The caller blew out air. “It ain’t gonna be sleepin’, that’s for sure.”
chapter 38
Lee and I sat in the waiting room, examining the walls. “You going home like your mom said?” I finally asked.
His arms were crossed. “I ain’t got a home.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Why? You tryin’ to get rid a me?”
“Lee, please.”
“I don’t know if I’m goin’ ‘home,’ Jessie. I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I got so much to do, I don’t know where to start. Besides, you’re the one’s goin’ ‘home.’ In fact, ain’t you supposed to be packin’ ‘bout now?”
I steadied myself. He had a right to be upset. “I’m gonna stick around a few more days. Luckily, I don’t start work till the fifteenth, so it’ll be okay.”
He tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. “Don’t stay around on my account.”
A hot ball rolled up my throat, and I pushed it back down. “All right then. I’ll stay for Connie and your mother.”
No reply.
“You don’t have to worry about finding a place for your sister and mother. Elsa Brock has already offered her two bedrooms, and says she can fit a crib in the bigger one. And Bill Hensley up the street said you could have his daughter’s old room now that she’s married. So you won’t be far from each other. And I can call the church; by the time Connie goes home those ladies will have gathered everything she needs.” I thought of the baby clothes we had so lovingly folded and put into drawers. The yellow walls and matching blanket. Tears singed my eyes. “It was all so beautiful, Lee. You did such a wonderful job on those rooms.”
When he finally spoke, his voice was flat. Dead. “It’s my fault. The fire.”
I searched his face, unable to reply. How well his mother knew him.
“It started in those rooms. That’s why Connie breathed more smoke than Mama or me. I’ve gone over and over it, sittin’ here. What did I do wrong; what wires did I cross. Somethin’ must a shorted, but I cain’t figure out what for the life a me. But I do know I almost killed my sister. And her baby.”
“No, Lee. I don’t believe that.”
“It’s true.” He nodded slowly, up and down, up and down, eyes fixed on the carpet. “I should know. I was there.”
I despaired for convincing words. And then a coldness free-fell through my body. I turned to him, face blanching white. “Which room?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. I think the nursery, not the playroom. The first thing I heard was Connie screamin’ it was on fire.”
“Oh, no.” My eyes traveled the floor. “It wasn’t you, Lee,” I rasped. “It was my curtains. I saw them blowing against that lamp. I saw it! I should have known!”
The knowledge pushed me to my feet, propelled me across the waiting room and back again. I stood before him, breathing hard, wanting to hit something, wanting him to hit me. Anything but that empty, black hole that was his face. I watched shadows shifting across it, blown by new perceptions, new realities. And then it collapsed as his eyes found mine. “Ah, Jessie,” he rose to drape weary arms around me, “you didn’t do this. Even if it did start there, it’s not your fault.”
I gripped his shirt and leaned against him, releasing my tiredness and fear into hot tears that soaked through the green cotton. He stroked my back, uttering soothing words. Then a silent sob jerked his chest. Instantly, I felt selfish. He was the one who needed comforting. I let go of the shirt, put my arms around his neck. “No, no, Lee, it’s okay, it’s all right.”
We hugged until we’d cried it out. When I stepped back, his cheeks were hollow, circles under his eyes. He looked as if he’d been through a war zone. I probably looked a sight myself. “Gee,” I muttered, “what’re the nurses gonna think.”
He managed a droopy smile. “They’re used to it.”
I spied a box of tissues on the coffee table and brought it over. We sat down and wiped our faces, inhaling noisily.
“Well, it’s just as well you’re leavin’,” he said eventually, rubbing his nose. “‘Cause if we was gettin’ married, we’d have to put it off anyhow. I’d have to rebuild Mama’s house before I built one for us. And in the meantime, you’d probably get tired a me and run off with Hank Jenkins.”
“Hank Jenkins is over sixty years old.”
“Yeah, well. At least he’s got a house.”
