Beside Still Waters

by AnnaLee Conti

  “Of course. Yarn and flannel aren’t heavy.”

  John held Violet’s coat as she slipped her arms into it and buttoned it tight. There was still a nip in the air, but it felt warm compared to the long Arctic winter.

  As they walked, Violet said, “Before we leave on our first trip downriver, I’ll stitch up the flannel into blankets and nighties on the sewing machine. I can knit caps, booties, and sweaters on board.”

  “Have you thought of a name for our daughter?” John asked.

  “Most men want a son first. Would you be all right with that?”

  “Of course, but I want a girl who looks just like you.” John squeezed her hand.

  “That’s sweet! But I want a son just like you.”

  “I guess we’ll have to let God decide.” They burst out laughing.

  “Seriously, though,” Violet said. “If it’s a girl, I’d like to name her Elizabeth after my mother.”

  “How about Anne for her middle name—after my mother?” John said. “And if it’s a boy, Peter John after your father and mine?”

  “I like that.”

  John opened the door to Taylor and Drury’s general store. “See you later, Violet. If your package is too heavy, hire a boy to carry it for you, okay?”

  “If that’ll make you feel better. See you later.”

  During June, Violet traveled with John on the Yukon Belle. By that time, she had completed the baby’s layette. Back in Whitehorse, she purchased a bassinet at the secondhand store and covered it with satin and lace cut from the full skirt of a nearly new party gown she found there.

  Violet had visited the doctor a few times since becoming pregnant. Actually, she had seen two doctors. Whitehorse couldn’t seem to hang on to a doctor very long. The last one suddenly left town after his wife died of influenza, and now they had none. As the time of her confinement drew nearer, Violet grew concerned. What if a new doctor didn’t arrive in time?

  The Whitehorse hospital was small and quite primitive. In the absence of a doctor, the town’s health care was entrusted to the druggist. That didn’t inspire Violet’s confidence. She asked around town if any midwives lived in Whitehorse but hadn’t found one. She had even considered taking the train to Skagway for the birth. Maybe she could stay with Brother Paul and Dorothy. Her friendship with them had grown over the years as she and John traveled back and forth through Skagway. That town had a doctor. Just when she was about to discuss that option with John, a new doctor arrived.

  One hot morning the last week of July, Violet woke up with severe cramping. John was not due back for a few days. Dismayed that the baby was coming earlier than they’d expected, she pulled on a long coat over the top of her sleeping shift and plodded slowly to the hospital, stopping only when a labor pain hit. The ever-present dogs lay sleeping in the dust on Main Street. Flies were thick, and hordes of mosquitoes and black flies descended on her whenever she stopped. Swatting furiously, she picked up her speed, hoping to get to the hospital before the next pain.

  By the time she arrived, sweat poured down her scalp, face, and neck in rivulets and trickled down her back. And itchy red welts were popping out on exposed skin. Brushing the mosquitoes off, she quickly slid inside the screen door. The place seemed deserted. “Doctor!” she tried to shout, but it came out as a loud gasp as another pain knifed through her abdomen.

  A man pulling on a white exam coat emerged from the office. “Mrs. Barston?”

  “I’m having my baby!” Panting, she doubled over.

  “Nurse!” His voice echoed down the hallway. A middle-aged woman in white came running from the far end. “Take her to the labor room and get her settled. I’ll be in to examine her shortly.”

  The nurse opened the windows wide to let in what breeze they could. Screens kept the bugs out but, without a breeze, allowed very little movement of air.

  After checking her progress, the doctor declared that since this was Violet’s first baby, it would be a long day. “Call me when the baby is coming,” he told the nurse and left the room.

  In Whitehorse, being a small town, gossip spread at the speed of a new discovery of gold on some out-of-the way stream. Word that the teacher was in labor must have traveled rapidly on the Yukon “grapevine,” for as the day progressed, Violet overheard two women mention her name as they talked on the sidewalk outside her window.

  She recognized the voice of one of them—the wife of the principal, her former boss, a stout, ruddy-complexioned Englishwoman of about fifty, who loved to gossip. Violet had never seen her without impeccable attire, gloves, and a gaudy Victorian hat. The woman had never forsaken the social requirements drilled into her while growing up in a parsonage in England. She loved to call on people—newcomers, brides, the sick, the bereaved. She always arrived to offer congratulations or condolences as the occasion required and to hand out her engraved cards with appropriate expressions written in her flowing script.

