Yellow Crocus: A Novel (2 page)
“There you are,” proclaimed one of the two women hovering around the bed. The large white woman with narrow blue eyes and gray hair pulled into a severe bun pointed to a chair in the corner of the room. “We are not yet in need of you. Complications…” She trailed off without a complete explanation. “Go, sit in the chair, and do not do anything to upset your mistress.”
Mattie moved into the room as quietly as possible and made herself small to avoid drawing the attention of the large, red-faced man looming over the foot of the bed. She lowered herself into a plush velvet armchair and unconsciously rubbed the smooth pile with the tips of her brown fingers. Her eyes flew around the room, taking it in. An intricately carved four-poster bed took up most of the room. Next to it sat a marble-topped washbasin covered with crumped cloths. The man directed the two women poised on either side of the bed.
“Hold her down when I am ready to pull the infant out,” he commanded. “Prevent all movement or they both may die.”
The doctor pulled dirty metal forceps out of his bag and wiped them quickly with a blood-stained cloth. Then he bent over the bed.
“Now,” he commanded.
The women pressed their pale hands against the patient’s shoulders and arms, pushing her hard into the mattress. Mattie winced in sympathy and sucked in her breath as the doctor thrust the forceps deep into her thin body. “Ahh, aahh, ahhh,” screamed the woman. The doctor tugged hard on the metal handles, but there was no movement.
Repositioning himself with his legs braced wide apart, the doctor pulled again. His hand slipped off the end of the instrument, leaving it protruding from the woman’s body. He muttered to himself and rubbed his sweaty hands on his pants, then repositioned himself and firmly grabbed the forceps once again. Heaving on the forceps, the doctor’s hands slowly slid backwards; the instrument moved along with his thick fingers. Sandwiched tightly between the triangle of the forceps, Mattie saw bulges of purplish scalp emerge between the mistress’s thin, white legs.
The doctor grunted. His left hand lost its grip again. “He is stubborn!”
Resuming his quest to remove the infant, the doctor grabbed the forceps. Pulling again just as the woman’s uterus was contracting, the infant’s head emerged until Mattie could see the tips of ears. The contraction ended. When the doctor pulled again there was no movement. The next pull came along with a contraction, and this time the rest of the head, shoulders, torso, and limbs rushed out. A purple, motionless infant flopped onto the bed.
The doctor stared at the limp child. Mattie fought the urge to grab the infant, turn it over, and rub hard. Helplessly she waited for the doctor to do something.
“Do it,” Mattie silently encouraged the baby that was ruining her life, “take a breath.”
The doctor tied off and then cut the still pulsing cord as the infant lay motionless. The infant suddenly jerked, then tipped back its damp head, opened its blue mouth, and let out a raspy wail. Mattie gave a silent cheer,
You did it, little one!
“Good thing I was here for the delivery,” Doctor Jameson declared. “This one needed modern medicine to take her first breath.”
“A girl!?” asked the new mother.
“Yes,” confirmed the doctor matter-of-factly.
The young woman craned her neck to see and reached out her arms for her daughter. The doctor carelessly bundled the infant in a receiving blanket and started to pass her to the woman in the bed.
“Not now,” said the large woman with the bun. “You are too weak to hold the girl. Give her to the nurse,” she directed the doctor.
The mother collapsed against the bed in resignation. With a shrug of his shoulders, the doctor carried the damp bundle to Mattie. Handing the newborn over, he asked, “Is your milk in?”
“Yes, sir. My son, he born some months ago,” replied Mattie, looking down at the oak floor.
“Then do what you came here to do,” replied the doctor. He turned back to the bed to receive the afterbirth and stitch up his patient’s tears.
Mattie looked down at the nameless pink baby. The forceps had left blue and purple bruises around the baby’s ears. The infant was already licking her lips and bobbing her head in search of food. Drawing up her shirt, Mattie exposed a full breast with a large nipple ready for an infant’s mouth. Mattie took her breast in hand and gently tickled the tiny lips with the raised nub until the baby opened her mouth wide. Then Mattie swiftly pulled the eager mouth over her breast. The baby sucked vigorously until Mattie felt the familiar tug as her milk flowed. She settled back on the soft, cushioned chair, holding the baby girl against her heart. Gazing at this new life, Mattie thought about her beautiful son, asleep on a hard pallet in another world only two hundred steps away.
Before the newborn finished suckling, the big white woman with the tight bun interrupted, “You will call the baby Miss Elizabeth. I am Mrs. Gray, the housekeeper. Follow me.”
Mattie gently removed Miss Elizabeth from her breast and re-arranged her own clothing. Using her finger as a pacifier to soothe the newborn, she followed with the sticky baby in her arms.
Mrs. Gray led the pair along the dimly lit hall to a large room at the back of the house. A green couch and beige chairs were arranged around a fireplace on the right side of the room. Straight ahead, a bed and a rocking chair nestled close to a long window. The housekeeper did not stop here, but crossed left to another door that led to a small, windowless chamber. A low bed, covered with a faded quilt, occupied most of the room, and a small cupboard took up what little space remained. On the far wall was another door.
Standing in the doorway between the two rooms, Mrs. Gray lectured, “The large room is Miss Elizabeth’s. You will sleep in here. The rear door leads to the servant hallway and stairs. You are to take the front staircase only when you are accompanying Miss Elizabeth. When she is not with you, you will use the rear staircase. There are two sets of clothes for your use—two dresses and two nightgowns—in this wardrobe.” Mrs. Gray pointed as Mattie struggled to follow her directions. “You will place one day gown and one nightgown in the chute each Monday morning—that is the day after the Sabbath. You may not have your clothes laundered more than once a week. You will not be needing that head rag any longer, so that will be thrown out. Emily, the second-floor maid, will bring you meals three times a day. If you have any questions, you may ask Emily; she is fully aware of the routines of the household. You will be told when Miss Elizabeth is to be taken outside her room.”