I thought of my hard-earned savings, squirreled away in the Bradleyville bank. How much Lee could use that money right now. He could at least rent a bulldozer and clear the wreckage from his mother’s property. Maybe the funds would buy enough lumber to begin rebuilding immediately, without waiting for insurance money. And then I thought of my own needs. What about the furniture I needed to rent? Plus plates, pans, and food? What about the new tires for my car? What if I decided to buy a new sewing machine on credit and needed a down payment? A month would pass before I saw a paycheck from my new job. Then I vacillated again, remembering the money from Miss Alice’s I’d not expected to earn. I could at least lend that to Lee. But how little it amounted to, in the face of his needs.
Why this petty selfishness when a family so close to me faced such tragedy? I could at least buy some new baby clothes for Connie. Why should I expect the ladies of the church to sacrifice when I wasn’t willing to do the same? Who was I to be planning to help strangers through social work and volunteering if I couldn’t even help the Hardings? I was amazed and disgusted with myself. My sense of service, the very calling through my dream, did not seem to be enough to summon my generosity at the moment. I berated myself until I remembered the most important thing. The money I’d saved for years would enable me to begin the very plans I’d made, the plans my dream had called me to.
That was the reason I’d needed. Of course I could not lend my money to Lee. My fingers bunched, crumpling my tissue. I wanted to, really, but I just couldn’t.
Suddenly I had to get out of that waiting room.
“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” I said, rising. Not looking at him.
“You okay?”
“Fine. I just … need to wash my face, get a drink. And I need to make some calls.” I hurried down the hall to find a pay phone.
chapter 39
Afternoon.” The air hung hot and muggy, blanketed with depression. His voice remained low as he and his wife sidled to join the grim-faced onlookers. A few nodded return greetings. He watched for a moment, a hand on his wife’s shoulder. It was hard to believe that twenty-four hours ago a neat house had occupied those blackened ruins. “Anything new?” he asked of the man standing closest to him.
“No. They ain’t talkin’.”
“They must a found somethin’ by now,” his wife put in.
“They got a growin’ pile a evidence,” the neighbor pointed with his chin. “But like I said, they won’t answer any questions. Jus’ keep sayin’ they want to be sure.”
“I’ll bet it’s Thomas keepin’ ‘em quiet. What do those inspectors know, from Albertsville. But Thomas there, look at how he’s watchin’ us out the side a his eyes. He been here all mornin’?”
“Yep. Jake too, but he ain’t been allowed inside the rope. And this crowd’s been here. People come and go; all the same, it’s been growin’. See Al Bledger and his pals over there? Man’s a keg ‘bout to explode.”
“When’re we gonna find out?”
“They say it could take all day. Maybe not till Monday. We may not last that long. You’re right ‘bout Thomas. It’s his presence keepin’ the heat down.”
Keen-eyed, they watched an inspector sift through soot to lift an object for examination. After a moment, he added it to the pile of items in the corner of the roped-off area.
“I was at the mill this mornin’,” the newcomer said. “Frank’s there with all the ‘2s’. They look like a bunch a refugees. Riddum ain’t shown all day.”
“Probably holed up in that fancy house a his. Either that’re he’s
skipped town.”
A pickup truck’s engine rumbled to a stop behind them, the cab door slamming. They turned their heads in unison.
“Uh oh.”
“I thought he was gonna be at the hospital all day.”
Lee’s hands were on his hips, features dark as he surveyed in daylight the devastation that had been his home. Thomas waved silently, carefully stepping over the thigh-high rope to greet him.
chapter 40
Aaahhhh!” Connie wailed as the contraction peaked. Her face was flushed, her forehead damp from sweat and the wet rag with which I’d sponged her. Her long black hair splayed across the white pillows like strewn seaweed. Both hands clenched the bed, her head jerking from side to side.
Miss Wilma perched nearby in a chair, gently patting her daughter’s corded arm. “Won’t be long now, honey. You’re doin’ just fine.”
The contraction finally over, Connie went limp as a rag, crying softly. I wiped the tears and lay an ice chip against her trembling lips. She sucked it in greedily.
She was too tired to open her eyes. I felt too numb to close mine. I was beyond sleep, beyond the problems of Bradleyville or the promises of Cincinnati, beyond the details of moving trucks and repairing car tires and gathering baby items. All that mattered now, all that had mattered for the last four hours, was birthing this baby.
