Queen of the Mardi Gras Ball

by Lynn Shurr

  Roz punched out the words, and from the stunned look on the patient’s face, they might as well have been physical blows. The face of Anaise DeVille crumpled. Tears ran down her cheeks. Another contraction began, and she arched her back and writhed until it subsided.

  “I don’t want to be ugly. I don’t want to be like my mother.”

  “Then don’t be. Choose to be different. Stop whining. Be brave. Here the orderlies come to take you into surgery. If you see your family, give them your best queen’s smile and wave. You’ll be given an anesthetic for your pain and when you wake, you’ll be a mother. Your recovery will take a much longer time than a regular birth, and you will have some pain. Eventually, you and your baby will go back to a lovely home where you will be waited on hand and foot with never a harsh word spoken. After that, it’s up to you how this shapes your life.”

  “Give me your hand,” Anaise said as another spasm began. “Oh, it’s rough.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Will you be here when I wake up?”

  “If you want me to be.”

  “Good. I might need to hear that little speech again.”

  As the orderlies moved Anaise from the room, the young woman fixed a smile and gave a regal wave. Roz plastered the same sort of smile on her own face and returned the wave.

  “Dear Lord,” she prayed. “Let Anaise DeVille be delivered of a healthy child without complications.” With that thought in her mind, Roz went to witness the Caesarian section.

  ****

  The doctor carefully lifted the bladder. Pierre Landry made his next incision into the thick wall of the uterus. He worked quickly, scooping up the baby, tying off the cord, removing the placenta, as the surgical nurse sopped up the blood and birth fluids. He announced the time of birth as the baby began to cry and placed the infant in Roz’s hands. She carried the big boy aside, cleaned and weighed him as his mother was put back together with the finest stitches Dr. Landry could manage.

  Roz cuddled the child as the orderly wheeled the sleeping Anaise back to her room. “He’s beautiful. I’d heard C-section babies were, so pink and white, a little sleepy though.”

  “I worked fast, but he probably got some of the anesthetic. Eight pounds, nine ounces—he’s large enough to handle it.”

  “Was my child a boy? I never asked you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then. I think I’m glad I don’t live in a century where a midwife would have plunged a knife into a dying woman’s belly to save the child or taken the child out in pieces to save the mother. I am impressed by your skill.”

  “You have the nerves and the hands to learn it if you want, Roz.”

  “Let’s see if I can make it as a midwife first.”

  ****

  Roz was holding Anaise DeVille’s hand when the woman’s eyes opened. “It’s over, and you have the most beautiful baby boy Chapelle has ever seen. How do you feel?”

  “Headache, bellyache,” Anaise croaked. “Water?”

  “Right here.” She lifted Anaise to drink and laid her gently back on the pillows. “And here’s your son waiting to see you along with a whole room full of people out in the hall if you feel up to visitors.”

  Anaise regarded the sleeping boy wrapped in a blue flannel blanket and placed in the crook of her arm. “He’s big.”

  “And healthy. What are you going to call him?”

  “Lionel Olivier DeVille, we decided.”

  “Will you nurse? You will heal quicker, and it is good for the baby.”

  “Mother says nursing ruins the breasts. We should use a formula.”

  “Remember, it’s your choice. Don’t let anyone bully you, including me. Let me bring in your family now.”

  “I’ll recommend you to my friends, Mrs. Boylan. And I’m sending you a case of the best hand cream money can buy.”

  “The perfect gift. Thank you.”

  “Name anything else you need. My husband and father-in-law will get it for you.”

  “Oh, I think I’ll have to get it for myself. You be well and a good mother to Lionel. I believe I’ll be in Chapelle long enough to see how you do.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Roz’s midwife business didn’t exactly boom. Young women of Anaise DeVille’s class wanted a hospital birth with an attractive doctor in attendance. The poorer white women looked at her with distrust as a lapsed Catholic, and the colored stuck to their own race for birthing.

  A week into April, Roz worried about paying next month’s rent. She had hoped her father would relent and send a check for her twentieth birthday, which passed without notice, or she might be able to convert an expensive gift from her mother into cash. Neither form of help arrived. She allowed herself a brief cry and was still dabbing at her eyes when Faye knocked on her door.

