“Only a ten-foot vein of solid gold will beat what I got. A million dollars wouldn’t buy that strike off me today,” Monte growled.
“You reckon he found it with a stick?” another asked. Monte was a dowser, one of the prospectors who used a forked stick to find gold, just like a farmer witching for water. The boys on the bench laughed at that.
Monte had the last laugh, however. He’d discovered the Brass Monkey, the richest mine on the Tenmile, and before the year was out, Monte Poor was strutting around town wearing a frock coat, fine leather boots, and a stickpin with a diamond the size of a sultana.
But it didn’t take him long to be sorry he’d ever found the Brass Monkey. After all, it was discovering gold, not spending it, that mattered to the prospectors. Everybody tried to cheat him out of his money—politicians, do-gooders, church people. Women tried to trick him into marrying them. One even said Monte was the father of her baby, and Monte had to hire a lawyer to fight her. In the end, Monte paid her off just to get rid of her. But maybe he was the father. Who was to say?
Monte sold the Brass Monkey for more money than any leather belly in Middle Swan had seen before or since, and moved down to Denver, where he bought himself a mansion. But the man had lived by himself so long that he couldn’t stand the servants creeping around behind him. And he wasn’t comfortable in a place that was clean. So he moved out of the house to a hotel. He joined a club and spent his time sitting in an armchair, smoking cigars, growling at anybody who came close.
He went back to Middle Swan every so often, stood in the street, and looked off at the mountain peaks. Hennie saw him in front of her house one morning, breaking his dowsing stick into kindling and looking at her PRAYERS FOR SALE sign.
“Mrs. Comfort, I’d be obliged if you’d sell me a prayer,” he told Hennie, who had gone outside to greet him.
“You know my prayers are free, Monte.”
“Then I’d think kindly of it if you’d ask whoever’s in charge up there to take away my money, burn down my house, and let me go back up there in the hills again with my burro.”
Monte died not long after that. There was a scramble for his money, relatives showing up claiming they were his long-lost brother or son or wife. But he’d had a good lawyer draw up a will. He left his fortune to build a home where old prospectors could live out their days.
“The Poor poorhouse,” Nit said, with a sly smile.
Hennie slapped her knee. “Why, I never thought of that,” she said with a little too much enthusiasm, for of course she had thought of that. In fact, the home was known as the Poor Poorhouse.
Hennie stood then and walked to the window, pushing aside the curtain to look out at the storm. The snow was coming down as thick as a blanket, and the wind swirled it so that Hennie couldn’t see the cabin across the road. It was a bad day to have a baby, she thought. Then she turned around. “I forgot all about the cake, Mrs. Spindle. Would you have a piece?”
The girl stared at Hennie for a moment, before she said softly, “I couldn’t eat even a tiddy-bit right now.”
“You still feeling mulish?”
“I am.”
“It’ll pass. I never knew why the Lord made babies and gold so hard to come by.”
The girl gave her a whisper of a smile. “I guess I’ll never find a gold mine then, ’cause I wouldn’t go through this again for anything but a baby.”
Hennie chuckled as she went to her chair and picked up her sewing.
“Oh!” the girl called out suddenly, and Hennie looked up to see Nit’s eyes bulging. The girl was sitting up in the bed, her knees drawn close to her.
“Mrs. Spindle, are you all right?”
“Oh, hello no! My water’s just broke,” the girl said. “I been getting the pains regular since you got here, and I think I’ll soon start with the delivery.”
“Lordy! Why didn’t you say so?”
“I wasn’t sure till now, and I didn’t want you to think I was a flippy-whippet. Besides, I had the pains last night, and they just went away.”
“That’s the way of it up here—false labor. You let me help you get on your nightdress. Then I’ll clean up the bed and go get help,” she said, wondering just who that help would be.
As Hennie moved toward the bed, the girl grimaced. “I don’t think we got much time.”
“That’s good. There’s no cause for a long labor.”
Hennie was halfway to the bed when there was a knock on the door. She stood still an instant, not knowing whether to answer it or go to the girl. Before she could make up her mind, the door flew open, and Zepha Massie stepped inside. She was wearing another of “Mae’s old coats.”
