Seasons of Her Life

by Fern Michaels

  She struggled to her feet and then swayed. She felt light-headed, disoriented. As she wobbled to the bathroom, she took care to shield the flame. If it went out, she’d be in total darkness and she wasn’t exactly sure-footed these days. She was hiking up her skirt when she felt a rush of warm wetness down her leg, soaking the anklets she wore. “Oh, shit,” she muttered. The explosive words extinguished the candle flame. The urge to urinate was still strong, but light was of more importance. She squished her way to the kitchen for a candle, which she slipped into a cup. She looked down at her wet socks and sandals. It was at that precise instant that she knew what she’d experienced in the bathroom was her water breaking. “Oh, shit,” she mumbled again, making her way to the living room and the telephone. She stiffened. The phone was dead. Her eyes swiveled to the front window and the storm lashing outside. Panic rivered through her as she broke out in a cold sweat. Now what was she supposed to do? Pictures she’d seen in National Geographic flashed in front of her. Women working in fields stopping only long enough to drop their babies, tie the cord, and resume working. She shuddered.

  Ruby tried then to remember every single thing her doctor had said, but there had been nothing about home delivery or delivering one’s own baby.

  “Andrew, I should kill you. I didn’t bargain for this. What am I supposed to do?” she wailed. “Oh, God, oh, God,” she bleated as she beat one clenched fist into the other. Did she dare try to go next door to the Galens and hope they could get her to the hospital?

  Did she dare? Her answer arrived a split second later when an explosion rocked her kitchen in the form of a tree branch crashing through the rotted window frame. She yelped in terror, tripped, and righted herself. She was petrified now as a violent spasm wrapped itself around her belly. Labor. She unclenched her teeth and drew in a deep breath when a second vise cramped her belly. She could feel perspiration dripping down her neck and between her breasts. For the first time in her life, Ruby was unable to think clearly. Should she clean the puddle in the bathroom or should she try to board up the kitchen window? Should she lay down, or sit down, or was it better to stand? If her life depended on it, which seemed to be her present problem, she couldn’t remember a single thing she’d learned in the expectant mothers’ class. Fear held her immobile. Her hands cupped her stomach. Her eyes rolled back in her head when a streak of lightning zapped across the sky. Thunder rolled, rain slashed and battered against the windows like a hungry monster’s claws. Her stomach again contracted painfully. She should be timing the pains, but in order to do that she would have to move or carry the candle to her bedroom, where her clock sat on the night table. Her Timex watch was on the same little table. She hadn’t been wearing it these past few weeks because the band was too tight.

  The painful contractions abated as quickly as they’d started. Ruby drew in a deep breath. A reprieve, but for how long? She had to do something.

  Duck fashion, she waddled to the bedroom for her watch, holding the candle high above her head. She felt like crying. She’d never been this helpless, even back in Barstow when her father was ripping into her for one thing or another. She’d had a will then, her mind and her thought processes, not to mention her Bubba, who always made things right. There was always a bright light at the end of the long tunnels of her life, but not now. Now she couldn’t think beyond what was happening to her. Having a baby was far different from enduring a punishment. She needed help and she needed it soon. She tried the phone again. The lines must be down all over the base, and housing wouldn’t be a first priority for the electricians and telephone men. Housing would be the last thing to be repaired. She had to accept that fact and decide what to do.

  Outside, the storm continued. The decibel level of its cacophony was so high that Ruby clamped her hands over her ears. It was worse than any nightmare she’d ever endured.

  Above the sound of the storm Ruby thought she heard the squawking static of her husband’s battery-operated radio. She trundled into the kitchen with the intention of placing the radio on the back of the stove with the volume on high in the hope the Galens would notice and come to check on her. She wasn’t even sure if Penny or her husband were home. Somehow she’d lost all track of time. On other evenings she’d heard the rambunctious Galen children riding their tricycles into the walls or screaming at the top of their lungs. The radio squawked and then quieted. The batteries must have given out, Ruby thought in despair.

