A White Room (19 page)

“Something. Maybe it’s a head. You need a physician.”

“I need to push!” she screamed.

“What do I do?”

“Push the skin away so the head can pass.”

“What?”

“It’s the baby’s head, but it ain’t comin’. Please.”

I reached out and gently pressed.

“Forcefully.”

I jerked back. “No, I can’t.”

“Push the skin back until you see the head.”

I swallowed and pressed harder. I clenched my teeth and pushed. The skin popped back, and Mrs. Schwab screamed. A fully formed head had emerged, and blood trickled from a tear in Mrs. Schwab’s skin. “Oh, my Lord. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Is the head out?”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Schwab exhaled and relaxed. “Thank heavens.” Then her breath grew rapid again and she attempted to expel the rest of the child from her body. “It’s not coming.” She exhaled loudly and let her body go limp. “Mrs. Dorr, I beg you,” she panted, “help.”

“How?”

“Pull.”

“Pull what?” I shouted.

“The shoulders.”

“There aren’t any.” My hands shook.

She curled up, gritted her teeth, and forced out words. “Find them.”

“I don’t—”

“Inside.”

“What?”

“Please.” She groaned.

With the head out, her flesh was loose. I reached out. I pressed in, and warm sodden flesh enveloped my hands. My fingers could feel the baby. “I think I have it.”

“Puuullll!” She screamed and bore down once again.

I could feel the force behind the baby as I pulled, and then the entire thing slipped out. My heart raced and my body trembled. I laughed and wheezed with relief.

Mrs. Schwab exhaled and slumped down for a moment.

I regarded the baby, its face scrunched up. It was so incredibly small.

Mrs. Schwab gathered whatever strength she had left and reached out.

I moved forward on my knees and handed her baby to her.

She cleaned the baby’s face and nose with her wrapper dress. The baby started to howl. Pink flowed to its face and body, and Mrs. Schwab chuckled and cried.

“Is it all right?” I asked.

“She’s a girl.”

I observed something attached to the red, screaming child, a line from its stomach leading back into Mrs. Schwab. “What is that?”

She remained beatific. “It’s normal.”

I observed her and her baby, both aglow. I couldn’t help but remark, “She’s amazing.”

“Yes.” Mrs. Schwab gazed at the child.

“Is she supposed to be that small?”

“They’re always this small.”

“Always?”

“Yes.”

We sat gaping for a long time until Mrs. Schwab finally spoke. “We need to clean. The fluids are dirty.”

Despite my new understanding of why birthing is considered a miracle and not a massacre, I realized the horror once again. Blood had doused Mrs. Schwab’s entire lower body and the child. My arms and front were sticky from it, too.

She pointed to a pail. “I brought that for water.”

“You were fetching water at this hour?”

“No. I knew it was time. Done it plenty. Mr. Schwab left for the fields already. Figured it best I not frighten my chillin. Thought I could do it alone.”

I widened my eyes. I couldn’t imagine the courage. “Uh, I’ll go.” I stood and scooped up the pale.

“Mrs. Dorr?”

I stopped.

“You done more than I can thank you for.”

I smiled shyly at the compliment. “I’ll be only a moment.”

I rushed to my beach by the river. The fog had lifted, leaving frail traces of mist here and there. I dipped myself into the frigid Mississippi, submitting to the sharp chill in the current. I scrubbed the blood off my skin. I rinsed off what I could from my nightgown, but it faded into a salmon color. The blood felt slick between my fingers. I didn’t know why I didn’t feel ill. My sisters always grew nauseated at the sight of blood.

I returned to Mrs. Schwab. I placed the bucket of water next to her and then spotted a knife in her hand. I didn’t have time to react.

She held it against the line coming from the infant’s belly and quickly pulled.

I gasped and covered my mouth.

She didn’t respond to my horror. “How is it you came upon me?”

“What are you doing?” I shouted.

She tied the remaining line into a knot. “It doesn’t hurt. A midwife would do the same.” She ripped a piece from her clothing, dipped it in the pail of water, and started to clean the baby. “How is it you out here?”

“Are you certain that didn’t hurt?”

“Yes.”

I caught my breath and gulped. “I just went for a walk.”

“Miss?”

“I was out here walking.” It wasn’t the most believable explanation. “I do that some mornings.”

She pressed her lips together. “Without dressin’?”

“It’s difficult to dress without a handmaid, Mrs. Schwab.” I tried not to sound too much like her mistress.

She returned her focus to her baby and spoke no further on the topic.

“What now?” I asked.

“I need to get home.”

“Can you stand?”

“Only one way to—” She balanced the baby and pushed herself up.

I put my hands out as if to catch her. “Let me help.”

She stood and then dropped her weight onto my shoulder.

“How far do you live?”

“Not far.” She pointed to the left. “That way.” We hobbled in that direction, with Mrs. Schwab’s weight on me.

“Were you scared doing this alone?”

“Not until you came up, and I thought you were about to do whatever it is ghosts be a-doin’ in the woods.”

I chuckled a little.

“I wasn’t too scared, but it ain’t like I ever done that without a midwife before. Didn’t have a choice, though.”

“I was terrified.”

“No. You were amazin’.”

I smiled bashfully.

After walking quite some distance, we approached a shanty with a small grimy window in front. The broad planks that made up the structure were deteriorating. It tilted slightly, like it might topple over. There were scattered pieces of wood and a hatchet near the door. The sight troubled me.

“Thank you again.” She swayed toward the door.

“Would you mind if I called upon you?” I don’t know why I said it, guilt perhaps, but I continued. “This afternoon?”

She furrowed her brow, confused.

“To check on you.”

She nodded and quietly slipped inside.

