Dorothy Garlock - [Annie Lash 01] (14 page)

Berry moved the arm Rachel had flung across her face. The color had drained out of it except for the great purple circles under her eyes, and her lips, which were red from continual biting. Her hair, wet with sweat, was drawn back from her forehead. Beads of sweat stood on her temples. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow. Obediently she tried to push herself up from the bed.

Berry glanced over her shoulder to where Fain was kneeling before the fireplace. “Rest a minute more. He’ll be leaving.” Gently she wiped the sweat from Rachel’s pain-chiseled face.

In minutes a fire was crackling in the hearth and Fain was saying, “The kettle’s full and there’s more candles. I’ll set a fresh bucket of water inside the door. Simon’ll be comin’ soon . . . with the womenfolk.” He hurried out the door and crossed the space to the small cabin. He’d get into a card game with Fish. He didn’t want to think about the woman or her suffering. He didn’t want to hear her screams or see the blood rush out of her. He wanted nothing to do with a birthing! He didn’t want to remember. . . .

When the door closed behind Fain, Berry unbuttoned the front of Rachel’s dress. “Are you hurtin’ pretty good?”

Rachel nodded. Berry put her arm around her to help her sit up. “Ohhh . . .” The cry was almost a moan that came out with a puff of breath.

Berry brushed the dress from Rachel’s shoulders and lifted her to her feet with her hands beneath her arms so the dress could fall to the floor. Rachel leaned on her heavily, as if her legs were about to collapse beneath her. Berry removed the soiled shift and saw the dark purple bruises across Rachel’s back.

“Oh, Rachel! Your poor back! You hurt yourself when you fell. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Hurry . . . I’ve got to lay down. Oh . . .” Blood-tinged water gushed from between her legs and formed a puddle around her feet on the floor.

Berry slipped the gown over her head. “Hold it up above your hips,” she urged. “Don’t worry about the water. We’ve got plenty of rags and a oilskin to keep the bed from soppin’. Lean on the wall till I can spread the sheets. There now . . . you can lay down.” Berry eased her down on the bunk, being careful not to touch her back. “Simon’s gone for a woman. They’ll be here soon.” She covered Rachel with a sheet and reached into the hump-backed trunk for more rags. She found one of her old shifts and tucked it between Rachel’s legs to catch the water.

Berry had the weak trembles. Her mind raced as she mopped the water from the stone floor and lit more candles. Women died in childbirth. It was common! The other two times Rachel had been pregnant she had lost the babies after only a few months. Berry had been to a few birthings with Rachel. The women always walked as long as they could, then kneeled on the floor to give birth. Rachel was hurting too badly to walk. Oh, God, please don’t let Rachel die! If someone’s got to die, let it be the baby, don’t let it be Rachel! Help me to help her. . . .

She laid out the blanket they had prepared to wrap the baby in and took the length of linen string from the trunk and placed it near the foot of the bunk. What to do now?

She knelt beside Rachel. “What do I do now?” she asked desperately.

Rachel opened her eyes. She held out her hand and Berry clasped it in both of hers. She started to speak, then closed her eyes and gritted her teeth as pain rocked her with its intensity. It rolled across her stomach in endless waves. “Please . . .” she pleaded to a silent God. “Oh, please . . .” When it was over, Berry wiped the sweat from her face.

“Not much to do but . . . wait.” Her voice was a mere whisper and the words came out jerkily. “I’m glad to be out of that wagon.”

“We should’ve stayed in town.”

“No. This is better.” She gripped Berry’s hand tightly and tears came to Berry’s eyes as she saw the effort Rachel was making not to cry out.

Berry began to talk. “You know what we’re goin’ to do when this is all over? We’ll get Fain to take us to our land ’n’ we’ll build us a cabin like this one. It won’t be as big, but we can add a room a year, till it’s as big as we want. We’ll make it warm and put us in a fancy fireplace with a cook oven. I got it figured out, Rachel. We can sell the mare and maybe even one of the wagons for cash money. We’ve got plenty of gunpowder and shot. We’ve even got that barrel of whiskey we could sell. Israel can fish and we can put us in a garden.” Berry stopped talking and sniffed. Rachel opened her eyes. “I ain’t bawlin’!” Berry said almost curtly. She sniffed again as she strove to control the quiver in her voice. “It’s just . . . I get so danged mad! Why can’t the men have the younguns. They put ’em there!”

A small cry escaped Rachel’s lips and she pulled on Berry’s hands with all her strength. Her head swung from side to side as she rode out a pain that hurt so much her eyes couldn’t focus on the face beside hers.