Mrs. Gray stared at Mattie. “Becoming a house slave is a rare privilege. I trust you will not abuse it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Mattie.
“Warm wash water is on the stand by Miss Elizabeth’s dresser,” Mrs. Gray instructed as they returned to Miss Elizabeth’s room. “Bathe her before the water is chilled.”
After Mrs. Gray left, Mattie looked at the infant cradled in her arms and remarked, “Look like it just us, little girl. Don’ know what I gonna do with you, suppose we gonna figure it out together. First we look round your room then we gonna wash you up.”
Mattie walked Miss Elizabeth around the room and took in her new surroundings. Long strips of dark green material hung on poles suspended across the wall a few inches below the ceiling. After crossing to touch the smooth silk, Mattie realized it covered something. Parting the drapes, she saw two long windows. Mattie had seen glass, knew the word for it, but had never touched it. She rubbed her rough fingertips up and down the cold, smooth surface. Gazing out, her breath caught at the sight of the slave quarters lit by the rays of the early morning sun.
Disoriented, viewing her home from above, she puzzled out which dwelling belonged to which family. When she found her own cabin, the fifth in the row with log benches in back, her heart leapt. She searched for Samuel and Poppy. But they were not in sight. Staring out the window, yearning for a glimpse of them, her eyes welled up with tears and her heart tightened.
Miss Elizabeth’s mewling brought Mattie’s attention back to the baby. She gave the infant her finger and then looked around again. To the left of the windows, a narrow bed in a rich cherry wood was covered with a newly made, tightly stitched patchwork quilt. The bright fabrics formed a flying geese pattern set to take flight out the window. She sat upon the bed, marveling at its comfort and the feel of smooth fabric.
“You got yourself a fine place to sleep, baby girl, not that you gonna be usin’ it anytime soon.”
To the right of the window, in the corner, a brightly polished rocking chair waited. A matching chest of drawers with a quilted pad on top stood next to it. She laid the baby on top, next to the wash bowl with warm water. Opening each drawer, Mattie found finely stitched baby gowns, socks, diapers, and bonnets rolled in tight packages like eggs waiting to hatch. Looking down at the infant, Mattie remarked with a shake of her head, “You already got more clothes than the field hands all put together.”
Mattie selected a set of smooth cotton clothes and laid them on the bed. She carefully unwrapped the floppy infant and dipped the girl in the shallow bowl of lukewarm water. Miss Elizabeth cried in protest as Mattie rubbed away white vernix and red blood, the last vestiges of the womb.
“Hush, hush. You gonna be all right. It not so bad,” Mattie assured Miss Elizabeth. “We all done now. The worst of it over.”
Mattie quickly tied a soft flannel diaper on the baby. She tugged a crisp white gown over her downy-topped head, being careful to avoid the bruised and tender areas of Elizabeth’s face, then Mattie pulled the baby’s thin, mottled arms through the gown’s puffy sleeves. After being swaddled tight in a flannel blanket, the newborn relaxed and stared intently up at Mattie.
“See, you all right now,” Mattie murmured to the infant. “You all clean.” Despite exhaustion and sorrow, Mattie was curious about this place. “We gonna see about the rest of your room now. What this over here?” Mattie wondered out loud as she walked to the furniture near the fireplace and perched upon the green velvet davenport. She explored the movements of the springs by bouncing up and down. Next she shifted to each chair in turn and attempted to bounce on them, but they were hard and did not move.
Leaving a swaddled Miss Elizabeth nestled at the back of the davenport, Mattie knelt down to examine the intricate tile work on the hearth and around the façade of the fireplace. It was cold like the windows, but filled with rich colors in shades of green and gold. Tracing the swirling colors with her finger she stood up and was startled at the sight of movement in front of her.
“Hello!” she called out.
There was no reply. She leaned forward to get a better view of the scene. A woman came toward her. Mattie jumped back in surprise. The woman retreated as she did. Cautiously she raised a hand to the glass. It felt cool and smooth. She peered in closely then turned to examine the room, then turned back again. The room spread in front of her and behind her. This was like looking in water. Standing in front of the mirror, she tilted her head left and right, opened her mouth, poked out her tongue, and studied her own reflection.
She looked carefully at her own round eyes, seeing them clearly for the first time. As a child, she’d been told they were like her mother’s. In this reflection, she now saw that was true. She reached up to touch her face, watching her own hand explore her cheeks, lips, and nose. Mattie searched for Samuel’s features in her own. The nose, she decided. She and Samuel shared a nose. And maybe the ears.
“Little girl, this place sure is somethin’ ,” Mattie spoke out loud, shaking her head as she retrieved Miss Elizabeth from the couch.
Mattie turned a full circle, following the wandering flowers along the wallpaper until she was looking at the rocking chair once again. Mattie pulled the rocking chair close to the window, sat with Miss Elizabeth in her arms, and looked out over the slave quarters. Occasionally she glanced at the door to confirm no one was watching her. She stared and rocked, rocked and stared, as if desire alone could will her spirit across the divide.
Eventually Poppy came out of their cabin with Samuel in his arms. Leaning close to the window, Mattie searched her son’s face for any signs of distress. Poppy turned away from the Big House and headed toward Rebecca’s for Samuel’s morning feeding. Samuel’s little head poked above Poppy’s shoulder, his placid face bobbing in rhythm with Poppy’s gait. Mattie stared hard as her son got smaller and smaller until he faded out of sight altogether like a leaf floating down a river.