Authors: Noelle Carle
Drawing it back, Sam
wiped his hand negligently across his shirt. “It’s not that. It’s my mother.
Something’s wrong with the baby!”
“Owen. Go hitch up
the buggy.” The doctor said sharply to his son. To Sam he said, “I’ll get
dressed. Pearl!” He bellowed out the last, calling for his sister who nearly
always accompanied him during births.
Sam found himself
suddenly alone in the room. He sagged, sinking down into one of the soft
chairs. His heart still drummed in his chest. He held his hand to his shirt,
trying to keep the blood from dripping on the chair. With each passing moment
he grew more restless, finally leaping up from the chair and pacing about the
room. He stopped when he heard a step.
Turning, he saw
Alison, her blue eyes sleepy and confused. She had her nightclothes on, with a
plaid blanket pulled tightly over her shoulders and tucked around her arms.
Her hair, still in its braids, was nevertheless disheveled, as if she had
tossed about in bed and just this moment had awakened.
“Sam? You’re
hurt.” She came to him and took his hand in hers, her look of such care that
he could almost forget for a moment what was happening back at home. “Let me…”
she began, but he pulled his hand away as Owen came back in the house.
“Buggy’s ready,
Father,” he bellowed. “Gee,” he continued, more subdued, his eyes embarrassed.
“I hope your mother’s all right. Soon we’re going to get a motorcar, and then
it’ll be quick as anything to jump in it and drive right to your door. I think
Father should get a…”
“Thanks, Owen.” The
doctor arrived, fully dressed now, with his bag in hand. Pearl Granger trailed
behind him, her appearance serious and troubled.
“Oh, Father! I want
to go. I want to help you,” Alison pleaded as she realized what was happening.
Over his shoulder,
the doctor said, “There’s no time, lovey. Finish getting breakfast for your
brothers and get off to school.”
Sam saw her mouth
pull down at the corners, but then her eyes met his with a look imbued with
concern and sorrow. He turned to join the others outside. The wind slammed
the door and the horse shook its head nervously, but stood still.
Alison jumped
reflexively as the door slammed, then rigidly made her way back to the
kitchen. She resented being left behind, having to wait on her brothers and
missing out on the excitement. But she recalled Sam’s face, ashen despite his
long run, his eyes so bleak and frightened.
Little Davey,
although only eight years old, understood his sister enough to sense her
frustration. So he held still at the table and held his tongue until Alison
scooped him out some eggs and buttered his toast. “Thanks, Alison darling,” he
intoned, using a phrase she insisted on sometimes in her moodiness.
Alison stopped and
kissed his head. His brown curls were as wayward as hers, and in need of a
clipping, she noticed. She put down a bowl of milk for their cat Maggie,
patting her as the cat purred and wound around her ankles. Throughout
breakfast Owen pondered out loud the benefits a motorcar would be to them.
Alison ate quickly, pretending to listen to him, but thinking instead of Sam’s
mother and what was happening. It would be dreadful if the baby were born this
early.
Alison knew the
process. She cherished a dream of being a doctor herself; unspoken as of yet
because of the ongoing dispute between her father and Remick. She had already
attended two births with her father. However, those were normal and
thrilling. Aunt Pearl had protested at her presence, but shortly withdrew her
protest when she saw the clinical way in which Alison approached the births.
But Alison didn’t know if she could be so calm if something were wrong.
The wind buffeted
Alison, Owen and Davey as they made their way to school. They had to yell to
be heard above the noise. Alison held tightly onto Davey’s hand despite his
squirming. In sight of the harbor they saw the waves rushing unrelentingly to
shore. The boats at their moorings bucked like wild horses. Seagulls called
raucously and wheeled about in the air, waiting for a stray scrap of herring
from the fishermen, who were taking this time to cut bait and mend their traps
and nets.
The inside of the
school building was quieter and warmer. With the wind from the north came icy
temperatures. The snow had all melted, but it felt cold enough to drop another
few inches over them again.
