“Go on, Victoria—is the baby okay?”
“No, sir,” I whispered. “The baby died. And Mama isn’t actin’ right. She wouldn’t give the baby to Mrs. Kirk ’til this mornin’. And she won’t talk. She just lays there starin’ at the wall, not seein’ anything.”
“Oh, sweet girl.” Reverend Patterson placed his arms around me and pulled me close. “I’m so sorry. Let’s go inside and see what can be done. It’ll be alright.”
I nodded and opened the front door. Stepping inside, we found Mrs. Kirk pacing the length of the small sitting room.
“Victoria!” She rushed to my side and pulled me into her embrace. “Thank God you’re back! You were gone so long, I was afraid somethin’ happened!”
“I’m sorry.” I stepped out of her embrace. “Reverend Patterson was givin’ his Sunday sermon, and I had to wait ’til he was through before I could tell him.”
“His Sunday—Oh gracious! Of course it’s Sunday!” Mrs. Kirk turned to Reverend Patterson. “Thank you for coming, Reverend.”
“Mrs. Kirk.” He nodded. “I’d say it was my pleasure, but there’s no pleasure in these situations. Tell me what’s happened, and I’ll see what I can do to help.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Kirk replied then turned toward me. “Victoria, you’ve not eaten a thing since I’ve been here. I made some biscuits and gravy, and left them warming on the stove. Please eat while Reverend Patterson and I talk for a few moments.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Mrs. Kirk offered Reverend Patterson a seat in the sitting room while I went to the kitchen. Instead of eating, however, I stared at the gravy-covered biscuit and strained desperately to hear the conversation in the next room. In the end, their words were indistinct, but their concern was evident in the intensity of their mumbled conversation.
After several minutes, Mrs. Kirk led Reverend Patterson to Mama’s bedroom where she left him inside and gently closed the door behind her. Returning to the kitchen, she sat beside me. Clearing her throat, she lifted a napkin from the table. “You must be very confused, Victoria, and maybe a bit frightened by all that’s happened here since last night. Would ya like to talk about it, or ask me any questions?”
I pushed the biscuit through the congealed gravy and shrugged. “I don’t know what to ask. I don’t understand any of it. Why did the baby die? And why won’t Mama talk? She doesn’t even seem to know that people are in the room with her.”
“Oh, darlin’,” Mrs. Kirk sighed. “There was an accident when your baby brother was bein’ born. It wasn’t anything anybody did, and there was just no way to predict or prevent it. There’s a cord connectin’ the baby to the mother in the womb. It’s how the baby gets food and oxygen. When he was bein’ born, that cord slipped out before he did, and his head pressed against it, pinching it closed. It’s a terrible, terrible thing that’s happened.”
Mrs. Kirk stared down at the table and dabbed her eyes with the napkin. When she looked up again, her eyes held almost as much sadness as Mama’s. “These things almost never happen. I’ve delivered scores of babies with no problem. I just never imagined it might happen to one of mine.”
“If Dr. Heusman had been here, could he’ve fixed it?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t know—maybe, but I doubt it.”
I thought on her words, tossing them around in my brain and hoping to make some sense out of them. “Why won’t my mama talk?”
Mrs. Kirk sighed again. “It’s the brain’s way of dealing with traumatic events. She looks awake, but her brain’s asleep. She’ll wake up when she’s strong enough to handle it.”
“So she won’t be like that forever?”
She shook her head again. “I don’t think so. When her heart doesn’t hurt so much, her brain’ll wake back up so she can think about everything again.”
I thought on this for a long time while Mrs. Kirk waited for me to ask other questions. But I had no other questions. I only needed to know my mama would be okay.
“Okay,” I said, standing.
Mrs. Kirk stood and opened her arms. As I stepped into the warmth of her embrace, the door behind me opened with an enthusiastic shove. Daddy stood in the doorway, a huge grin spread across his handsome face.
“Merry Christmas, darlin’!” The words had barely escaped when he noticed Mama’s absence and Mrs. Kirk’s stricken expression. His forehead creased as his gaze roamed back and forth between the two of us. “Elizabeth? Where’s Anna?”
