by Jan Watson
“I’d best get back to work,” he said with a tip of his hat. “Dr. Still, Miss Pelfrey. It was good to see you.”
“Shoot,” Mazy said as he walked away. “I didn’t buy this cake for myself.”
“Mazy Pelfrey, I’m not at all pleased with your behavior just now.”
“What did I do wrong?”
Lilly looked around to make sure no one could overhear. “When you are in the company of a young man, you act like a lady. You don’t bat your eyes and you don’t swing your skirts. What would Mama say?”
Mazy looked as guileless as Kip would just before he stole somebody’s supper. “It’s not as if I’ve had any practice! Daddy wouldn’t let me or Molly off the porch. Why, I had to sneak out after dark to . . .”
“See T. M.?” Lilly asked, remembering the initialed heart on the bathroom mirror.
“It was only once, Lilly, and I only went as far as the apple tree. We didn’t hold hands or anything.” Mazy tossed her head. “I don’t like him anymore anyway. He is just a boy.”
“And Chanis Clay is?”
“A man,” she said, as serious as if Lilly had asked a test question. “Don’t worry, though. I’m just trying him out.”
“I can see why Daddy kept you on the porch.”
Mazy sighed dramatically. “Goodness gracious, Lilly. I think you are out of sorts again.” With that she flounced up the road toward the clinic. The little brown sack flounced with her.
Lilly saw that she would need to take a different tack with Mazy. Maybe she had been too harsh. It wasn’t as if Chanis Clay would take advantage. On the other hand, Chanis was not the only man in Skip Rock. A girl like Mazy could attract the wrong sort of fellow. Lilly had seen too many young women ruined and abandoned after being swayed by the romance of the moment. It was hard to stop a train once it left the station. She wondered if Mama had had the talk with Mazy.
She remembered with a smile when Mama had first talked to her about the birds and the bees. Lilly had been as presumptuous as Mazy, if in a different way, saying, “I know all about it already, Mama. There’s a whole chapter about procreation in your obstetrical book.” After bedtime that night, she’d heard her mama and daddy sharing a laugh over her pronouncement that she knew it all already. Of course she hadn’t known it all. And truthfully, she wasn’t interested in anything outside the pages of a book until she was courted by Tern. Their marriage license was signed, sealed, and delivered before she chanced to learn what waited outside the facts. Perhaps that’s why she was having such difficulty relating to Mazy.
As Lilly walked, drumbeats of pain pulsed in her temples. Maybe she’d just chain Mazy to the bed or, better yet, send her back to Troublesome Creek.
If her head didn’t hurt, she’d laugh at herself. If her mother and daddy could handle her leaving home at seventeen to attend college in the big city, she supposed she could handle Mazy’s mild flirtation.
The office was swamped. The nurse said all the folks who’d left earlier had returned, which backed up the scheduled afternoon patients. Lilly took her seat behind her desk. A little brown sack sat waiting for her.
“Give me a minute before you start sending them in,” she said to the nurse as she silently blessed Mazy’s heart. Chocolate was good for headaches.
Chapter 12
The hog under Anne’s porch grunted a greeting when Lilly climbed the steps on Friday morning. She fought an urge to cover her nose. Besides being unsanitary, the sty didn’t give off the most pleasant odor. She wondered why Anne’s husband hadn’t put the pig out behind the barn as most farmers would.
Before she could raise her hand to knock, the door swung open.
“Mumph,” a tall, skinny man grunted before upending a bucket of slop over the side of the porch. The hog squealed with delight.
The man set the blue granite bucket down and left without another word. A long-legged red hound dog sniffed Lilly’s ankles before following him across the yard.
“Cletus, I wish you’d rinse the bucket before you set it down,” Anne yelled to his back as she stepped outside and pounded the porch floor with the handle of a broom. “Settle down, Sassy. Go on in, Doc. The baby’s under the table.” She picked up the bucket. “I’m just going to the well and wash this out. Otherwise it’ll stink up the house.”
Amy was in a high chair pushed up to the table. She flashed a grin at Lilly and held out her spoon. “Eat?”