  The other woman, Violet soon realized, was a former schoolteacher married to a White Pass official, who, because of her husband’s position, fancied herself to be of the social elite in this company town. Between pains, Violet caught snatches of their conversation as they discussed all of the women who had died in childbirth in the Yukon.

  Violet groaned. Childbirth was scary enough without being reminded of its dangers.

  Just as the nurse determined that the baby was coming, and they were both sweating profusely, a knock sounded at the door. “Go away!” the nurse cried. But the knocking continued.

  With a sigh of disgust, the nurse opened the door. Violet glimpsed the bright Victorian hat of the woman who handed in her card. Returning to the bedside, the nurse grimaced as she read the card, “With kindest inquiries.”

  “I suppose she has another one ready for whatever the outcome,” Violet spat out. She gritted her teeth as the urgent need to push assailed her.

  The doctor soon appeared and, shortly after six that evening, she delivered a tiny baby girl.

  At the sound of her baby’s first wail, Violet felt pure love surge through her such as she’d never known. The nurse cleaned the infant, wrapped her in a soft cloth, and nestled her in Violet’s arms.

  “Hello, my sweet little Elizabeth Anne!” Violet touched the soft, downy head. The baby opened her eyes and blinked at her. As Violet examined each tiny finger and toe, she was sure that her baby was the prettiest one ever born. “You’re perfect! Your daddy will be very happy to see you!”

  “She’s a beautiful baby,” the nurse said. “Such dainty features and so pink and healthy looking. Why don’t you see if she’ll suckle? It will help your milk come in.”

  When the baby fell asleep in her arms, Violet, exhausted by the long ordeal, knew she needed to sleep too, but she didn’t want to hand the baby back to the nurse. She had waited so long for this child. “Thank you, God, for answering my prayers,” she whispered.

  Soon her eyes closed of their own volition. Violet felt the weight lift from her arms as the nurse carried little Elizabeth to her crib.

  Violet was still in the hospital when John returned. His concerned expression lit up with joy when he entered Violet’s room and saw her nursing their new daughter.

  “How are my girls?” He bent down to kiss Violet and laid his large, suntanned hand gently on the baby’s head. “I’m sorry I missed little Elizabeth’s birth. As soon as we docked, I came as quickly as I could. Thank the Lord, everything went well.”

  “You got your wish—a girl.” Violet handed the baby to John, who cradled her gingerly in his arms.

  Violet laughed. “Don’t worry. She won’t break. Do you think she looks like me?”

  John studied them both. “How can I tell? You’re both beautiful.” He leaned down and kissed Violet again. “Motherhood becomes you, Mrs. Barston.”

  “Jonesy is making a special dinner for us,” John said. “Your favorite—fresh salmon from Skagway. He’s bringing it by later. He thought you might be tired of hospital food.”

&
nbsp; “How sweet of him! It’s certainly not up to his standards. My mouth is watering already.”

  “The doctor said he’ll let you go home tomorrow if I carry you,” John said. “Of course, you have to promise to rest and let me take care of you and the baby. And Jonesy promised to bring us dinner every evening.”

  “But don’t you have to leave day after tomorrow?”

  “The company is giving me an extra day in town. Dorothy is coming up from Skagway to stay with you for a week while I do my next run.”

  “Really?” Violet squealed. “Oh, how wonderful! She’s such a dear.”

  “I wish I could just stay here with you for the rest of the summer. But the time will fly. Before you know it, we’ll be heading south.”

  “I miss you so much when you’re away. The hours drag by without you.”

  “I know. But now you have little Elizabeth to keep you company.”

  Violet sighed with contentment. “We’re finally a family now, aren’t we?”

  “Yes. And before you know it, we’ll be able to spend all our nights together under one roof while I study at the university.”

  “And I won’t have to worry about you all the time.”

  “You worry too much. You know I’m perfectly safe.”

  Not wanting to spoil the moment, she simply nodded.