“Stephen.” Mrs. Kirk cleared her throat. “There’s been an accident. Anna went into labor last night, and there were problems with the delivery—”
“Anna!” Daddy headed toward their bedroom door.
“Stephen, wait!” Mrs. Kirk grabbed his arm before he could open the door. “Wait—let me finish! Anna’s fine—I promise!”
Daddy jerked loose of her grip. “Then what? Where is she?”
Mrs. Kirk took a deep breath. “Anna’s fine—that is to say the delivery doesn’t appear to’ve harmed her, physically. But Stephen, the baby didn’t make it, and she’s takin’ it pretty hard.”
Daddy stiffened. “Didn’t make it? Oh, God—I need to get to Anna.”
“Yes—but wait!” She grabbed his arm again. “She’s havin’ a hard time copin’. It’s like she’s escaped inside her own head. She hasn’t spoken a word since last night, and it took me ‘til this mornin’ before she’d let me take the baby.”
“And ya left her alone?” he accused, turning back toward the bedroom door.
“Reverend Patterson’s with her. I didn’t know what else to do, what with Dr. Heusman gone. I thought maybe the preacher could help—he’s been in there with her for about twenty minutes.”
“Thank you, Elizabeth.” Daddy said, his lips in a tight line.
“Daddy?” I whispered.
He stared at me a moment, almost as though he didn’t recognize me. Then, collecting himself, he breathed out a breath and lifted his lips in a barely recognizable smile. “Victoria. C’mere and give your daddy a hug before I go in and say hello to your mama.”
With a huge sob, I flew into his arms.
“It’s okay, baby,” he said, patting my back. “It’s gonna be okay. I know it is.”
Still embracing me, Daddy addressed Mrs. Kirk over my head. “Elizabeth, you’ve done so much for us already, but d’ya think maybe Victoria could go back home with you for a little while ’til we figure things out here?”
“Of course.” Mrs. Kirk smiled and took my hand as Daddy released me. “Victoria, you’ve been such a big girl, and I’m so proud of ya—and I know your mama is too. Let’s go back to my house, and you can play with Julianne and Jacob for a little while.”
I couldn’t form the words to thank her, so I nodded and followed her toward the door. As she opened the front door, I turned back and raced to my daddy once again. Wrapping my arms around his hips, I held on tightly. “I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you, too, darlin’. Now go with Mrs. Kirk. I’ll come get ya in a bit, okay?”
“Okay, Daddy.”
Reluctantly, I returned to Mrs. Kirk’s side where we paused only long enough to don our cloaks—Mrs. Kirk in hers, and I once again in my mama’s. Then, together, we headed out the door.
CHAPTER FOUR
MY BABY BROTHER, WHOM MY FATHER NAMED Stephen Andrew Hastings, was buried on December 23, 1913, in the El Reno Cemetery located at the farthest edge of town. Reverend Patterson led the service and, despite the frigid temperature, every person we knew came to pay respects. I stood between Mama and Daddy on that cold Tuesday morning, holding each of their hands within my own.
Mama hadn’t spoken since the night of Baby Stephen’s birth, and the silence in our home settled over Daddy and me like dark, heavy clouds in the hours before a storm. Mrs. Kirk and some ladies from the church took turns visiting our home, where they cared for Mama and cooked for Daddy and me, but Mama never acknowledged their presence. She did only as she was
bid, and nothing more. Each morning, they helped her dress and spoon-fed her a bite or two of food, but she never uttered a single word, or even made eye contact with any of us. Mama’s bright light had been extinguished.
In the days that followed, Mama spent most of her time in her rocking chair in our small sitting room. There she’d sit for hours, rocking back and forth, as though keeping tempo with a sad ballad.
Creak-creak-creak-creak.
The painful sound of the chair rocking in the silence of our home was almost more than I could endure.
Mrs. Kirk and Julianne often invited me to play at their house; but, no matter how hard they tried to engage me in games and painting, I never stopped worrying about Mama. When I was away from her side, I longed to be with her. Somehow I thought my presence could wake her. So I sat with her for hours, watching her rock back and forth in her chair, all while staring silently at the nothingness in front of her.
Completely lost in my thoughts, I was startled at Daddy’s elbow nudging me to pay attention. Glancing around, I realized I not only hadn’t heard a word Reverend Patterson had said, but I was the only one with my head not bowed in prayer. My face flamed, and I dipped my head.