  For the first time, Ruby was aware of the water on the kitchen floor. Angrily, her fist lashed out at the wall. How in the name of God was she to clean up the water and have a baby at the same time? “I hate you, Andrew Blue, for doing this to me. I wasn’t ready to have a baby. Now that the time is here, where are you? I need helllllp,” she yowled. “I hate you for this. I do, dammit. What if I botch it up? Oh, God, oh, God.”

  Ruby sloshed her way to the shallow closet that served as a pantry and reached for the broom. She banged on the kitchen wall until the plaster crumbled, with no results. Crying hysterically, she went into her bedroom and started to bang on the far wall that was opposite the Simses’ kitchen, the way her kitchen was opposite the Galens’. She gave up after a few minutes when she remembered that Don Sims was on temporary duty and his wife, Bernice, was staying with friends.

  The storm continued to snarl angrily as Ruby did her best to stuff towels and pillows into the openings next to the monstrous tree branch that was taking up half her kitchen. Her effort so depleted her energies that afterward she made her way back to the living room and literally fell onto the sofa. She had to think, to plan, and to do that she needed a clear head.

  First babies could come anytime, usually late. Labor could be long or mercifully short. If hers proved long, she at least had a chance of getting help, since the storm couldn’t last forever. If it was short, she was on her own.

  “Someday I’m going to think about this and laugh,” Ruby said through clenched teeth. Someday, someday, someday. This is now, Ruby Blue, and you aren’t going to get a second chance. When this baby is ready to come, it’s going to come.

  Her head cleared, her eyes narrowed, and her face turned grim. She searched for the last candles she had carried to the bedroom. She managed to light them all. On her second trip to the kitchen and hall closet she pulled every towel she had left and a bundle of sheets to be spread on her bed. From the bathroom she filled a basin of water and set it on the night table. She found her scissors, which she would use to cut the umbilical cord.

  She swayed dizzily when she felt the pain start to ripple and then build in intensity. Somehow she managed to peel off her sodden shoes and socks. Her skirt, slip, and panties were next. She crawled on top of the bed, moaning and crying. She knew she should be counting, clocking the pains and breathing properly and panting, but there was no one to coach her, no one to help her along. There wasn’t going to be anyone to bathe her forehead, to smooth back her hair, to hold her hand. “I hate you, Andrew, I hate you. It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she mewled.

  In the midst of a contraction that was so severe it took Ruby’s breath away, she realized she was supposed to be shaved. She laughed so she wouldn’t cry.

  At three minutes after five in the morning, as the last of the storm abated, an exhausted but exultant Ruby Blue gave birth to a seven-pound fourteen-ounce baby girl, whom she immediately named Martha Mary Blue after her grandmother.

  Andrew Blue was groaning and moaning—in delight at what the diminutive Korean girl was doing to him. “You like, G.I. American Joe? I do more, you see. You lay still and I will make you one happy G.I.” Andrew moaned again, this time in pure ecstasy.

  Her name was Soong Lee, and she was sixteen years old. Her brother, who was seventeen and a half, sold her to Andrew two weeks after his arrival in Korea. The price was twenty-five dollars a month and two cartons of Lucky Strike cigarettes.

  Soong Lee washed and ironed Andrew’s uniforms, polished his shoes, tidied his quarters, cooked, and gave back rubs wh
en she wasn’t, as Andrew put it, in the sack with him. She was so experienced in the art of lovemaking, she boggled Andrew’s mind. Compared to Soong Lee, Ruby was a drag.

  She was a sprite, a naked, tawny sprite with soft, velvety eyes. She did such wonderful things to him, he didn’t want her to stop, not ever. She was taking him to planes and plateaus he’d never dreamed possible. Her fingers, her tongue, her long, coal-black hair worked such incredible magic, he could only gasp in delight and say, again and again, “Don’t stop. If you ever do this with anyone else, I’ll kill you.” He meant every word. But she did stop, her velvety eyes imploring him.

  “Me brudder say you pay more or I go. You American G.I. have much dollars. I too good for you, G.I.”

  Andrew lost his erection. “We made a deal. If he tries any funny stuff, I’ll whip his skinny little ass. You tell him that for me.”

  “No say. Me brudder, he boss. He say, I do. American G.I.’s killed our mudder and fodder. Kim say you pay. You no pay, me leave.”