I turned around and began to pick my way back into the woods. I thought about what had happened with Mrs. Schwab. I replayed it again and again in my mind. I had never encountered anything like it, not in reality or in my imagination. I had actually helped her and her child. I had helped someone. My actions made a difference for someone. It mattered. I stopped trudging through the leaves and realized I didn’t know where to go. I could still catch the steamboat, but I suddenly had this unshakable urge to see to Lottie Schwab’s wellbeing as if she were my own flesh.

Then, the fog cleared and the veil of possibility dissipated like a dream. I couldn’t run off and start from scratch, and if I did, I would never be accepted by my family or anyone else I knew in St. Louis. My mother would lose not only the money I sent her from my allowance but also the financial support and connections the Dorrs provided directly. Not to mention that I’d saddle her with the shame of having a daughter who ran away from her husband. It would be too much to bear on top of everything else my family had endured. I couldn’t do that to them. I thought about my father looking down on me, disappointed.

I shuffled and tiptoed through the brush, attempting to shield my feet from further damage. The expanse of the woods was shorter than I’d thought. I moved some tree limbs aside and saw the house. I imagined it would snicker at me as I crawled back like a slave incapable of surviving without her master. It held its tongue, though. It looked down at me with silent indignation—and awe. I stepped onto the groomed lawn and knew I was returning to bondage, to my agonizing existence, but I felt different. I’d broken down the white walls, and I had survived. Although I might have decided to go back to the house, back to the room, the walls had been broken down, and I had no intention of putting them back up. I didn’t care about any of that anymore.

I passed through the doors I had left open after bursting out that morning. I thought of a disappointed parent opening the door for an ill-behaved child, but I didn’t cower. Nearly naked and covered in dirt and blood, I entered with my head up, a rebellious child without fear of her punishment. Nothing tittered or taunted as I passed. I sensed contempt, but the narrow stairwell didn’t dare close in on me that morning. The people in the rooms watched, bewildered, as I passed. They recognized the change in me. I had broken down the walls of my prison and I was free to do as I pleased. Even the beast sat in silence in the middle of its dark room. Its eyes followed me as I marched past, opened my door, and entered.

Sixteen

May 1901

“E
meline!” Francis shouted.

“Yes?” I turned to face her while buttoning my sleeve.

“Why are you out of bed?”

I had on a black skirt with white embroidered swirls at the bottom and had just finished doing up the black buttons on a high-collared white shirtwaist with matching black swirls on the cuffs. I’d decided this day was as good as any to start transitioning from black mourning garb to second mourning shades like whites and purples. I pinned on a matching hat swathed in black silk with a gathered crown and feather. “I have some business to tend to.”

“You can’t!” Francis shouted.

“Not in your condition,” Ella agreed.

“Do I not look well?”

They paused.

“Actually, you look much better,” Ella said.

“No!” Francis shrieked. “You are not supposed to do anything strenuous without Dr. Bradbridge’s consent.”

“Call upon him if you must, but my business cannot wait.” I stepped around them.

“What business could you possibly have?”

I tilted my head and pressed my lips together. I didn’t care about Francis anymore. I had reached the end of my rope, and when I’d cut myself loose, I survived the fall.

“Your driver isn’t here. You can’t go anywhere.”

“I plan to walk…for my health.”

“No, Emeline, I cannot allow this.” Francis shifted toward Ella. “Mother?”

“Perhaps some fresh air will do her good if she feels up to it.”

Francis turned to her mother, cocked her head, and widened her eyes.

I went for the door, but Francis leapt in front of me. I moved back and forth to get around her, but she bobbed and weaved. I pushed past her and our shoulders collided.

“No!” Francis reached out and pulled my shirtwaist from my skirt.

“Francis!” Her mother cried.

“Get off of me.” I wrenched away from her, but she clung to my blouse until it ripped. I stopped and saw an inch-long tear along the tail of my shirt. I shot my eyes back up.

Ella covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide.

“Don’t ever touch me again.” I stormed out before Francis could regain her momentum. I glided down the hall enjoying the clunk-clunk of my boots and the rustle of my petticoats. I’d actually missed them. I tried to ignore the shooting pain from my raw feet, laced up tightly in high-heel boots. I was quickly distracted, however, because with each door I passed someone called out:

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“You’ll be sent off for this!”

“Come back here!”

I continued without a pause. The stairwell had little time to respond to my swift appearance and departure like a gust of wind. The downstairs rooms stuck to glaring, the furniture standing proud and defiant. Before the white walls knew it, I was off once again.

I walked around the side of the house, peered back to make sure Ella and Francis weren’t watching, and vanished into the woods. Although I wanted to be swift, I held up my skirt and watched where I stepped so I wouldn’t ruin my dress. Traversing the woods fully clothed and corseted proved to be more challenging than doing it naked and barefoot had. My feet ached dreadfully now. I felt like a child taking a secret path to a place only she knew about.

As I drew near my destination, I heard squealing and giggling—the sounds of playing children. For a moment I thought the little girl had escaped the house, too. Then I saw a redheaded girl dart off, and I saw several more children scattered around the shanty. I stopped when I saw a little naked boy standing next to a bucket of water. An older girl dunked a rag into the bucket and soaped him up. The sandy-haired boy, perhaps nine or so, spotted me. The rest quickly became aware of my presence. The older girl, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, approached me with a confidence the other children lacked. I knew she was Mrs. Schwab’s daughter by her fair, freckled skin, but unlike her mother, her hair shimmered bright amber in the sun.

“Are you lost, ma’am?”

“I’m here to see Mrs. Schwab.”

She cocked her head and squinted. “Are you Mrs. Dorr?”

“Yes.”

She grinned. “I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“She is your mother?”