The seamstresses obeyed and widened their circle but quickly swung forward, their curiosity nearly swallowing Emmalee whole. Some stood vigil, their hands clasped together in prayer. Others whispered in each other’s ears. Leona knew they were already spreading gossip too juicy to wait until the end of the day to share. A few returned to their machines, not willing to miss an opportunity to stitch another bundle of pockets or lapels. And Laura Cooley held her hands tight to her ears. The color siphoned from her face and beads of sweat collected on her nose, leaving some to think maybe she was the one who had taken ill.
Shortly Mrs. Fulton stormed into the factory wearing a pair of long pants and black rubber shoes speckled with wet grass. She shouted at people to move out of her way and pushed aside those who did not obey. She was taller than most women, and her voice was strong. Billy followed behind his mother, although his pace slowed when he saw Emmalee on the floor. A man from the cutting room, dressed in dirty coveralls and holding a metal wrench in his hand, followed close behind the boy as if there was a piece of machinery needing to be tweaked.
“Let’s see what we got here.” Mrs. Fulton knelt by Emmalee, wedging between Gwen and Leona. She took Emmalee’s wrist in hers and monitored her pulse. “Emmalee, what’s going on with you?”
“Flu,” she mumbled. Leona caught Emmalee staring at Billy with his eyes wide and his skin white as chalk.
Mrs. Fulton shook her head. “Lord, girl, what have you gone and done?” she asked as she touched Emmalee’s hard tummy. Emmalee screamed, and Billy winced at the sound of her cries. Leona patted Emmalee’s forehead with the damp rag. She told her to squeeze her hand a little tighter.
Mrs. Fulton yelled for someone to bring her some cotton sheeting as the sound of the ambulance wailed even closer. She folded the fabric in half and placed it over Emmalee’s waist and legs. “Leona, I’m not sure we’re going to get her to the hospital in time. You lift her right leg, and Billy you come over here and lift her left one so I can slip this other piece of sheeting under her bottom.” Billy stood frozen. “Son, what’s wrong with you? You’ve seen a baby born before. Come on.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. He inched closer and touched Emmalee’s thigh. She hollered, and Billy yanked his hands back and wiped them dry on his jeans.
“Billy,” his mother said, her tone growing angry. Again, he placed his hands under Emmalee’s thigh, this time touching her as though he was handling a piece of fine porcelain.
Emmalee screamed louder and pulled her leg from Billy’s hand. “Don’t touch me!” she cried. “Leave me be. Just leave me be.” Her crying grew stronger and stronger like a thunderstorm about to split wide open over the valley till Emmalee was gasping for her next breath. “Leona, please. Make him leave.”
Leona looked at Billy and then at Emmalee. She patted Billy on the shoulder. “Son, your mama and I got it under control,” she said. “Why don’t you go and check on the ambulance. Show them where we’re at.”
Mrs. Fulton did not notice her son slip out of the room. “Gwen,” she said, “call the hospital and tell Dr. Greer we got a baby about to be born. Tell him I don’t know how many of us are going to be in the ambulance when we get there.” Gwen stood and pushed her way through the circle of women holding firm on the sewing room floor.
Mrs. Fulton kept about her work, not once letting Emmalee’s pain distract her. She raised half of the stark white cloth covering Emmalee into the air and directed Leona to pull off the girl’s panties. Emmalee wailed like an animal in a trap, begging Leona not to touch her there.
“There’s no turning back now, young lady,” Mrs. Fulton said, her tone strict and resolute. “You got yourself into this mess, and you’re going to have to birth this baby. Good thing is these babies come on strong like this tend to come fast. So get ready.” Mrs. Fulton turned and looked for her son. “Where’d Billy go?”
“I sent him out to wait for the ambulance. He’s coming. I see him,” Leona said. She watched as Billy pushed through the women. Wilma put her hand on the boy’s shoulder and asked if he needed to sit down.
“Mama, rescue squad is here,” he said. “They want to know if you need them or if they should wait outside.”
“Tell them we got it under control for now. We’ll holler when we’re ready to move her,” Mrs. Fulton said.
Billy slipped away from the women and disappeared through the factory door.