Esther and Sam
weren’t at school, but the rest of the Eliot’s were, except for the baby.
During the morning recess Alison questioned Cleo, who answered, “Esther had to
stay home to take care of Caroline. Momma’s sick.”
Alison nodded. “Sam
came to get my father earlier.”
Cleo gazed at Alison
for a moment, her cocoa brown eyes gauging her. She flipped back a blonde
braid and said, with her cheeks turning pink, “I’m not supposed to know what’s
happening, but I’m not a child. She’s having the new baby.” She gnawed at her
bottom lip, her eyes dropping. “I don’t think it’s time.”
“Well, I wouldn’t
worry,” Alison told her, although she was worried herself. “My father knows
what to do. You’ll probably have a new brother or sister when you get home
from school.”
But when Esther came
to meet her siblings after school, she stiffly directed them to go with Rena
Mayhew over to Mrs. Mayhew’s house, across the harbor. They would be able to
watch the drama as the men tried to rescue Valmond Ouellette’s boat, which had
pulled loose from its mooring in the high winds and rough seas. After Cleo
herded the younger children away from the school, Esther gripped Alison’s arm
and leaned into her, as if she lost all strength. Alison stumbled backward
trying to hold her up. They both sat heavily on the schoolhouse steps.
Esther’s arms curled around Alison’s neck tighter and tighter. She was
shuddering violently and mumbling into her sweater, unintelligible words in a
low unfamiliar voice. Alison pried her arms away and sat back.
“What, Esther? What
are you saying?”
“Momma’s dead. She’s
dead. My momma is dead!”
Instinctively Alison
pulled Esther closer in, as her body went cold. Stunned, she gasped then she
choked out, “No! What happened?”
But Esther was unable
to answer as she dissolved into sobs that seemed to strangle her. Her body
shook with them. They sat on the steps for a time, frozen in shock, until Mrs.
Reid came out and almost fell over them.
“What on earth?”
She knelt to look at them. “Whatever is wrong?”
Alison didn’t realize
that she herself was crying until she tried to explain. Mary Reid closed her
eyes and seemed to shrink inside herself. “Oh, no, no, no,” she moaned. She
sat down beside them, her hand across her mouth and her skin like the wintery
sky. Rain started then, pouring down in sheets. Mrs. Reid straightened and
took an arm of each girl. “Come on then. We can’t be sitting out in this
weather. Let’s go home, Esther, and see what’s to be done.”
The icy rain beat
against them as they pushed their way up the long hill. Alison and their
teacher gripped Esther between them. Alison couldn’t tell if she had stopped
crying because of the rain, but Esther seemed to walk without seeing, stumbling
over every rock or hummock in their path. Her face was pale, shock pulling her
features into a tight mask.
Alison could not
fathom that what Esther had said was true. Her insides were quaking. Tears
still coursed down her cheeks, mixing with the rain.
Aubrey Newell was
huddled on the porch outside. Brute lay beside him and his tail thumped
languidly when they rushed up the steps. When Mrs. Reid urged Aubrey to come
inside, he shook his head mutely. His look said plainly that he’d rather brave
the elements than be inside the house.
The usually active
home was alarmingly still. The kitchen was smoky from food left forgotten on
the stove. Reg Eliot sat in the rocker by the stove, holding little Caroline,
who was sound asleep. Sam was nowhere in sight. Mrs. Reid hurried to remove
her coat, and then knelt by the rocker. “Reg. I just heard. I can’t believe
it. I’m so sorry.”
His face remained
taut, as if one movement would let loose an avalanche of feelings. He looked
beyond Mary to his daughter. “Esther,” he said, his eyes studying her ravaged
face. “Take the baby to bed. Then you lay down too.” He rose. Turning over
the sleeping child to Esther, he sighed, his voice catching. “Mary, I can’t
even think what’s to be done.” His arms hung loosely at his sides.