“I’m sorry to bother you, Nit, but I had me a presentment so strong I couldn’t stay still. I knew you needed somebody, so Blue says to me, ‘Woman, I’ll watch Queenie. You go and tend to Mrs. Spindle.’ I don’t want to go where I’m not wanted, but the feeling’s so strong. One time in Kansas, I knew this woman’s in trouble on the road . . .” Zepha saw Hennie then and looked confused. “Maybe I’m wrong. If Mrs. Comfort’s here, you don’t likely need anybody else.”
“No, Mrs. Massie, you come right in. Mrs. Spindle’s water’s just broke. She’s going to have this baby, and the doctor’s gone to Denver, the durn fool. Do you have any idea how to birth a baby?”
“I got some knowings about it.”
Hennie nodded. She, too, had some knowings, so the two women could do a passable job of delivering the baby—she hoped. Then she remembered Monalisa. “Mrs. Pinto. She used to be a nurse. She’s got handier hands than I do. I can’t move so quick, so I’d be obliged if you’d fetch her. She lives in the brown house with green shutters on the street that goes to the icehouse. Do you know it?”
“It’s not but a hop and a jump.” Zepha turned, and moving low to the ground, she left the house so quickly that she failed to secure the door. Hennie went to shut it, watching as Zepha, running like a turkey, disappeared in the snow.
As the old woman returned to the girl, Nit pointed to a wooden box and said the things she’d set aside for the birthing were in it. Hennie fetched the box, which contained a baby blanket, a diaper, a basin, string, scissors, an old quilt, and a turkey-tail fan. Hennie didn’t know why the last item was there, but she laid it out on the table with the other things, then turned to the girl. By the time Zepha returned with Monalisa Pinto, Hennie had dressed Nit in her nightgown and Nit was lying on the birthing quilt that Hennie had spread on top of the bed.
“You’ve got it pretty good here,” Monalisa said, looking quickly around the room. “I’ll take a closer look when I’ve got the time.” She put her coat on a chair and glanced at the stove, where the teakettle simmered. “Mrs. Massie, please fill the kettle to the top, and when the water’s hot, pour some in the basin, for I don’t care to birth a baby with dirty hands.”
Before going to Nit, Monalisa checked the items that Hennie had laid out on the table, which she’d pushed close to the bed. Monalisa nodded her approval. “You’ve got everything just right. Thank you, Hennie. I don’t know what we’ll do in Middle Swan after you leave.”
Hennie didn’t reply but instead gaped at Monalisa, whose attitude was new to her. Monalisa was such a sour woman that Hennie had expected her to act put-upon at being called out in the storm and to make the girl feel bad, too. In fact, if she had thought of anyone else to help with the baby, Hennie wouldn’t have sent for Monalisa at all. But here the woman was, acting as if she were glad she’d gone out into a blizzard to help birth a baby. Hennie guessed there was nothing that brought women together like quilting and childbirth.
Monalisa paid Hennie no attention. After she was satisfied that everything was in readiness, she went to the bed and put her hand on Nit’s forehead, smoothing back her hair. “Is this your first?” she asked.
Before Nit could reply, the girl’s face twisted in a pain. So Hennie answered for her. “She had a baby last year, but the poor thing never took a breath.”
> “We’ll try to do a better job this time. I’ve delivered many a baby, so don’t you worry.”
“I’m obliged, Mrs. Pinto,” Nit said after the pain subsided.
“You call me Monalisa. We’ll all be first names now. Don’t hold back with the pains. Scream your eyes out, if you’re of a mind to. There’s nobody but us to hear you in this storm, and sometimes it helps. It surely did with mine.” Monalisa smiled at the girl.
She started to say more, but Zepha came alongside her, a butcher knife in her hand, and stooped down. “This cuts the pain. I’ve seen it done before,” she said fiercely, as if she would have to argue down Monalisa.
“I can’t say it does, but it surely does not do harm. You go ahead and put the knife under the bed.”