  “How much?” Andrew snapped.

  “Three cartons of cigarette. Thirty dollar. Not much to G.I. Velly important to Kim. You pay?” she asked anxiously.

  Andrew grinned. What the hell. “If I pay, what will you do for me?”

  She showed him. Then she showed him again and again.

  The moment Andrew crumpled into an exhausted sleep, Soong Lee was off the bed in a flash. Her velvety eyes were mean and contemptuous as she stared down at the naked man. “You motherfucking G.I.,” she snarled. In a matter of seconds she was dressed in loose trousers and a pullover khaki T-shirt that she fitted into the loose band of her trousers. She had exactly three, maybe four hours to do the same thing to some other motherfucking G.I. and be back in time to see the stupid American wake up.

  Ruby was sitting in the rocking chair with her new baby when the MPs entered her apartment from the rear, calling out to her. She had finally managed to get through on the phone. In seconds mother and baby were whisked to the hospital, where the doctor pronounced them both fit and in good health. It was suggested by the doctor that the baby remain in a pediatric isolation unit since she’d been exposed to so many germs and bacteria. Ruby didn’t argue. All she wanted was a bath, sleep, and to know Andrew was notified that he had a brand-new daughter. Unfortunately, it took a full two days before her husband was informed. Priorities, the doctor was told.

  When Ruby woke after a refreshing twelve-hour sleep, she was stunned to see the flowers, cards, and baby gifts that filled her room. She burst into tears and was still crying when the general’s wife arrived carrying a gift-wrapped box and a teddy bear.

  Arlene Frankel wrapped the weary girl in her arms, crooning softly as she stroked Ruby’s matted hair. “I’ve seen her, Ruby. She is absolutely gorgeous. They let me peek at her. They’ve isolated her for the time being, and the nurse on duty told me you can see her when you feel like walking down the hall. She’s beautiful. Ruby, I’m so sorry that things happened . . . it was an act of God. I was beside myself when I heard. I want you to know I don’t know if I could have done what you did. Your husband is going to be so proud of you, so very proud. And before I forget, your apartment window is being repaired. You poor thing, you must have been frightened out of your wits.”

  Ruby sniffled. How wonderful it felt to be held in someone’s arms, to be made a fuss over, to have them care. “I can’t breastfeed,” Ruby said ruefully. “The doctor said under the circumstances he didn’t think it was wise.”

  “Bottles are so much easier. Carnation milk, Karo syrup, and boiled water, that’s what your little darling is drinking right now. She guzzled the whole four ounces. They told me you did it all perfectly. I still can’t get over it. Tonight I’m writing to the general, and I’m going to tell him what a little soldier you are. Oh, oh, here comes your nurse. I do believe it’s bath time. Rest, Ruby, and I’ll stop by tomorrow.”

  The second day of her stay was taken up with reports on Martha’s milk consumption. “She can’t get enough,” one nurse said. Another said, “She burps like a six-month-old.” Another said she sucked her thumb. The night nurse said she slept like an angel. Ruby preened and couldn’t wait to hold her new daughter.

  Ruby spent the third day writing notes to her friends. The letter she wanted to write to Andrew would have to wait till she got home so she could give him firsthand news. He would want to know every little detail, and she needed the privacy of her bedroom to write about all that she’d gone through and about the miracle of their daughter.

  On the fourth day, Ruby’s release was signed by Arlene Frankel. Her driver carried all the gifts and flowers to the car and took them to her apartment first, then came back for Ruby and the baby.

  Arlene stayed just long enough to see that the baby and Ruby were comfortable. “Ruby, I took the liberty of sending over two cases of canned milk and some syrup for you. I see a dozen bottles on your kitchen table and the bottle pot for sterilizing. I can do that if you want, but I’ll understand if you want to do it yourself.”

  “I do, Mrs. Frankel. I want to do everything. I want to learn to take care of this baby. She’s mine, I ... I feel like God did something special for me. I can’t explain it. Thank you, thank you for everything.”