  Chapter 16

  DOROTHY ARRIVED FROM SKAGWAY JUST hours before John had to take the Yukon Belle on her next trip downriver. Violet was still confined to resting at home, so John met the train alone and walked Dorothy to the house.

  Violet watched for them. As soon as they turned into the yard, she swung the porch screen door open and rushed down the gravel walkway. “Dorothy! How great to see you. I’m so happy you came.” They hugged like long-lost sisters. “And I get to keep you for a week.”

  “Violet, aren’t you supposed to be resting?” John asked.

  “I don’t see why. I feel fine.”

  The mosquitoes and black flies descended. Violet and Dorothy dashed to the porch. Brushing off the pesky invaders, they squeezed through the screened doorway one at a time. John followed with the luggage. He carried it up the stairs and set it in the extra bedroom. A large vase of wildflowers he had picked and Violet had arranged added a fresh touch.

  “Where’s that new baby girl?” Dorothy asked. “I can’t wait to hold her. It’s been so long since I held a newborn of my own.”

  Violet led her to the master bedroom and lowered her voice. “She’s sleeping, I think.” They tiptoed to the bassinet and peeked in.

  “What a beautiful baby!” Dorothy had no sooner whispered those words than Elizabeth’s eyes blinked open. “And she didn’t even whimper when she awoke up. May I pick her up?” At Violet’s nod, Dorothy scooped the baby into her arms and rocked her gently.

  Elizabeth blew bubbles and made little baby sounds. Violet said, “She’s a very good girl. Rarely fusses.”

  “I imagine you’re such an attentive mother, she doesn’t need to,” Dorothy said, handing her back to her mother.

  John drew Violet aside. “It’s time for me to get back to the Belle. I’ll see you in a week or so. Remember, Dorothy is here to help you, so let her. Don’t overdo it.” He cupped the baby’s head in his suntanned hand and kissed her cheek. He hugged Violet. His lips sought hers for a long goodbye kiss. “I’ll miss you. I’ll miss both of my girls. I love you.” As he turned to descend the stairs, his hand trailed down Violet’s shoulder and lingered with her hand in his.

  Violet released it reluctantly. “I love you too. Be careful!”

  “You know I will.” He turned and was gone.

  Violet was glad Dorothy had come to keep her from lingering on how bereft she felt whenever John left, as though all the color had been drained out of her life. What a blessing to have her baby to care for now.

  Dorothy insisted on changing the infant’s diaper before carrying her downstairs. “Violet, you sit down. While you nurse Elizabeth, I’ll make tea, and we’ll have a long chat.”

  “See those floral china tea cups on that shelf?” Violet said, pointing. “Let’s use them. They belonged to my Aunt Mabel. I brought them all the way from Boston to use at happy times like this.”

  Violet relaxed in her rocking chair to feed Elizabeth, excited to enjoy a long visit with Dorothy.

  The next morning, Violet stretched and threw back her covers, feeling rested for the first time since giving birth. She suddenly realized that Elizabeth had not awakened for her two a.m. feeding. Had the baby really slept through the night already? She should be fussing by now. A sense of uneasiness slithered through her stomach.

  Her heart thumping harder, Violet jumped up and hurried over to her daughter’s bassinet, hoping to find her playing with her fingers.

  The baby was still sleeping. Violet laid her hand gently on the infant’s stomach and rubbed in tiny circles. She didn’t stir.

  “Come on, sweet girl. If you sleep all day, you’ll keep us all awake tonight.”

  Gently, Violet lifted the tiny blanket and began to pick her up. Immediately, she knew something was wrong. The baby felt stiff and cold—as icy as the fingers of fear that squeezed Violet’s heart. That was when she noticed that Elizabeth’s lips were blue.

  “Dorothy!” Violet screamed. She plucked the child from the bassinet. Covering her mouth and nose with her lips, she blew in gently again and again. But Elizabeth didn’t respond.

  “Oh, God, n-o-o-o!” Violet wailed and couldn’t stop.

  Dorothy ran in, still thrusting her arms into her robe. “What’s wrong?”

  “My baby! She’s not breathing!” Clutching Elizabeth to her breast, Violet sank to the floor, rocking and sobbing.