Emmalee rocked her head from side to side and screamed as her belly contracted. Leona looked up to see Gwen with a magazine in her hand, her blond hair falling from its place high on top of her head. “Doctor’s been called. They’re ready when you are,” she said and fanned Emmalee’s face with a new copy of Ladies’ Home Journal.
Emmalee turned toward the cool air splashing over her while Mrs. Fulton tugged on her body, pulling her legs apart, pressing on her belly. With every touch, Emmalee screamed to be left alone, to be carried back to her house, but Mrs. Fulton demanded she open her eyes and follow her commands. The woman knelt on the wood floor between Emmalee’s legs and told her when to breathe and when to push. Emmalee panted and screamed louder, squeezing Leona’s hand as a small head pushed its way clear into the world.
With one more contraction, a baby girl was born with more than two hundred women there to greet her. The seamstresses clapped and cheered, but Emmalee closed her eyes. Mrs. Fulton placed the baby on her stomach, but Emmalee pushed her away. Leona took the newborn in her arms. She wrapped her secure in some fresh cotton pulled from another bolt on the cutting table nearby. Tears clouded Leona’s cheeks as she held the baby in her arms. “You’re one pretty girl,” she said and pulled the baby close.
Leona heard the other women talk as she passed them by, holding the baby in plain view to be admired. Some said she was beautiful, the prettiest baby they’d ever seen. Others had already named her Viruslee and held their hands to their mouths to stifle a laugh. Leona paused in front of Billy. He took a long look at the baby and turned and walked out the factory doors.
The next day, Leona carried a pink crocheted blanket trimmed with pink satin ribbon to the hospital. She had stayed up late finishing it, figuring Emmalee had nothing prepared for this child. She carried bibs and cloth diapers, bottles and a few plastic toys, all gifts from the women at Tennewa. Leona held the baby while she sat in a cushioned rocker in the corner of the stark white room. She cooed and talked silly to the baby, who slept through it all. She soaked in her sweet scent and kissed her forehead with tender lips.
“She’s beautiful. And I can see you in this girl plain as day.”
“She looks like her daddy.”
Leona looked at Emmalee but did not press her for any details. “Have you named her yet?”
“No. Nurses keep asking me the same thing.” Emmalee adjusted the hospital covers across her body. “They want me to call her Sarah. Means princess or something like that. I’m thinking Kelly. No reason. Just like it.”
“It’s pretty too.”
“Kind of wanted to name her after my mama but didn’t want to be reminded of her every time I call this girl to supper. So maybe Kelly Faye.”
“Kelly Faye,” Leona repeated as if she was letting it float about the room. “That’s a very pretty name.”
“It’ll do fine.”
The nurses’ voices could be heard clear from out in the hall. A nurse laughed out loud and then their voices dropped to a mumble. Emmalee looked at Leona. “I heard the bottom hemmers was the ones nicknamed her Viruslee.”
“Don’t go listening to them. Just a bunch of fool talk. They don’t know when to shut their mouths most of the time.”
“It don’t bother me much,” Emmalee said, her cheeks flushing pink. “A nurse come by this morning wanting to know if I wanted to give her to some nice couple wanting a baby of their own.”
“Adoption?”
“Guess so.”
“You thinking about it?” Leona asked.
“Nolan said Ballards don’t give nothing a
way.”
“Nolan’s been here? At the hospital?” Leona smiled down at the baby.
“He come by last night,” Emmalee said and scrunched farther under the covers. “He was making a stop at the Trail Ridge and had to pass by here anyway. Heard I’d had a baby and wanted to see it for himself. He said Runt already come by the house asking about me and the baby.”
“Runt and Mettie want to take her?” Leona asked.
“Funny, ain’t it? Runt and Mettie can’t have one no matter how hard they go at it, and then I have one not even trying.”
Leona pulled the baby to her chest. She wanted to shield Kelly Faye from this talk. “Emmalee, let me ask you something. If you could wish for anything in the world right this minute, what would it be?”
Emmalee sat quiet in the bed. She looked out the window and back at Leona. “I’d want to be her,” Emmalee said and pointed to Kelly Faye. “I’d want to be somebody else’s little girl.”
Leona dabbed her eyes with the tip of her calloused finger. She guessed she had wanted the same thing once, a chance to start over. Leona kissed the top of the baby’s soft head and felt her tiny heartbeat pulsing beneath her lips. She placed her in the cradle next to Emmalee and covered her with the crocheted blanket.