Lilly pretended to eat oatmeal from Amy’s spoon. Amy chortled and fed herself.
“Where’s Glory? Where’s the baby?”
Amy leaned over the side of the chair and pointed with her spoon. “Baba dere.”
Glory was sleeping on her belly in the Moses basket. Lilly was pleased to see her face was turned to the side. Given her poor muscle tone, she might not be able to free herself if her nose got pressed into the pillow that served as a mattress. A fragile tracery of veins was visible under her patchy blonde hair. The baby didn’t wake up when Lilly bent to slide the bell of the stethoscope to her tiny chest.
From the chair, Amy tapped the back of Lilly’s head with her spoon. When Lilly stood, the child pulled her own undershirt up.
“This one’s sharp as a tack,” Lilly said, placing the bell over Amy’s heart as Anne returned.
“Ain’t she, though?” Anne replied. She parted the feed-sack curtains tacked to a makeshift washstand and slid the slop bucket out of sight. “So how do you find the wee one?”
Lilly put the stethoscope in her bag and snapped it shut. “Do you mind if I wake her?”
“Watch this.” Anne wiped Amy’s hands and face with a wet rag and lifted her from the high chair.
Amy went right for the basket and knelt. With one chubby hand, she gently patted the baby’s back. “Moring, sunsine, uppy uppy.”
“Morning, sunshine,” Anne interpreted. “Up, up.”
The baby stirred under Amy’s hand. Amy flashed a toothy grin. “Baba up.”
Lilly did a cursory exam before taking a portable infant scale from her linen carryall. Amy watched intently as she assembled it atop the kitchen table.
Anne stripped the baby and positioned her in the sturdy cotton sling. The needle swung back and forth before settling on six pounds, three ounces. “Oh, look, she’s gained four ounces since we weighed her Wednesday morning.”
“A result of your good care, Anne. I wish we knew her birth weight.”
Anne reapplied the diaper and tucked the infant’s floppy arms into her long cotton sleeper. Amy tugged the sleeper down over Glory’s legs. “Dere,” she said, a proud little mama.
“So you’re saying she’s getting better?”
“Her heart’s the same, but the weight gain is a good sign.” Lilly held the baby’s tongue down with a wooden depressor and looked for white patches on the mucous membranes. “Any sign of thrush?”
“No, Amy never had it, either. I keep everything real clean.”
Lilly slid the depressor out. “There’s no doubt in my mind about that, Anne.”
Amy grabbed for the depressor. Lilly gave her a clean one. Just then, the pig set to squealing.
Anne threw back her head and laughed. “Just because I keep a pig under the porch . . .”
“Ah,” Lilly said, joining the laughter. “I expect that pig gets a bath every Saturday night.”
“I would if I had me a big enough pan.” Anne dabbed tears of mirth from the corners of her eyes. “Seriously, Doc Still. If you were to say something to Cletus, I bet he’d move Sassy’s sty.”
“Might I ask why he put the pen there?”
“He said it’d be the easier, seeing as all he had to do was nail some two-by-fours to the porch posts. And I really wanted that pig, so I agreed. You know when it comes to men, you’ve got to give a little to get a little.”
Lilly nodded. That was so true.
“Now, I ain’t speaking ill of my husband. To my mind, the only thing uglier than a woman ragging on her man is one dipping snuff. But I will admit th
at Cletus is somewhat work brittle.” Anne fidgeted with her apron and looked away from Lilly. “Which reminds me, Doc, did you happen to bring my wages? It being Friday and all.”
“Oh, where’s my mind?” Lilly said. She laid Glory back in the basket and took an envelope containing a few bills from her bag. “I’m sorry you had to remind me.”
Anne opened the warming oven atop the cookstove and tucked the envelope inside. “What Cletus don’t know won’t hurt him,” she said. “Or me.”
“Gracious, Anne, aren’t you afraid you’ll forget and burn it up?”
“I’ve got a hidey-hole in the barn. I’ll put it in there when he ain’t about.”
Amy had settled beside Glory in the basket. Her feet hung over the edge. Anne covered the girls with a lightweight flannel baby blanket. “They’ll take a good nap,” she said.