Life did not end easily, that I knew. It could go out quickly or slowly, in the crash of metal or through the spreading of cancer. What I hadn’t known was how searingly, gut-wrenchingly difficult it was to begin. I had heard of the “pain of childbirth”—that formidable rite of passage for women. Had even asked Mom about it once. But whatever her answer, it could not have sufficed. It could not have begun to describe the torture I had seen Connie endure that day. I felt so helpless and inconsequential, unable to lessen her pain even a fraction. Even the drugs they’d given her didn’t seem to help. Every now and then I caught Miss Wilma’s eye, silently questioning. But she explained nothing, only stroked and soothed her daughter, intoning solace.
Fervently I wished for my own mother beside me, consoling me. If she were watching from heaven right now, did she know my thoughts? Was she disappointed at my selfishness with my money? I held Connie’s hand and remembered my mother holding mine; when I dabbed Connie’s flushed face, I thought of the times my mother had nursed me through fevers. Twenty-four years ago, she had gone through labor for me. Watching Connie’s agony over her own baby, I understood for the first time the depths of my mother’s love. I understood why she’d returned to me, even after death, to ease my confusion in a dream. The knowledge washed me clean, like water gushing from a spigot.
Connie stirred, legs pedaling the sheets. The door opened and Doc Richardson appeared, a man rejuvenated by lunch and fresh air. “How’s our girl doing?”
Connie’s neck extended, her head pulling back. Her fingers curled to grip the bed as she started to moan. I checked the clock.
“Four minutes since the last one.”
Four o’clock, and Lee was still gone. Connie’s contractions were almost continuous. “Where is he?” I demanded through clenched teeth.
“Don’t know, but I sure been prayin’,” Miss Wilma replied. “I hope he’s jus’ takin’ care a business. But I got this feelin’ somethin’s wrong.” She closed her eyes wearily. “All the same, what good would he do here?”
I didn’t know what he could do. It was far too late for him to see Connie. Doc Richardson was checking her regularly, and two nurses had gathered. Still, I was furious. All this pain, all this grief. And we didn’t even know if the baby was healthy. Connie needed her brother, if only to hear he was in the waiting room. I was furious at him and furious at Bart for getting her pregnant in the first place. I could have strangled them both. Yes, strangle, I seethed, thinking how Mom would have chided. For the first time in my life, I thought a little violence would be well deserved.
The contraction peaked, and Connie whimpered like a weak kitten. Doc Richardson pulled back the sheet. “Should be crownin’ soon.” A nurse nodded in agreement.
“I’ll be right back,” I whispered hurriedly to Miss Wilma. “I’m gonna try to find out what Lee’s doing.”
I scuffed down the hall, rubbing burning eyes. Hours ago—was it only this morning?—I’d cashed in bills at the cafeteria for change, and I still had some left. In a rush of clear-headedness, I’d called Ed Tam to tell him I would bring in my car on Monday, phoned the manager of my apartment to inform him I’d be a few days late—again—and hired movers for Tuesday morning. I could no longer rely on Uncle Frank. Who knew what would be happening at the mill?
At the pay phone once again, I dug nickels out of my purse and stacked them with a click on the shelf. The post office was the place to start. Aunt Eva probably knew minute to minute what was happening in Bradleyville; she’d about driven the nurses crazy calling about Connie. She answered quickly, grew breathless at my voice. “No, it’s not born yet,” I clipped, “but anytime now. Where’s Lee? He’s needed.”
“Well,” she hesitated, “I don’t know.”
“Would he be with Uncle Frank?”
“Your uncle’s at the mill. Nothin’s goin’ on there.”
It was her emphasis on the word “there.” I tapped the phone impatiently. My aunt had apologized Wednesday night for “gettin’ so upset,” and I’d tiptoed around her since then. But at the moment I was just too pushed. “Aunt Eva, is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Honey, you got enough on your mind.”
“What is the matter!”
“Nothin’ really, child. It’s just that a lot a mill folk are at the fire site, waitin’ to hear what the inspectors say.”
“What inspectors?”
“The fire inspectors. From Albertsville.”