She went to him and
drew him close, tears now pouring down her own face. “Have you eaten today?”
she questioned in a broken voice, while pulling away and wiping her cheeks.
He shook his head.
Then he seemed to notice Alison standing there. “You can go on up, Allie,
deah. Your father’s up there, making…getting…” his voice faltered then and he
looked away.
Alison turned for the
staircase. After making her way up the stairs, she moved along the dim
hallway. She heard her father’s voice behind a closed door. She tapped on it.
Aunt Pearl opened it and peered out at her, her eyes red-rimmed. “Allie,” she
breathed. “Come in.” Then she seemed to hesitate. “If you want to,” she
added.
Alison said, “Of
course I want to!” But she realized that her breathing was uneven and there
was an odd feeling in her head, as if it were floating above her. The room was
warm, redolent with the smell of sweat and the unmistakable steely odor of
blood. Her father was bending over the other side of the bed, examining the
body of a tiny infant.
“Oh, what happened?”
she breathed. She knelt on the other side, looking at Olivia Eliot. It hurt
her to see her so still. Her warm brown eyes were forever closed, her velvet
skin had lost all color and her pale blonde hair still clung to her neck in
damp tendrils where Aunt Pearl had bathed her. A blanket covered her, but
Alison hadn’t failed to notice the bloody sheets and towels piled in a basket
by the door.
Alison stroked
Olivia’s cheek with the tips of her fingers, then leaned forward and kissed her
cheek. All her odd feelings evaporated. “Papa?” she questioned through her
tears, calling him by her childhood name for him.
He was wrapping up
the baby in a clean towel as he spoke. “She suffered from premature labor,
complicated by the afterbirth, the placenta,” he always tried to use the proper
medical terms, “being in the wrong place.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was delivered
first, resulting in massive hemorrhaging and…” he lifted the tiny blue infant,
“loss of blood supply to the little boy.” He sighed, peering at Pearl over his
glasses. “We couldn’t stop the bleeding.” The doctor laid the baby by its
mother and stood gazing at them for long moments. Knowing how it tore at him
to lose both a friend and a patient, and in this way, so like his own wife,
Pearl moved and stood beside him and quietly took his hand. “What a terrible
loss,” he whispered. Pearl hugged him closely and Alison saw his shoulders
shake for a moment until he composed himself. He swallowed and moved across
the room, stopping to lay his hand on Alison‘s cheek. The sorrow in his
shimmering eyes mirrored her own. He was clearly struggling as left the room.
“I’ll go get the buggy,” he said to his sister, lifting the bundle of dirty
linens. He knew Pearl would try to clean them, but some of them would best be
burned.
“Aunt Pearl, would
you please explain this to me. I don’t understand how this happened.”
Her aunt said listlessly, her
voice muddy with tears, “We can talk about it later,” then descended the
stairs, leaving Alison to follow. She moved down to the next room where she
knew Esther would be.
Her friend was lying
curled up on one of the four beds, but she lifted her head when Alison
carefully opened the door. “I’m so worried about Sam, “she said. “When your father
came down to tell us about Mother, he just jumped up from the table and ran
out.”
Alison put her arm
across her friend’s shoulders. She felt Esther trembling as she leaned to
whisper in her ear, “I’ll find him.”
“I’d say take Brute
with you but he can hardly walk anymore. He’s going to die too, I just know
it!”
“Oh, Esther, don’t!”
Alison commiserated. “You can’t think about that now.”
“Sam’s cold, and he’s
hurt,” Esther said, crying again. “I can feel it.”
Alison nodded. “Of
course he is, just like you. I’m so sorry, Esther. Will you be…?” Then her
voice died away. She realized that her friend wouldn’t be all right for a long
time.
With a slight shrug
Esther laid back down, looking over at Caroline who lay sleeping in the next
bed. “I wish I could be like her,” she said hopelessly. She pushed her hair
off her forehead and closed her eyes. Slow tears seeped down her cheeks.