  Dorothy sat beside her on the round rag rug and pried the baby from Violet’s arms. She too breathed into her mouth and nostrils but to no avail. With tears running down her cheeks, Dorothy placed Elizabeth back in her mother’s arms and asked gently, “What happened?”

  Violet shook her head and stuffed her fist into her mouth to stop the screams. “I . . . don’t . . . know!” She gasped for breath. “When I . . . woke up, I . . . realized she hadn’t awakened all night.” Violet sucked in air, and her words rushed out. “She’s never done that before. I got up to check on her. This is how I found—” Her voice hitched higher. Convulsive sobs wracked her body. “Is she . . . dead?”

  “I’d better go and fetch the doctor.” Dorothy stood.

  Violet clutched at her arm. “Don’t leave me!”

  “But we need to get the doctor.”

  Violet cast about frantically. “ . . . next door. Ask them.”

  As Dorothy’s footsteps receded down the stairs, Violet remained on the floor, rocking her lifeless baby, repeating frantically, “You’re just sleeping, aren’t you, little one? You’re gonna be all right. The doctor will make you okay.”

  In spite of her vocal denials, Violet knew deep inside her being that her long-awaited Elizabeth, her light and joy, was gone. Dead. Yet, she couldn’t take it in. Fear tightened its stranglehold on her stomach, her lungs, and her heart until she felt lightheaded. If she kept on humming and rocking, she could keep the darkness away.

  Upon her return, Dorothy found Violet as she had left her. In a soothing voice, she said, “Let’s put Elizabeth back in her bassinet. We need to get dressed.”

  Violet couldn’t comprehend the words. Dorothy seemed to be speaking a foreign language. She went right on rocking and blubbering. “Oh, God, please don’t take my baby. Please don’t let her be dead.” When Dorothy tried to lift the baby out of her arms, Violet hugged her more tightly and kept on repeating her desperate prayers. Finally, Dorothy gave up and went to her own room to dress.

  Violet was vaguely aware that Dorothy went downstairs to meet the doctor at the door. When they entered the bedroom, Dorothy said, “The doctor’s here, Violet. Will you let him examine Elizabeth?”

  Violet clung to the baby until the doctor sat down on the floor next to her and gen
tly pried the infant from her arms—arms that suddenly felt so empty. As though in a stupor, she watched the doctor look at the dark face and glance at Dorothy. He shook his head.

  After listening to her heart, he placed her back in Violet’s arms and stood. “I’ll notify the undertaker.”

  “N-o-o! She’s not dead! She’s just sleeping.” Violet kept on rocking and humming.

  “She’s in shock,” the doctor said. “It won’t do any harm to let her continue what she’s doing. It seems to comfort her. Anyway, the undertaker will have to come up from Skagway. He won’t be able to get here until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest.”

  “The baby wasn’t sick,” Dorothy whispered. “Why did she die?”

  The doctor shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve read about these sudden deaths in infants, but no one seems to know the cause. It just happens. Nothing I know of can be done to predict or prevent it. Where’s her husband?”

  “He’s the captain of the sternwheeler, the Yukon Belle.”

  “Yes, I know. He was away when the baby was born.”

  “He’s gone again, probably halfway to Dawson City by now. Won’t be back for a week.”

  “And there’s no way to get him home sooner?”

  Dorothy shook her head.

  “What bad timing.”

  Dorothy followed the doctor to the stairs. “Is there anything you can do for Violet? She’s in a terrible state.”

  “For now, let her hold the baby. Let her grieve. Talk to her. Don’t leave her alone. I’ll check back this evening. I’ll give her some sleeping powders then.” As Dorothy stepped forward to lead him to the door, he waved her back. “I’ll see myself out.”

  “Thank you, doctor,” Dorothy said as he descended the stairs.

  “You need to drink something. I made you some tea.” Dorothy held out one of Aunt Mabel’s tea cups to Violet, who still sat on the floor rocking her lifeless baby.

  Violet paused in her lullaby and glanced at it. “No.” She backhanded it out of the saucer. The beautiful hand-painted cup shattered on the floor. Hot tea splashed on her arm, but she didn’t react to the burning. “Those cups remind me of good times. Not anymore. Every time something good happens to me, God takes it away. I’ll never drink from those cups again.”