Hennie shook her head, wondering if this was the same Monalisa Pinto who once told her that superstition was one of the failings of Christianity. The old woman pulled herself out of her reverie and hurried to the stove, adding wood to the firebox to keep the blaze going. The water was boiling now, and Hennie and Zepha filled the basin, carrying it to the table. Monalisa let it cool a minute before the three women washed their hands. Monalisa told Zepha to throw the water outside and fill the basin again, this time dropping in the string to sterilize it.
Before she could say more, the girl screamed, and Monalisa examined her. “I think this baby’s ready to be born.” She exchanged a glance with Hennie, and the two women positioned themselves on either side of the bed, Hennie rubbing the girl’s back, while Monalisa coached, “When the pain comes on, pant like a dog.”
Nit did as she was told, and when the pain let up, she said, “This is the god-awfulest hurt. I don’t remember it being so bad before.”
“You can have a dozen, and you never do remember. That’s the Lord’s gift. The Reverend Shadd says the Almighty’s with you in your pain. And if things aren’t meant to be, you’ll wake up in the arms of God,” Monalisa told her. Hennie frowned, because she knew that Monalisa wasn’t a believer. She wondered where the woman had heard the minister’s words, certainly not in church.
“I won’t!” Nit cried. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I expect you’re not at that.”
Hennie almost chuckled then, for Monalisa had merely intended to rile the girl. Nit would need the fight before the borning was over.
Monalisa rubbed her sleeve over her sweating forehead, and Zepha picked up the feather fan and swished cool air back and forth over the woman’s face, then fanned Nit. The women worked together for better than an hour, until the girl gave a scream that Hennie swore carried as far as her own house and Monalisa announced that the baby’s head was coming out. The girl’s face contorted as she pushed. There was another push, and another, and the baby slid out into Monalisa’s arms.
“Is it alive? Is it?” Nit cried, sweat running down her face into her nightdress. “It has to be alive.”
Hennie and Zepha held their breath while Monalisa steadied the child on one arm, the top of its coconut head sticking above her elbow, and put a finger into the infant’s mouth. The baby made no sound, and Nit stared at it, her eyes wide with fear. She didn’t seem to breathe, nor did Hennie and Zepha. Hennie put her arm around the girl and held her tight as she prayed for air to reach the tiny lungs. At last, there was a mewling and then a cry, and the women grinned at one another.
“You did it, Nit. I never heard such a healthy cry,” Hennie told the girl, who leaned back with a look of rapture on her face.
“Just let me tie the cord,” Monalisa said. “Then you can see it.”
Nit suddenly sat up and laughed. “I forgot to ask, boy or girl?”
“Boy.”
“Oh.” Nit sighed, sliding back down.
“Prettiest boy that ever I saw, with hair the color of Mr. Spindle’s. And his eyes sparkle just like a diamond ring,” Hennie said.
“Your husband will be proud to see him,” Zepha added.
Monalisa told the two women to look after Nit while she cared for the infant. Hennie and Zepha began to clean up the girl, but after a minute, they looked at each other, confused. Then Nit gave a gasp.
“Monalisa,” Hennie said.
The sound of the old woman’s voice made Monalisa stop what she was doing and turn around.
“There’s something . . .”
Monalisa frowned. “What is it?”
“I think there’s one more.”
“What?” Monalisa handed the baby to Zepha and turned back to Nit.
“She got another little feller ready to come out,” Zepha said. “No wonder this one’s all swiveled up. He’s been sharing space with his brother.”
Monalisa examined the girl and exclaimed, “Nit Spindle, I don’t want to dishearten you, but I believe you’re having you a second baby.” She chuckled. “Now I know you didn’t expect to do this so soon again, but you got to give birth one more time.”
“Two babies?” Nit asked, confused. She started to say more, but a pain stopped her, and she began to push. The second child came out quicker, and before a few minutes had passed, Monalisa held up a squalling baby girl.
“You got any more in there?” Zepha asked.
“That’s the last one,” Monalisa answered. She handed the boy to Nit, and after she checked over the girl, she gave that baby to Nit, too, so that the mother held one in each arm.