EMMALEE
THE FULTON-PITTMAN FUNERAL HOME
Mrs. Fulton picked at the wreath of white roses she was readying to hang on the front door. It rested across her forearm as she searched Rachel’s room for a wide satin ribbon she remembered storing in the bottom dresser drawer. She plucked at another petal with browned edges and placed it in her pocket.
The visitation was set to begin at five thirty, Mrs. Fulton reminded Emmalee as she rushed about her daughter’s room. She tapped her watch front, complaining she had less than an hour to finish the final preparations. It was an earlier start than she had wanted, especially for a gathering surely to be so heavily attended.
“Best to get on with it though,” she added. “People have been calling nonstop since late Wednesday night.”
Mrs. Fulton confessed to Emmalee that her husband was not pleased with Curtis’s face. He had resorted to taping a white bandage over the right cheek to hide the raw wound and missing bone he had not managed to fully disguise with wax.
“My husband’s a perfectionist, and he feels like he has let the poor man down here at the very end.” Mrs. Fulton spoke softer. “Thankfully, the worst of his injuries were below the waist.”
Emmalee grimaced and focused her attention on Kelly squirming on the bed in front of her. “I think you grown some. Look at your belly,” Emmalee said and blew a bubble on the baby’s round tummy. The baby kicked her legs and flailed her arms while Emmalee dusted her bottom with powder. Mettie had packed an assortment of ointments, lotions, and creams in a paper bag along with some new clothes and other supplies. Emmalee was not sure what to do with all of these products, but she was afraid not to use them since Mettie placed them there. Besides, they smelled real good.
She set a dry diaper under Kelly’s bottom and struggled to push the point of a safety pin with a yellow duck on its head through the thick cotton cloth. She had never gotten comfortable pinning a diaper, always afraid of sticking her own finger as much as she was the baby’s bottom. She wished Mettie had packed some disposable diapers like the ones she had found at Leona’s. And she wished she hadn’t left those she had back in Red Chert. Only when Kelly started to fuss did Mrs. Fulton set the wreath on the bed and snatch the pin from Emmalee’s hand.
“First of all, you keep your pins stuck in a bar of soap so they’ll glide through the diaper. That’s why you always have at least two sets of pins, one set in the diaper and one in the soap.” She steadied her grip on the pin and held it to the diaper. “You push the point toward the back, not the front. If it comes undone, the pin’ll do less harm to the baby if the head is at the back. And like it or not, you keep your hand against the baby’s skin so she doesn’t get pricked. See any blood, it better be yours.”
Emmalee nodded.
Mrs. Fulton hurriedly removed the pin from the other side of the diaper and replaced it properly, facing toward the back. She patted the baby’s tummy and combed the baby’s hair with her fingers. “There,” she said, “I think you can finish dressing her.” Then she pointed to her watch again and reminded Emmalee the visitation would be starting soon. “It’s not necessary you come down for the whole thing. In fact, it might be best if you stayed up here and gave your daughter your full attention.”
“No, ma’am, I’m coming,” Emmalee said. “I need to feed and dress the baby first, but I’ll be down in a minute.” Emmalee rubbed her hands down the front of her blue jeans, the same pair she had worn for the past five days. They were faded and dirty, but everything else she owned was back in the holler. Her long hair was clean but hung loose and tangled about her face.
“Take your time. Take a good long time.” She smiled sweetly. “I haven’t even gotten this wreath on the door, but I have a feeling Cora Hixson is already sitting there in the living room. She never misses a one of these anymore. For somebody old and lonely like Cora, I guess this is her only entertainment.” Mrs. Fulton held the white bow to the wreath. “This’ll do fine,” she said and she walked out of the room admiring the roses.
“Mrs. Fulton,” Emmalee called after her.
“Yes.” Mrs. Fulton stood in the hallway staring back at Emmalee.
“I ain’t got nothing nice to wear.”
Mrs. Fulton examined Emmalee from head to toe. “You look fine to me,” she said, the sharp tone returning to her voice. “And by the way, do not say one word to anyone about that baby’s daddy. You understand me?” She walked on down the hall, stopping to check that Billy’s door was shut and secure.