Distraught, Berry glanced over her shoulder when the door opened. A bent-over old woman came into the room followed by a young girl and Simon. The old woman had a dirty shawl around her shoulders and a cloth bag in her hand.

“I fetched the women to give you a hand,” Simon said. Then he stepped out and closed the door.

The girl came to the bedside and looked down at Rachel. She was tall, with wide hips and full breasts. The sleeves of her butternut-colored linsey dress were rolled up to show strong arms. The dress was well worn but clean. Her feet were bare. She had a pretty face and bright brown eyes that moved constantly.

“Granny is good at birthin’, but she gets queer when she’s called on to heal and don’t want no sass.” A pain gripped Rachel and she fought to keep from crying out. “It’ll git worse’n that afore it’s over.” The girl smiled cheerfully as if she was enjoying herself. She moved away from the bed and toured the room, looking at everything.

The old woman took off her shawl and let it drop to the floor. She untied her bundle and began to take out herbs, which she laid on a corner of the table. Next she took out a Bible that was old and had pages folded and torn out. These items were arranged in order before she grasped the handle of a sharp knife, looked at it closely, then wiped the blade on the skin of her forearm, cleaning it. Long, crooked fingers then picked up three dried red-pepper pods. She looked at them lovingly before she crushed them in her hands.

Berry sat beside Rachel, waiting. The old woman began to mumble and knelt on the hearth. She poured water from the teakettle into a tankard, sprinkled the crushed peppers into the water, and set it aside to steep. She returned to the table, picked up another of the herbs, cut it with the knife into tiny parts, and mashed it in her palm with the tip of the knife blade. Mumbling, she went to the fireplace once more and dropped the minced herb into the tankard.

The girl continued to wander around the room. She ran her hands over the fur pelts on the walls, fingered the gun parts on the table, caressed the embossed design on the tin top of the trunk, then sat down on one of the bunks, testing its softness.

The old woman opened the Bible and squatted beside the fire. She recited but the words made no sense. She turned the pages, several at a time. As if in a trance she recited and leafed through the pages while Berry watched her.

“What’s she doin’?”

“She’s prayin’ fer ’er sin. She always does it at a birthin’.”

“What sin? Rachel needs more help than prayin’.”

“Jesus bless ’er!” the old woman shouted. “Pain’s God’s punishment for fornicatin’ . . . fornicatin’. . . fornicatin’! She opened ’er legs fer the devil! Forgive ’er!”

Rachel moaned. The old woman nodded, as if that was what she had been waiting for. She laid the open Bible on the table. With trembling hands she tore off the top page, balled it in her hand, touched it with grease from the bowl on the table, held it aloft, and carried it to the fireplace. She knelt down with the tankard in one hand and the ball of paper in the other. She put the ball in the ashes, set the jug down squarely on top of it, and held it there, breathing deeply of the smoke that swirled up around the tankard.

When the smoke stopped, she got to her feet and tasted the brew. Her face wrinkled and her mouth pursed. She mumbled some words, sucked her lips into her toothless mouth, and went to the bed.

“Sit,” she commanded.

Berry stood up. “She can’t sit up. What’re you givin’ her?”

She looked around the room for the girl, but she had gone out.

“Sit,” the old woman said irritably, ignoring Berry. “It’s the Lord’s way.”

Rachel tried to raise herself and made an effort to focus her eyes on the woman. A spasm grabbed at her stomach, causing blackness to pass over her eyes. She sank back down.

“Get away from her!” Berry tried to wedge herself between the old woman and the bed.

“Berry . . .” The word faded as Rachel’s blue eyes stretched wide with pain and anxiety. Her face seemed to freeze as the pain mounted. Sweat beaded her forehead.

The old woman leaned closer, chanting, “God’s comin’! Listen . . . listen . . . listen . . .”

“You crazy old hag! Get away from her!” The old woman’s eyes blazed into Berry’s and a strong, wiry old hand grasped her shoulder and spun her around. “Simon!” Berry screamed and bolted for the door. “Simon!” She flung open the door and ran out into the yard.

Simon met her and grasped her arm. “What’s happened? Berry . . . what’s . . . ?”

“That old woman’s crazy!”

“Granny knows what’s she’s about.” The girl was beside them. “She always did the birthin’s in Kentuck’.”