  The English teacher’s eyes were almost as red as her own. “Must be a really bad day if both of us are crying. May I come in?”

  “Certainly. Self-pity should not be indulged, as my mama used to say.” Quoting her mother nearly set off her tears again. “I’m moping because no one remembered my birthday.”

  “That’s terrible! I’ll tell you what, Bernie, Edna, the widow and I will all chip in for one of those fancy cakes they have over at Pommier’s Bakery. We’ll have it for dessert after dinner. Maybe we can sneak out to Broussard’s Barn and go dancing since it’s Friday.”

  “After our Twelfth Night party, I don’t know if any of us can be trusted around alcohol again, even Bernie and the widow.” Roz laughed, but Faye’s lips trembled.

  “What is it?”

  “Oh, Roz, I’m pregnant. After the party, all of you were asleep except for Bernie and me. We went up to his room so he could show me more chemistry tricks. Have you ever been up there?”

  “I haven’t had the pleasure.”

  “Well, I did.” Faye gave a wan smile. “It’s like a wizard’s tower with a big bed in the middle and all his scientific gadgets set out on tables under the windows. I should have known better. I mean, I’ve been to college, and this wasn’t my first time. I know about rubbers and all, but we were having so much fun. He kissed my toes again, and then, he sucked on them.”

  Roz held up a hand. “I don’t need the details.”

  “A midwife embarrassed?”

  “No, horny. Are you sure about the pregnancy?”

  “I’ve always been regular as clockwork. I’ve missed my monthlies twice and feel like puking all the time, but I don’t let myself. I’ll lose my job if anyone finds out. I haven’t even told Edna.”

  “Have you told Bernie?”

  “Of course not. Ever since that first time, we’ve been really careful.”

  “This is still going on right under all our noses?”

  “Not always. Sometimes, we find time at school when we both have a free period. There’s this supply closet…”

  “I don’t need to know. So, are your breasts tender, nipples darker in color? I could examine you down there if you want. There are other signs like the violet color of the cervix, the softening of the uterus.”

  “I don’t want to know! Roz, I have to get rid of it. You must know how.”

  “I don’t—can’t—do that, Faye, even for a good friend. Tell Bernie. Give him a chance to do the right thing, and if he won’t, go home to Crowley and have your baby.”

  “I’m the first in my family ever to go to college. If I go home this way, I’ll never be able to teach again. Everyone will know about me even if I give the baby away. You must know someone else who will help me.”

  “Faye, it’s dangerous to abort a baby, not to mention that you have to live with the knowledge for the rest of your life.”

  “You should know. I’ve heard you threw yourself down a staircase to get rid of yours, but I never believed it until now, you’re that cold.”

  Roz did feel a chill that her new friend could believe it of her. “I’m sorry you think that of me. I believe my husband threw me from the stairs, but since I was beate
n unconscious at the time, I don’t really know.”

  “I didn’t mean what I said. Roz, please, I’m desperate.”

  Roz sighed. “You can ask Beulah Senegal. She has the knowledge and the means. I know she helps out colored women with too many children to feed and young black girls in trouble. I don’t know if she will give anything to a white woman. She could go to jail for it.”

  “Where can I find her?”

  “She has a place on the edge of town with some plaster chickens in the yard. It’s on the main road. Please, Faye, tell Bernie. Give him a chance.”

  Faye sat on the edge of the bed, her hands in her lap. “You know Bernie is shorter than me. When we do it standing up, he has to use a stepstool. And he’s prissy about how he dresses, sort of old-maidish about a lot of things. I didn’t expect him to be so enthusiastic after the first time. With the guys in college, sex was always once and done. I mean most men don’t care for tall, freckled women with little breasts. I guess they are bigger now.” Faye rubbed a light hand over her chest.

  “They want girls like you, petite blue-eyed blondes with nice, clear skin. Bernie never told me he loves me. I guess I’m just convenient for him.”