Sleep deprivation and trauma had taken their toll. I tried in vain to make rational sense of her intimations.
“They think he did it!” she blurted. “They think Blair Riddum set the fire!”
A rock dropped in my stomach. “Who thinks that?”
“Most a the town.”
“Oh, please God, no.” That kind of talk, true or not, would spread even quicker than the Harding fire. Goosebumps popped down my arms. “That’s ridiculous; I don’t believe it for a minute.”
“I don’t know. I do know I been prayin’ and prayin’. And so are others in our church.” Fear sent a tremble through her voice. “I’m gettin’ scared, Jessie.”
“Don’t be scared, Aunt Eva; just keep praying. Jesus will make everything okay.” I blinked. What a strange thing for me to say. “What’s happening right now?” I added hastily, feeling self-conscious.
Her split-second hesitation spoke of her own surprise at my statement. “Everybody’s waitin’ to see what the inspectors say. Thomas is there with ‘em, by the way.”
Thomas. If anyone could still roiling waters, it was he. Thomas could even keep Lee calm. Particularly with the help of Uncle Frank.
“Is that where Lee is?”
“Last I heard.”
“Aunt Eva, listen to me. I’ve got to get back to Connie. Here’s what you need to do. Send someone to fetch Uncle Frank right now. Tell them to have Uncle Frank find Lee and persuade him to come back to the hospital immediately. Staying at the fire site will only rile him up. Besides, he’s needed here. By his family. Okay?”
“I’ll try,” she sighed. “I know he should be there. But Lee’s awful upset—”
“Aunt Eva! Just do it!”
I slammed down the phone before she could protest.
The baby crowned at 5:15. All the hours of waiting, waiting; now the room bustled with activity. I was working so hard my body shook. I didn’t even have time to be upset with Lee. Miss Wilma stood, gripping Connie’s hand. I remained at Connie’s back, straining to hold her in a half-sitting position while she pushed out the baby. Her knuckles blanched white as she gripped now-upright bed handles. “It’s coming, it’s coming!” Doc R
ichardson encouraged. “Oh, my! Would ya look at all that hair!”
Connie’s final scream was primal, deep-throated. Her mouth opened wide, pulled back over saliva-flecked teeth. I keened like that once, Mom, I thought. When I watched you die. The place was so hot, I could hardly breathe. The scream broke apart like shattering glass, then dropped into a rattling gasp.
“It’s a girl!”
Connie sucked in air and fell dead-weighted against my arms. I sank her down against the pillows. “You did it; you did it!” I cried, watching with incredulity as Doc Richardson turned the silent baby over and smacked it. “Oh, look, Connie, look at her.” And then one of the longest seconds I’ve ever lived stretched out as we all waited for that baby to cry. When her hiccuped, affronted wail took flight, I laughed until the joy froze my throat and my eyes spurted tears. The doctor checked her over carefully, reassuring himself with stethoscope and probing fingers. Connie sobbed as he pronounced her little girl healthy. A nurse cleaned the baby up and wrapped her in a yellow blanket. Presented her grandly.
“Want to hold your daughter?”
That’s when Miss Wilma burst into tears.
chapter 41
A couple of hours later I drove Miss Wilma back to Bradleyville. We’d taken turns holding the baby—named Katherine May—reluctant to give her up. We’d watched in awe as she learned to nurse, Connie awkwardly poking a nipple into her mouth. We’d sponged Connie off, gotten her into a clean gown, propped her on pillows. Finally, from sheer exhaustion, she fell asleep. An efficient nurse whisked the baby away and told us to beat it home—Mama needed her rest.
So did we. Miss Wilma could barely hold her cane, and my muscles felt like wilted leaves. All the same, I dreaded returning to town. I’d called Aunt Eva at home to announce the birth, and Uncle Frank had picked up the phone. He said he’d return to the fire site and tell Lee. “Why didn’t he come? Did you go talk to him?” I demanded.
“Yeah. And he said he’d get back. But he was just rooted to the spot, watchin’ those strangers poke around in what used to be his home. He was standing so still I thought he’d gone unconscious on his feet.”
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