that he should feed the baby every few hours, that he should burp the baby after every feeding, that he should keep him clean and change his diapers frequently, warning that his bottom would get sore otherwise. She showed him how to change a diaper, how to hold him if he grew colicky, and how to bathe him.
Jim sensed that she was concerned about her husband’s decision to allow him to carry off a helpless infant. He could see that she had little confidence in him, for the misgivings were plain upon her face. He aimed to show her she was wrong.
“I will be up tomorrow to check in on him,” she said, her tone like that of a strict school marm. “I’ll bring along some more milk. And if he isn’t well and cared for, I’ll be bringing him home with me. Am I being perfectly clear?”
Jim did not take his eyes from the baby, but he managed to answer, “Yes, ma’am.”
Armed with this newfound knowledge, he carried the baby through town like a trophy. Those that did not know him thought nothing of it—just a man with a baby, nothing out of the ordinary. Those who did know him grew inquisitive, even outright stopping to watch. But Jim was oblivious. He had eyes only for the baby.
Chapter 5
BY THE TIME HE GOT HOME, the little baby was squalling and fiercely red-faced, hungry and tired from the long walk. Jim heated some bottled milk on the stove, just as Gilda Fielding had told him to, and went to change the baby while he waited for it to warm up. He felt pretty proud of himself when he finished his task. He didn’t see why they had made such a fuss over caring for this little one. It wasn’t that difficult after all.
He went back to the kitchen to pull the bottle off of the stove. He picked it up out of the pot he had it in and let out a howl, dropping it on the floor. It was scalding hot. Though the glass didn’t shatter, the milk spilled out across the floorboards, and he cursed at the mess at his feet. By this time, the baby was really putting up a fuss, his little face crumpled and distorted, red as a beet as he cried out, barely taking in air. Jim frantically set out to prepare another bottle.
He held the baby and bounced with him until the bottle was ready again, but the baby was in such a state that he wouldn’t accept the nipple when Jim tried to give it to him. With the patience of Job, he ran the nipple over the infant’s lips again and again. Finally, Jim took a bit of the milk on his pinky finger and ran it along the baby’s gums. Once the little one got a taste of it, he took the nipple in his mouth and went at it furiously.
By the time he had finished the bottle, he was dozing contentedly in Jim’s arms. Jim burped him and then went to the bedroom to lay him in the crib—the very crib that he had made with his own hands for his little daughter. It was an odd moment for him as he stood next to the crib, looking down on the newborn. He speculated as to what it would have been like if it had been his daughter, if Edith were in the other room getting dinner ready, if that day two weeks before had been nothing more than a bad dream. But the wonder of the moment wouldn’t allow for him to be too somber.
“I’ll call you Ellis after my daddy,” he said softly, stroking the fine, fuzzy hairs on the baby’s head. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? My daddy was an upright man. It’d be a good name for you. Ellis Hooper.” He smiled a little to himself, pleased that he had thought of it.
Jim woke the next morning determined to bring in his tobacco crop. Bringing in the crop meant money, and he needed that money to pay on his mortgage, buy some necessities, and to get warm clothes and food for the baby come winter. He fashioned a sling out of an old blanket and carried the baby close to his chest as he went through his rows of tobacco plants to cut them down. Every few hours, he paused in what he was doing to go feed the little mite. Otherwise, the baby mostly slept, as newborns do, contented in his cocoon, swaying back and forth in a soothing motion that kept him dozing.
A baby was difficult to manage, with the frequent feedings and demanding schedule, but a busy toddler was nearly impossible. As Ellis grew, Jim felt it necessary to find inventive ways to care for him. During planting and harvesting, he’d lash little Ellis onto the back of his old mule so that he could keep an eye on him. He would sing to him a song about a pony and cart and a few other tunes he knew from his youth. Ellis begged for him to sing more when he was finished. Jim couldn’t much carry a tune, but the little toddler didn’t seem to notice, instead reacting as though it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.