Rachel screamed. At the sound, Berry and Simon rushed for the door. They had almost reached it when it was slammed shut and the wooden pole inside was shoved into place. Berry hurled herself at the door and pounded on it with her fist. “Rachel! Rachel!” Inside the room, Rachel screamed again.

“Open this door,” Simon shouted. “Goddamned crazy old woman’s locked the door!” he said to Fain, who had run from the other cabin.

“I dunno what ye’re a-gettin’ in a sweat fer.” The girl leaned against the cabin wall, her arms folded across her ample breasts. “She’s goin’ to do a bit of hollerin’. Ain’t never seen no one have a youngun without it.”

“Why’d she shut the door?” Fain demanded.

“She don’t want nobody to get her healin’ secret.”

“Shitfire!” Fain cursed.

“Rachel!” Berry continued to pound on the door. “Oh, God! She’s killin’ her!” she sobbed when Rachel let out another piercing scream.

“Damn her!” Simon swore and hit the door with his fist.

“Stand back!” Fain grasped the handle. “Open this door, by gawd, or I’ll bust it down!”

“Granny ain’t goin’ to,” the girl said calmly.

Fain put his shoulder to the slab. The door trembled but held. He had made it to withstand almost any blow. Now he kicked it. “I’ll kick the goddamn door in, ya old bitch!” Rachel’s screams came with almost every breath. Fain threw himself against the door. “Leave her be, ya scrawny old bitch! I’ll break ever’ bone in your body!”

Simon went to the pile of logs near the stump where they chopped the firewood. He selected a log, pulled it out, and tried to lift it. Israel appeared and lifted one end and they carried it into the dogtrot.

“Move aside, Fain. We’ll have to knock it in.”

Fain stepped back and grasped the log. The men backed away and ran at the door, ramming it with the end of the log. The door shook but held. They retreated and rammed the log against the door several more times. Finally the door flew open.

Rachel was on her knees on the stone floor and the old woman was kneeling beside her. She had Rachel’s face cupped in her bony hands, holding it up so high that Rachel was forced to arch her back. The look on the old face was demonic as she stared into Rachel’s eyes. On the floor between them were pages torn from the Bible.

Fain was across the room in two leaps. He seized the old woman, lifted her, and flung her at Simon. “Get ’er outta here!” His voice boomed with anger.

The old woman screamed as she struggled against the arms holding her. She grabbed the end of the bunk and Simon had to pry her hands loose. “Get her plunder,” he snapped at the girl, then lifted the old woman off her feet and carried her to the door.

The girl shrugged, then stuffed the herbs, the knife, and the Bible into the cloth bag. “Granny ain’t a-goin’ to be likin’ this,” she warned haughtily and snatched the shawl from the floor. “She jist might take a notion to put a spell on ’er. She done it oncet in Kentuck’ and . . .” She let her voice trail off, as if what had occurred was too awful to talk about.

“I’ll take them back to their camp,” Simon called out to Fain. “Looks like the storm is going around.”

“Ain’t we goin’ to stay the night?” The girl sidled over to Simon and brushed his arm with her breast.

“No! C’mon out and shut the door.” The old woman had gone limp in Simon’s arms and his patience was being strained.

The old woman had pulled Rachel out of the bunk and onto the stone floor. Her knees were cut and bleeding, hair streamed down over her face, and her gown was up around her waist. Berry pulled it down over her white buttocks, as Rachel rocked back and forth like a wounded animal.

Fain knelt beside her and lifted the hair from her face. “Ah . . . lass. Birthin’s hurtful enough without a ol’ hag to torment ya.” Rachel moaned and butted her head against his chest as pain took her and she was lost to the world. He waited until the pain rolled away. He doubted she realized he was there. “It’s Fain, lass. I’m here to stay with you. I know a mite about birthin’ a ewe or a mare. Cain’t be a heap of difference. I’m going to get you on the bunk and me ’n’ this little gal will help you birth a fine youngun.”

Berry was so frightened that she felt as if she were glued to the floor. “Her back is . . . hurt!”

Working slowly and carefully, Fain picked Rachel up in his great arms and eased her onto the bunk. He lifted her gown to free her legs and bent them at the knees so that her feet were flat on the bed. Rachel was beyond knowing or caring who was tending to her. She opened her eyes and stared into Fain’s face, not seeing him, but using him as a point on which to focus her mind while her muscles knotted and pulled.

The pain rolled away, leaving her gasping. “Water . . .” The red-pepper brew the old woman had forced down her throat had set her mouth afire. Another pain came and went and then Fain was squeezing cooling water into her mouth from a cloth.