“Our Dear Lord, Jesus Christ in Heaven,” Reverend Patterson prayed. “Please wrap your arms around this precious child as we return him to you …”
I closed my eyes and prayed a prayer of my own.
Dear God, please bring Mama back to us. She’s so sad, and I’m so scared. Please don’t let her forget she still has me and Daddy. I promise I’ll be good if You’ll give her another baby. Or, please help me find a way to make her happy so she’ll smile again. But please, God, bring my mama back to me.
“In Jesus’s name we pray. Amen,” Reverend Patterson said, concluding his prayer.
“Amen,” replied the mourners.
Daddy reached down to the pile of overturned earth next to the small hole where my brother’s tiny coffin now rested. Scooping the red Oklahoma clay into his hand, he stood up straight and walked to the edge of Baby Stephen’s grave. There he stood for a long moment, staring down at the tiny casket containing my baby brother. Reluctantly, it seemed, Daddy bowed his head and opened his palm over the casket. The sound of dirt sifting through his fingers and onto the closed casket below seemed to break him. Daddy wiped away a stray tear, leaving behind a smudge of the red earth on his cheek. With his hand now empty, he reached down a second time and scooped another handful of soil into his palm. Turning back toward Mama, he approached her slowly, as though careful not to frighten her. Mama stared straight ahead, not acknowledging his presence.
“Anna,” he whispered. “Time to say g’bye.”
Mama didn’t move—she just stood there, staring far off into the distance. Daddy lifted one of Mama’s hands and held it palm up within his own before slowly pouring the rust-colored grains from his palm to hers. Still Mama stood there, now with the Oklahoma dirt staining her hand. Daddy never showed impatience. Rather, he took Mama’s free hand and rested it in the crook of his elbow before leading her over to the edge of the grave. Dropping her arm, he stepped away and returned to stand beside me.
We waited, wondering what Mama would do. Did she even understand what was expected of her? How far inside her own head had she hidden?
The funeral-goers filed away, allowing Mama privacy. Daddy and I stood waiting, watching for Mama’s next move. After some time, she opened her tightly clenched fist and turned her palm face down. With her fingers now outstretched, she wiggled her fingers and released the last remaining evidence of earth between each digit. Dropping her arm, she turned toward Daddy and nodded—a silent communication signaling she was ready to go home.
As they turned toward me, a lone tear escaped and slid down Mama’s pale cheek, and onto the wool of her dark cloak, where it quickly blended into the fabric and disappeared as though it had never existed. Without a word between us, I followed Mama and Daddy out of the cemetery and toward the awaiting wagon in the street nearby.
SANTA DIDN’T COME for us that year. As I got older, I realized Mama’s grief left her incapable of playing the role. For Daddy’s part, Mama’s pain became his own, and he didn’t have the heart to celebrate in the midst of so much heartache. December 25, 1913 came and went. There were no gifts under the tree, and no music filled our home. Our traditional Christmas feast consisted of the leftover food from our generous neighbors, brought to us in our time of grief.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE DAYS FOLLOWING CHRISTMAS AND THE early weeks of 1914 were quiet in our home. Gone was the sound of Mama’s voice and, with it, the joy I’d always known. Mama spent long hours each day in her rocking chair and, as the days passed, she showed small signs of joining our world once again. Though she never spoke, she sometimes smiled. Slowly, she shed the vacant expression that had come to define her after Baby Stephen’s death. She was silent, but aware—going through the motions of life, doing what was asked of her, but nothing more. The way she navigated the world had changed entirely. She moved with calculated precision, leaving us with heavy hearts.
Daddy consulted with Dr. Heusman, whose only advice was to give Mama time. “Time will heal all,” he’d promised. He wasn’t concerned about her continued silence, instead considering the resumption of her old routine of caring for us and the home a good sign. He assured us Mama would return to normal by the next year. He made a lot of promises, and failed to keep any of them.
Despite Mama’s supposed progress, Mrs. Kirk checked in with us daily, frequently inviting me to her home to play with Julianne. Sometimes I wondered if her invitations were atonement for Baby Stephen’s death; but, regardless of her motive, I was happy to accept. Her presence soothed me, relieving the constant quiet and loneliness of my own home.