Lilly disassembled the baby scale while Anne poured sassafras tea into cups. Lilly had to restrain herself from looking at her watch. The morning was slipping away, but it seemed that Anne needed to talk.
“Sweetening?” Anne asked, offering a bowl of brown sugar.
Lilly stirred half a teaspoon into her licorice-scented tea and took a sip. “Mmm, my mother used to make this for me.”
“Cletus found a sassafras tree up on the ridge and dug up a root. He’s always bringing in something extra. Yesterday it was mushrooms—reminds me to give you some to take home—and greens for a poke salad.” She shook her head. “I didn’t mean to make him sound worthless. It’s just he . . . Well, if he has a penny, he’ll try to turn it into two. In a coal mining town there’s always a game going on, if you catch my drift.” Her spoon went round and round in her cup. The tea swirled like a tiny copper-colored whirlpool.
“How do you manage, Anne? Who watches your daughter when you work nights?”
“If Cletus ain’t out roaming, he does. He’s never let me down as far as Amy goes. He’s real good with her. If he’s gone, I take Amy over to my sister’s. A couple of times, she’s slept at the clinic in the supply closet.” She put her hands up in a what-can-you-do gesture.
Anne seemed to have forgotten to whom she was speaking. This was a bit of information best not shared with Lilly. A hospital, even a small one, couldn’t have babies sleeping on the premises. When Anne returned to work, Lilly would have to address the issue. Not to mention, Lilly hadn’t thought about what would happen in her own situation. Who would look after her baby when she was off to work and Tern was who knows where? The art of being a woman presented a myriad of problems not faced by men, and for a workingwoman, it seemed the complexity of life increased a hundredfold. Why was everything on the woman’s shoulders?
While Anne sliced fresh-baked gingerbread, Lilly thought of her own mother. As the only midwife on Troublesome Creek, she was often called out in the middle of the night and sometimes she would be gone for days, yet Lilly couldn’t recall ever feeling abandoned or less than completely cherished. Oh, she needed to talk to her mother. Mama would help her figure everything out.
Anne offered her a fork. The cake was rich and moist, just the way Lilly liked it. She’d better be careful. Chocolate cake yesterday and gingerbread today—she’d soon be letting out her skirts for more reasons than one.
It was eventide before Lilly had a chance to pen a letter to her mother. She’d thought of calling the Troublesome Creek post office, which contained the area’s one telephone, and asking the postmaster to get a message to Mama asking her to call Lilly back. But she thought better of it. Receiving a telephone message was much like receiving a telegram: too often a portent of bad news to come.
She carried her portable writing desk to the dining room, where she could sit in a chair beside the open window. Outside, the pink and white peony bushes were in full bloom, nearly past their prime, and their lush scent drifted in like a sweet benediction. She kicked off her slippers and rested the soles of her feet against the cool hardwood floor. By the end of the day her feet often hurt. If her husband were home, he would massage them with scented lotion. Where was a man when you needed one?
Mazy was out for a walk with Chanis Clay. Lilly had had a word with him and she trusted he would be respectful. She had yet to talk seriously with Mazy, but the time would come. They had taken Kip, so she should be able to write without interruption.
The inside of her desk had various-size compartments: one for business envelopes, one for personal correspondence, one for stationery, one for clean blotters. There was even a small drawer for miscellaneous items like stamps and nibs. She chose two sheets of lavender-scented stationery and a matching envelope.
Lilly loved the art of writing. She liked the mechanics of unscrewing the metal lid from the small pot of navy-blue ink and relished the piercing scent of ferrous sulfate released like a fluid genie from the bottle. It mattered to her that the ink pot fit perfectly into the inkwell atop the desk, and she enjoyed the heft of her favorite tortoiseshell pen when she dipped its nib into the dark liquid, spreading tiny ripples across the surface. She was particular about her ink. Too thin and it dripped off the nib in ugly splotches, ruining the pristine page; too thick and it left dregs of goopy snail’s tracks.
The ink flowed perfectly in lovely swirls as she began:
My dearest Mama,
I trust this letter finds you, as well as Daddy and Molly and the boys, enjoying these long midsummer days. My mind wanders with you through the garden and along the creek, perhaps to the bench under the willow tree, where we could sit and talk for a while in the cool of the evening.