  “You don’t know that. The fact he hasn’t spoken up doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about you. Look Faye, you’re tall, as you said, and fashions are loose right now. I’ll bet you could finish out the school term without anyone noticing. I know people in New Orleans who would take you in until the baby comes. Then, if you wanted, you could give the child to the nuns to put up for adoption.”

  Faye had ceased listening. “If I get the medicine from Mrs. Senegal, will you be here to help me if anything goes wrong?”

  Giving up, Roz nodded. “Yes, I’ll be here.”

  ****

  The cake purchased from Pommier’s for her birthday tasted scrumptious, rich and yellow and iced with a thick layer of white buttercream dotted with pink sugar roses. Roz had little appetite for it. The boarders did go dancing, dragging the widow along in her black-beaded gown.

  “My, my. I haven’t been to Broussard’s Barn since the mister and I were young and came out here to do the two-step. They had the chank-a-chank bands back then. It certainly has changed.” She settled at a table near the dance floor where a colored band blared out a jazz tune.

  “Could I get you something from the bar?” Roz offered, hoping the small change she’d brought along would be enough. She was determined to pay for one round since the others bought the cake.

  “A ginger ale, dear. That would be lovely.”

  “Do you want anything in it?”

  “Ice?” the widow said as if asking for too much.

  “Sure.” Roz went to place their order with Bubba the bartender and watched the dancers as she waited. Faye kicked up her heels in a frenzy as if she could shake the baby lose. When a slow dance started, Bernard Toomey comically rested his head on Faye’s shoulder instead of the other way around, but Roz was sure the little man in the tight collar cared for her friend.

  “Ginger ale, three gin and tonics, a whiskey and water. You look familiar, honey. I know you?” Bubba set the drinks on a tray.

  “I’ve only been here once before.” Roz lowered her face as she handed over her change and the bill Bernard insisted on giving her for good bourbon.

  “Must have made some impression, den,” Bubba answered, trying to get a better look at her face.

  Roz picked up the tray, grateful she had gotten her hair shingled back to its original color and glad she wore the same demure party dress she’d worn last year for her birthday. On her way back to the table, she noticed the widow had been taken for a twirl by an older gentleman. Miz Purdue was flushed, and wisps of her hair had come down from the bun on top of her head as her partner executed a quickstep. Edna had found a partner, too, with patent leather hair and a big, toothy grin. Strange, not to be the center of attention at her own party.

  Roz took a seat and sipped her questionable gin and tonic. Silently, she toasted herself, “Here’s to the Queen of Hercules. May she no longer reign.”

  A finger tapped her shoulder, and she turned with a smile, expecting to see a dance partner, hoping to see Pierre. It was Bubba, the bartender. “You da midwife? The Old Man said you was, and you’d be cheaper den callin’ da Doc. We got a girl in labor back in da cribs. Eloise says the baby’s comin’.”

  “I don’t have my bag with me, but of course, I’ll come. I’ll need hot water and soap, a basin, string, and something to cut the cord, a clean apron if you have one.”

  “Got one behind da bar. Don’t see what da big deal is. The bebes, dey jus’ come. Da Old Man delivered half of us hisself.”

  She had half a mind to tell the Old Man to deliver this one, but that would be unfair to the woman. Roz got up, collected the clean apron from the bar, and followed Bubba to the row of one-room huts behind the barn. Under the glare of a single light bulb hung from the ceiling, a girl of about eighteen labored in a double bed that took up most of the room. She was mixed race but light-skinned, full-lipped but straight-nosed. Her eyes, squeezed shut, had a slight slant above high cheekbones, and her hair had been straightened and bobbed close to her head. She lay naked under a white sheet. Her belly taut but not overly large indicated a good sign for a small baby.

  As a contraction began, the red-haired whore, Eloise, shoved a leather strap between the girl’s even white teeth. “Don’t you cry out now. You know how Wally hates for the guests to be upset, but he sent you the midwife, so he can’t be all bad.”

  The girl tried to smile at the jest but had to bite down instead.

  “Just let me get a look between your legs. Crowning. Miss, would you see if Bubba is coming with the things I need?”