“They’re both breathing,” Nit said happily. She turned her head to look at first one baby and then the other. “I sure am proud, but how am I going to take care of two babies?” she asked.
“I’ll help,” Zepha told her. “There’s nothing I like better than babies. I’ll come every day.”
“Hennie and me will throw a pitch-in, seeing as how you likely don’t have enough for two little ones. Why, there’s baby stuff all over Middle Swan that women haven’t gotten around to tossing in the dump. They’d be obliged to you for taking it,” Monalisa added.
The women tended to the new mother and put away the birthing things, then helped Nit off the bed so that they could remove the soiled quilt and straighten the covers. Zepha reached for the babies, but Nit wouldn’t let them go. “I’ve got to make sure they keep on breathing,” she said.
After Nit was settled and Monalisa and Zepha had gone, the one promising to bring the Spindles’ supper, the other to take the news of the twins’ birth to their father, Hennie stayed on, fixing tea from an herbal concoction that the girl had prepared. Hennie convinced Nit to let her lay the babies end to end in the cradle, while the girl drank the tea to restore her strength and bring on her milk. Hennie took down the good china for her.
Bone-tired herself, Hennie sat down in the blue chair next to the bed to wait for Dick, and with her foot, she rocked the cradle back and forth. “I plain forgot to ask you, Mrs. . . . Nit, that is. I forgot to ask what are these babies’ given names? Do you know how you call their names yet?”
“I do,” Nit said importantly. “I’ve been thinking on it for a long time. The boy, he’s Dick Spindle—‘Dickie.’ That’s what we’ll call him.” She finished the tea and handed the empty cup and saucer to Hennie. “And the girl, her name is Columbine Spindle—Collie, for short.”
Hennie smiled as she set the cup on the table and closed her eyes for a minute, rocking back and forth in the chair in time with the cradle. She’d have to make a second baby quilt before she went below, and then she’d go through her belongings to see what she had that the girl could use. Hennie wished she could offer something special. Nit might want the big rocker from Hennie’s living room, or she could make the young couple a quilt after she went to Iowa. Maybe she’d buy Nit that feather-edged platter the girl had spotted in Ye Olde Shop. But was there something else she could do for them?
Suddenly, Hennie stopped in mid-rock and opened her eyes. Why, of course there was, you old fool with mud for a mind! Why didn’t you think of it sooner? You’ve got you a present that nobody else can give the girl—a fine log house! Hennie chuckled a little. The Spindl
es could move into her house while she was away. They would take care of it, and Hennie wouldn’t have to worry about somebody breaking in and robbing her or the pipes freezing up and bursting. The old woman wouldn’t mind at all having the Spindles live there, and Mae would be more likely to let her return summers if she wasn’t in the house by herself.
The old woman smiled with satisfaction. There would be little ones in her home, just like she and Jake had planned when they built it. Hennie closed her eyes and began to rock again, while she softly said a word of thanks. The Lord had just replied to another of her prayers. The only one left unanswered was about that secret that had pricked her for so many years. Maybe the Lord was going to keep his answer to Himself and make Hennie come to terms with it on her own.
Chapter 10
Tom Earley brought along a loaf of bread that he had baked that morning, and they sat in front of the fire eating their bread and soup, wiping out the bowls with bits of crust. Tom smacked his lips like any man in Middle Swan would do to show his pleasure with the supper. It was a simple meal, made of leftovers from the Christmas dinner the two of them had shared with Nit and Dick.
“There’s no hereafter. I was going to make a custard, but I got so busy rearranging the house for the Spindles that I disremembered,” Hennie said. The Spindles were moving in the next day, because Hennie wanted them settled in before she left. They ought to get to know the place while she was there to answer questions, because like most houses in Middle Swan, the Comfort home was temperamental. Hennie leaned back in the rocker, thinking how satisfying it was to be with a man who liked her cooking.
“I never ate a bite of custard in my life. I’m satisfied without dessert,” Tom replied.
“Well, I’d like a bit of sweetness for myself. Wouldn’t a dish of ice cream taste good?” Hennie mused.
“Let’s go get it. The drugstore’s still open. Would that suit you?”
Prayers for Sale Page 24