Mazy is well—perhaps too well. She is quite taken with a fellow. Chanis Clay is the sheriff here in Skip Rock and a fine young man. But you know, Mama, Mazy follows her heart and never her head, and so I watch her carefully. I am allowing them to take short walks together, always with Kip to chaperone. (I send a smile along with the last sentence.) I hope you don’t disapprove, as I’m sure Daddy does, but she will soon be eighteen.
You and Daddy both will be pleased to learn that Mazy started helping out in the clinic this week. She catches on quickly and does good work when it is in her interest. It is really quite nice to have her here, especially now that it seems Tern might be gone for the rest of the summer. Tell Daddy there was a major accident at a mine in Canada that begged Tern’s attention. He might be able to read about it in the Lexington Herald newspaper. A patient told me he saw the story coming over the wire when he went to town to place a telegraph message. It will be old news but still news when the postman delivers it to your mailbox.
My practice is busy, Mama, and sometimes difficult. You will be distressed to learn that a baby appears to have been abandoned in our community. The little thing is quite compromised physically and more than likely intellectually. For the by-and-by, she is in the care of a local nurse. No one seems to be looking for the baby. At first, I was in fear for her mother, but the sheriff thinks the baby was just thrown out with the bathwater and I tend to agree. As if that weren’t tragedy enough, yesterday a local man was killed when he was hit by a train on a nearby track. Of course, I’m thankful for my training and for being of assistance, but still, one’s heart aches at times. Just as I’ve watched you do in moments of travail, I cling to Scripture for solace. “He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.” Is there another verse as lovely, as comforting, as these words from King David?
Lilly dipped her pen and drew a fanciful vine with leaves and flowers across the page to separate the busy news from the delicate and private words that were for her mother alone.
My dearest Mama, I have news that I am sure you long to hear. My heart is so full with it that I’m holding back tears that threaten to spill over onto the page. I’m twelve weeks with new life. A tiny heart beats beneath my own. How to explain the joy mixed with trepidation this presents to me?
Did this happen when you became expectant with me, Mama? Did you know before you even missed, as I did? From the very first moment, I was aware. I
left my husband’s embrace with the surety that life had quickened from our time together. And with awareness, strange fears and odd superstitions beset me. I watch for signs—if a wren swoops in through an open door, a loss is coming. If the robin builds her nest in the apple tree, then my nest is secure. Both have happened, so what does it mean? Because my trust is in the Lord, I know these things have no import, but I seem to no longer be in charge of my mental faculties. (Another smile here.)
I’ve told no one, although I attempted to tell Tern via telephone, for who knows when I will see him next? It was unsettling to have the words carefully formed for expression only to have them abruptly denied by something as impersonal as a telephone line.
You would laugh to see me already stretching the waistbands of my skirts. It seems I am showing very early. Oh, Mama, surely this doesn’t mean twins! Twins like Molly and Mazy! I hadn’t thought of the possibility until this moment. Now I suppose I will have true signs to watch for, like two heartbeats instead of one. I will be so relieved when enough time has passed that I can hear my little one’s life force through the bell of my stethoscope or feel him kick against my belly. Him? We’ll see, but I feel sure.
I so wish I could see your face when you read these words. I miss you more than I can express. Thank you again for allowing Mazy to come for the summer. I pray you can somehow find a way to visit soon. I forgot to say I now have a telephone in the house—the number is 32—and one in the office, number 33. Please call; I long to hear your voice.
I must close now. Mazy has not returned from her walk, so I must go out and call her in. Perhaps I’ll cut a switch. I’m sure Mazy is quaking in her shoes from fear of stirring up my wrath.
Oh, Mama, just writing to you lightens my mood. I send you all my love.
With fond regards,
Your daughter Lilly
Lilly laid the pages aside to let the ink dry. The envelope was already addressed.
A sudden warm breeze sent one sheet flipping across the table. She moved them to the sideboard, then leaned on her hands and looked out the window. There might be rain tonight. If so, the last of the peonies would be blighted.