True to her word, Gilda Fielding made infrequent visits to check in on things. Ellis was only four years old when she brought a stack of books for him. Jim and Ellis were caring for the animals when she drove up. Jim was amused that a woman had taken it upon herself to learn to drive and was out and about by herself with no man to accompany her. That was not a normal occurrence in Pickett County. But that was just the sort of pluck that Gilda possessed. She waved with her gloved hand as she parked the car in the front of the house and then waited for the two of them to come up from the barn.
“You go on and open the door for Mrs. Fielding now, Ellis. A feller always opens the door for a woman.”
Gilda let a slow smile spread across her face. Ellis hurried before her and held the door open. She patted him on the head as she passed. “Thank you, Ellis. What a little gentleman.”
His chest puffed with pride, and he ran his sleeve across his nose and sniffed modestly. “Ain’t nothin’ at all, Mrs. Fielding,” he said.
“Heavens, I’m covered in dust!” Gilda patted at her face and chest.
Jim pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her. She took it gratefully. “Thank you, Mr. Hooper. Take note, young Ellis, a gentleman always has a clean handkerchief to offer a lady.”
Once she was sitting in the rocking chair by the fireplace, she pulled out the bundle of books wrapped in a cotton cloth so that Ellis could see them. The wait for the treasure was almost more than the boy could stand. Jim watched the scene with interest as Ellis’s eyes filled with a look of pure desire. Gilda seemed thrilled with the response. She had probably forgotten what it was like to have a small child about, how they made the world seem such an extraordinary and miraculous place.
“Ellis, do you know what I have here for you?” she asked him in a conspiratorial tone.
He shook his head, leaning toward her. “Don’t got no notion.”
Jim stood in the doorway with a bit of curiosity as well. He, too, could not wait to see what she’d brought. She glanced up at him, their eyes locking as the two of them shared that brief moment. It only lasted a breath before she quickly dropped her eyes from his and turned her attention back to the boy.
Slowly, Gilda pulled back one corner of the cl
oth, and then another, and then another, until the stack of books was revealed. Ellis put out his hand so that it hovered over the copies of Prudy Keeping House, McGuffy Spelling Primer, and a book of children’s poems. He looked to her, asking with his eyes if he might handle them. Gilda nodded, and he picked up Prudy Keeping House, flipping through the pages. He saw a picture of a man holding a basket of apples, a little girl who held one of the apples to her lips, and a woman with a long dress and apron, her head covered with a scarf.
“Who is it?” he asked.
“Well, you’ll have to read it and discover that for yourself,” she told him.
“Is it a mama and a daddy and their girl?”
“Why, Ellis, the story will tell you who it is.”
He climbed upon her lap and wrapped his arms around her neck. For a moment, Gilda did not return the embrace. She chanced a glance at Jim, her eyes questioning. He attempted to suppress a grin. Slowly a smile spread across her lips as well, and she enfolded Ellis in her arms with a little sigh.
“My, but you are a handsome little man,” she whispered, brushing his hair through her fingers. “I’m not used to little men. I’ve never had a boy before, only my girls.”
“I never had no mama before neither,” he replied. “Just my daddy. Maybe I could be your boy for you, and you could be my mama.”
The smile left Gilda’s face. Jim could guess at what she was thinking. She was not his mother, and to lead him along in the fantasy would be cruel.
“Why don’t you take your books over to the table there so you can look through them,” she suggested. He scooted off her lap and did as he was told. She and Jim watched Ellis turn each page and inspect it with fervent dedication.
“It was awful good of you,” Jim said.
“My girls outgrew them long ago. I suppose now he’ll find a use for them anyway,” she said. “It’s important that he learn to read.”
Jim grew self-conscious as he broke his gaze with her and looked over at Ellis. “Well, now, I only got a bit know-how of it myself. Don’t know if I’ll be much use teachin’ him.”
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