  “Good thing it’s Lent and business is off, or she would have been in here all alone,” Eloise remarked as she slouched out.

  “Try not to push for a minute. You’re doing so well. The pain will be over shortly.”

  Bubba banged the door open and sat a sloshing bowl of hot water on the chair Eloise had vacated. He slapped down a bar of yellow soap, scissors and twine beside it. “I ain’t no fuckin’ orderly, you know. Deliver da kid and take it wit’ you. Come by da bar for your pay.”

  Eloise slinked in behind the bartender and leaned against the wall. One strap of her acid-green satin dress slipped down her shoulder. From her posture, she could have been soliciting on Main Street.

  “My baby died. She came early and died. People think I killed her, but she died all on her own, too little to live,” the prostitute remarked.

  Annoyed, Roz said as she scrubbed. “Don’t listen to her. Are you full-term? Nine months?”

  The girl nodded while still biting on the strap. Tears squeezed out of the corners of her slanted eyes.

  “Yeah, Denny DeVille got to her last summer. Our Miss Kitty here believed all that hogwash about how he was going to set her up nice in a little house the way they used to do back in the old days. Hell, I believed that traveling salesman who said he’d come back and take me away from my holier-than-thou parents, too. But, everybody in town knows the DeVilles like fooling with the dark ladies. Then, fine Mr. Denny comes roaring in here on New Year’s Eve with you, takes one look at her belly when she’s behind the bar washing glasses, and he don’t know who she is. Funny, ain’t it? Mayor DeVille has got himself two grandbabies in the last month. One will probably grow up to be president of the Police Jury, and the other one will end up here, working on her back like her mama before her.”

  “That’s your name—Kitty?” Roz asked, ignoring the spew from Eloise.

  “Yes’m. Kitty Brown.”

  “Okay, Kitty. Bear down, but stop when I tell you. Eloise, hold her up by the shoulders. Help her to push.”

  “As long as I don’t get any of that stuff on my dress. Wally hates big cleaning bills.” Eloise lifted the girl and helped her bend forward.

  “Stop! The head is out. A sweet, tiny baby with a knot of black curls. Anoth
er push now. Here comes the rest, and it’s a girl.” Roz administered the slap, and the infant gave a sharp cry.

  Kitty gazed down on her squalling daughter as Roz tied off and cut the cord.

  “I need another little push for the afterbirth. That’s great.” Roz caught it in the spare basin. “Let me clean you up a bit, then we’ll wipe off your beautiful daughter. Eloise, are there any blankets or diapers for the baby?”

  “Hell, no! Wally would say this ain’t no nursery.”

  “Find something,” Roz commanded.

  Eloise sauntered over to an old cabinet with half its varnish worn away. “Wally likes the sheets kept clean. We got to change them every day. There’s always towels for the customers to use when they wash up. Naturally, this gal was too big to work by the time she figured out Denny wasn’t owning up to being the father. Here we go, a nice, clean pillow slip and a towel.” She handed Roz the items but couldn’t seem to stop talking.

  “You might have ended up the same way, drunk as you were New Year’s Eve. Once Denny’s friends were through with you, you wouldn’t have known who the daddy was. Then, along comes the good doctor to your rescue and carries you away. I’ve had that dream myself more than once. Don’t think Pierre Landry is too good for you just because he’s a doctor. He comes from a family don’t hardly speak English, but I like his ways. He came out here often enough when he first got back to town, not so much since you showed up. But I guess you ain’t so satisfying because he still asks for Eloise.”

  Roz ignored her and went about washing the baby with a damp cloth. What Pierre Landry did was his own damn business. After all, they weren’t married, engaged, or seeing each other. She’d married someone else. He’d gone his own way.

  “Jealous, ain’t you? Those pretty teeth of yours are going to crack if you grind them any harder.” Eloise gave way to a fit of laughter.

  “Kitty, would you like to hold your baby?”

  “No, ma’am. You take her. She real white lookin’ like Denny. Maybe she pass or some good Creole family adopt her. Wally, he don’t allow no kids around, and I got to work off my time because he put me up all these months.”