“Fine,” Emmalee repeated. “Ain’t nothing fine.”
Emmalee stepped back into the bedroom. She slipped the plastic pants over the baby’s dry diaper and lifted her onto her shoulder. “There you go,” she said and patted the baby’s back. “You’re such a pretty thing, Kelly Faye Billy Fulton.” Emmalee laughed. “Yeah, I think that sounds perfect. Let’s tell your grandmama we’ve got a new name for you, and we’re going to have it stitched plain on a blanket like the letters on this bedspread here.” Emmalee held the baby in front of her and blew on her belly again. Kelly kicked her legs and cooed.
With a full tummy, the baby grew sleepy, and Emmalee rushed to dress her as Kelly Faye dangled in her arms like a favorite rag doll. She slipped a cotton gown trimmed with rosebuds and lace over her tiny head and placed white cotton socks on her feet. Mettie had wrapped several other new dresses in pieces of tissue and packed them inside the paper bag along with new sleepers and undershirts. Her aunt had wasted no time, Emmalee thought, making this baby her own.
Emmalee swaddled Kelly in the pink crocheted blanket Leona had made for the baby and held her in her arms. Kelly’s head flopped to the side, and Emmalee kissed her cheek before lowering her into a cradle that had once held the Fultons’ boy and girl. Kelly gurgled and offered a silly grin.
Emmalee had not stopped staring at Kelly Faye since Mr. Fulton had brought her home. It was as if she was looking at her baby for the very first time, studying every detail of her face—her heart-shaped lips, her pink-kissed cheeks, the wisps of blond hair sprouting from the top of her head. A newfound sense of pride and happiness was starting to take hold, but Emmalee worried this feeling would fade when she took Kelly back to the holler and mothered her all alone.
Emmalee sprinkled some of the baby’s sweet-smelling powder on her own skin. She tucked her blouse into her jeans and ran the brush across her head, working through tangles and knots until it hung straight and shiny. She took a thin satin ribbon from the bottom of Kelly’s bag and tied it around her hair. Emmalee wanted to look special for Leona but figured this was the best she could manage with what she had.
The muted sound of men and women greeting one another in the Fultons’ living room filtered through the floor
and began to surge louder and louder. People had arrived early as Mrs. Fulton promised they would, and the stench of cigars and cigarettes already tainted the air. Undoubtedly, Cullen’s men had begun to gather on the front porch. They were likely blowing bands of smoke into the air between moments of laughter and conversation. Emmalee had seen them sitting on the banister doing just that when walking through town.
“I guess it’s time,” she said as she took the baby in her arms.
Downstairs in the living room, Curtis and Leona rested side by side in their matching black caskets, both lined with a slick white silk. Curtis wore a navy suit with a crisp white shirt and a red tie around his neck, all things that had come from Mr. Fulton’s inventory.
Leona wore her crimson dress with the blue-and-lace trim; the bracelet of spoons on her wrist reflected the room’s low light. They both looked handsome, Emmalee thought, as if they were preparing to celebrate a special birthday or anniversary. Even Curtis looked handsome, despite the bandage on his cheek.
A black velvet curtain had been draped across the bay window behind them, something the Fultons did whenever there was a viewing in their home. Flower arrangements of every size and color covered the tables set about the house and much of the floor around the caskets. To Emmalee, it looked like a beautiful spring garden had bloomed in the Fultons’ house.
A large cross, made of yellow carnations and fixed on three stiff wire legs, sat between the two caskets. Tacked in the center of the cross was a plastic telephone, and a satin ribbon stretched from the tip of one arm to the other. There on the ribbon, printed in glitter, were two words: Jesus Called. It was a gift from the lapel makers and Emmalee’s favorite arrangement.
With Kelly balanced on her shoulder, Emmalee scooted a tall stool next to Leona’s casket. Mrs. Fulton had told Emmalee the stool was always intended for the grieving spouse. But from her perch there by her friend’s side, Emmalee counted the people as they walked into the room to pay their respects. She kept a tally in her head, a full record of attendance. Seventy-eight in the first hour. Thirty-four Tennewa women in all. Emmalee imagined Leona would want to know who had come to tell her and Curtis a proper good-bye.
The Funeral Dress Page 22