February arrived and Mama’s melancholia remained, leaving Daddy desperate for a solution. For maybe the fourth time in as many weeks, I sat on the floor in the corner of Dr. Heusman’s sitting room and pretended to play with my baby doll. In truth, I was listening to his conversation with Daddy.
“I don’t know what more to do,” Daddy told Dr. Heusman. “She’s just not gettin’ any better.”
“I told ya, Stephen,” the doctor replied. “Ya need to give her more time. Losin’ a baby is hard on everyone, especially the mother. Some just need longer to recover.”
“I understand that. But it’s been two months, and she still hasn’t said a single word. Hell, she barely smiles much less acknowledges we’re standin’ right next to her. Somethin’ just ain’t right, and I can’t keep leavin’ Victoria home with her every time I go out on the tracks. There’s gotta be somethin’ more we can do.”
“But she’s made some improvement, Stephen. True, she’s not talking; but she’s takin’ some interest in life. She’s carin’ for Victoria’s and your needs, you said. That’s progress.”
“Yeah, she is. But I’m not sure it’s enough. I can’t shake this feelin’ that if we don’t do somethin’ soon, all hell’s gonna break loose.”
Dr. Heusman thought for a moment before replying. “I’ll tell ya what: I really think she just needs more time, but I can see you’re worried. And, with things as they currently stand, I can see leavin’ Victoria alone with her isn’t a good situation. There’s a sanitarium over near Norman. It might do her some good to spend some time there—maybe see some doctors who specialize in the type of melancholy she’s experiencing.”
“Norman,” repeated Daddy. “That’s what—forty miles?”
Dr. Heusman nodded. “About that.”
Daddy ran his fingers through his hair. “Damn. That’s a far piece. How long’re we talkin’? Victoria can’t stay home alone while I’m out workin’—that’s even worse than stayin’ home with Anna.”
“Hard to say,” said Dr. Heusman. “Best case scenario is just a couple months. Of course, it could be much longer.”
Tapping his index finger against his upper lip, Daddy looked far off into the distance and tossed the idea
around in his head. Squaring his shoulders, he focused his attention back on the doctor. “Okay—let’s do it. I’ll go by the Kirks’ and see if they’ll take Victoria for a spell. You can set things up with this place in Norman?”
Dr. Heusman nodded. “Shouldn’t be too hard.”
“Okay—let’s get it done. The sooner we get Anna some help, the sooner we’ll have her home. Ya sure this is a good place?”
“From all I’ve heard,” Dr. Heusman replied. “They have the latest technology, and some of the best-educated doctors in the state.”
“Okay, then.” Daddy stood and extended his hand to shake the doctor’s. “We’ll talk in a couple days?”
Rising to his feet, the doctor met Daddy’s hand with his own. “Yes. We should be able to get her moved by the end of this week—early next week at the latest.”
Daddy nodded. “Much obliged to ya, Doc.”
“Think nothin’ of it.”
Walking toward the door, Daddy motioned me to follow him. He held the door as I slipped outside, then followed behind until we reached the street. Side-by-side now, we walked a full block before either of us spoke.
“Victoria,” he said. “Ya heard the conversation I had with Dr. Heusman?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
He paused, as though trying to find his words. “Ya understand, darlin’, that I don’t wanna send your mama away, but this is the best thing for her? Norman’s not as far away as it sounds. It’s about a day’s drive, but she won’t be gone long—and we’ll visit her. When she gets back, she’ll be right as rain again.”
“Can I go with ya to take her over there?”
“I don’t think so, baby. I’d like ya to stay with Mr. and Mrs. Kirk, if they’ll have ya. I won’t be gone long.”
“But I’ll miss Mama, Daddy.”
“Me too, baby. But ya want her to get better, right?”
“Uh huh.” I bit my lip.
“Alright, then. Let’s go see Mr. and Mrs. Kirk.”
Hand-in-hand, we approached Mrs. Kirk’s house. For the first time in weeks, my heart lifted. We were finally doing something. If Dr. Heusman was right, Mama would be back to normal by summer.
The Edge of Nowhere Page 3