  The moment the door closed behind the general’s wife, Ruby raced to the crib and picked up her sleeping baby. She kissed the downy head over and over. An hour later she placed her daughter in the crib, and with a speed she didn’t know she possessed, she washed and boiled the bottles and made enough formula for two days. The minute the bottles were set in the cooling rack, she ran back to the baby and picked her up. She rocked her contentedly until she squirmed and let out a high-pitched wail for food.

  “You’re mine, all mine,” Ruby whispered softly. “I’ll never leave you. I’ll take care of you until the day I die. I’m going to be so good to you. I love you so, little Martha. And I know you will never leave me. I’m going to be the best mother in the whole world. I want you to love me the way I love you. No one in this whole world will ever love you the way I love you, even if you marry, I’ll always love you more.”

  The baby finished her bottle and burped, a healthy sound that made Ruby laugh. She nestled her back into the crook of her arm, rocking contentedly.

  Ruby was happier than she’d ever been in her life.

  Andrew Blue slogged his way through the mud, the torrential rain sloughing off his back like a waterfall. He hated this goddamn, godforsaken place. He was hot and he itched everywhere. He also suspected he had a good case of the crabs. That meant turpentine treatments. Right now he hated everything and anything that fell in his line of vision. He probably even hated Soong Lee. He should kill her, but he couldn’t prove she’d given him the crabs. All he’d done for the past four months was fuck his brains out. Jesus, he itched.

  He slammed the door of his quarters, stiff-arming Soong Lee, who was ripping at her clothing. Disgust showed on his face for a moment, and then he felt the beginning of an erection. That, coupled with the itch, sent him to the bed, where he pulled Soong Lee down on top of him. “Make it go away,” he moaned.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw the pink slip on the stand next to his bed. He reached for it, bringing it closer to his face. “Hot damn!” he muttered as he ejaculated into Soong Lee’s mouth.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Four weeks before Martha’s first birthday, Andrew was scheduled to return to the States along with General Frankel. A leave in Hawaii, both officers’ new billet.

  He’d return to Hawaii like a prodigal son, and Ruby would greet him with the kid, and they’d be one happy family. His face furrowed into deep lines when he pulled the stack of letters from his footlocker. There had to be at least two hundred of them. Ruby had been as good as her word, writing two, sometimes three letters a week, each of them as long as four or five pages. All were full of boring events: the weather, the kid’s sniffles and bottle consumption. If he lived to be a hundred, he’d never forget the blow
-by-blow account of Martha’s arrival, and what she’d gone through. He’d skimmed through much of the long missive, and when he got to the part about how hard it was to push the afterbirth out, he’d crumpled the letter. She didn’t have to tell him all that shit. Like he really wanted to know about the bloody towels, lumps of blood that looked like slabs of liver, and tree limbs in the kitchen window.

  Andrew looked at the blank paper in front of him. So what’s new, Blue? Ruby complained that he never told her anything in his letters, and that they were too short. Their daughter, she said, was going to think her father didn’t care about her. Andrew grimaced. He could just see Ruby reading his one-page letters to the kid and clucking her tongue. Shit!

  An hour later he was finished with his letter. As usual, it said nothing of any importance. He missed her, was eager to see Martha and to hold her. He told her how hot it was and how he would bring her and Martha gifts from Korea. He was saving his leave so they could spend every hour, every second of the day together when he returned. He said he couldn’t wait to put his arms around her. He signed it, as always, “Love, Andrew.”

  Andrew tossed the letter into the outgoing mail tray and promptly forgot about it.

  His thoughts turned to the dry month he’d had since Soong Lee took off on him in the middle of the night when he said there was no way he was taking responsibility for the kid she was carrying. He’d cuffed her good on the side of the head and told her what she could do with her pimp brother. He hadn’t seen her or her brother since.

  Andrew whistled all the way to the motor pool and the jeep that was his for the asking. He liked driving the general’s jeep with the single-star flag at attention. In another year there would be two stars on the general’s flag and there would be maple leaves on his collar. All he had to do to get those leaves was continue to be indispensable to his general and somehow erase the doubt he’d been reading in his eyes. Pearl Harbor would do it. Once he returned to his little family, he’d be a model husband. Until then . . .