Yellow Crocus: A Novel (6 page)

Mattie blinked away her tears and said, “All right. We gonna do it your way.” And she threw the ball back to the baby.

Hours later, while they were both dreaming, Emily brought a newborn bundle to Mattie’s room and took Miss Elizabeth away from the warm bed the toddler had shared with Mattie since the night of her birth thirteen months before. Still groggy from sleep, Mattie did not realize the swap had been made until she was awakened by the click of the door closing behind Emily. “Wait,” she wanted to yell, but she did not. She kept her words of protest to herself.

Outrage poured through her. She was not given even one last kiss. Hot, unshed tears stung her eyes. She refused to touch or even look at the new baby, knowing there was no point in caring about him. He lay there screaming, wanting to be suckled, but she ignored him.

Miss Elizabeth woke up in a strange room in a strange bed. Her heart raced in her chest as she looked around in panic. Where was her Mattie? She cried out, “Ma-ie, Ma-ie,” but Mattie did not come. Her cries got louder and more desperate, but still Mattie did not come. The not-Mattie walked with her. The not-Mattie offered her food. The not-Mattie shook her. Still Miss Elizabeth cried for her Mattie. She screamed until she slept.

When she awoke Mattie was still gone. In a small, anxious voice Miss Elizabeth pleaded, “Ma-ie?” The woman with her said something Miss Elizabeth did not understand. Miss Elizabeth waited. She comforted herself as best she could with her own thumb, rocked herself back and forth, and stared at the white door watching for her Mattie.

Sometimes she ate, sometimes she slept, but mostly she waited for her Mattie to rescue her.

And then she got hot. The heat came and did not go away. Miss Elizabeth got too hot to eat, too hot to move, too hot to drink. Voices came in and out of the room. People touched her body. Lots of not-Matties wanted her to drink. But Miss Elizabeth was tired and did not want to do anything but sleep. She dreamed. She dreamed of her red ball and a toe. She dreamed of brown eyes and a rocking chair. She dreamed of sweet milk and shells to hold on to.

Mattie heard Miss Elizabeth’s cries echo down the hall. She paced the room nervously with the new baby in her arms as Miss Elizabeth cried out her name, “Ma-ie, Ma-ie.” It took all of her self-control to stay in the nursery as the panic rose in Miss Elizabeth’s voice. More and more desperately the girl yelled for Mattie.

For hours on end Mattie nursed and rocked, paced and wept as she listened to Miss Elizabeth’s desperate sobs. She waited, expecting to be ordered to go to Miss Elizabeth, but that order did not come. Two days after Jack’s birth the cries became intermittent and the girl’s voice grew hoarse. Two days after that they stopped. The silence was worse than the wailing. Now Mattie knew nothing of Miss Elizabeth.

She asked Skinny Emily when she brought lunch on the fifth day of the new arrangement, “Lisbeth all right?”

“Don’ let none of them hear you callin’ her that. Miss Elizabeth not eatin’ much, but she finally stopped cryin’. I never heard such carryin’ on for so long. You’d think that Charlotte was stickin’ pins in her from the way she yelled.”

“What she doin’ now?”

“When I brung them some lunch, she didn’ head out the door like before. She just layin’ in bed. Guess she gettin’ used it.”

“She sleepin’ all right?”

“It ain’t my place to keep track of that little girl and tell you. And she ain’t yours no more neither.”

Mattie knew not to ask Mrs. Ann, Mr. Wainwright, or Grandmother Wainwright during their visits with baby Jack. However, she did dare to speak to the housekeeper about the situation. Mrs. Gray rejected Mattie’s timid offer to care for both Master Jack and Miss Elizabeth with a curt reply. “That girl is learning that she cannot always have things her way. There is no need to give in to her now.”

Doctor Jameson returned to Fair Oaks for a second time in a week. In addition to examining the newborn baby and the birthing mother, he looked in on Miss Elizabeth. Mrs. Ann and Mrs. Gray hovered nearby as he examined the listless child. Wracked by a high fever for three consecutive days, the toddler lay motionless in bed. He listened carefully to her shallow breathing, noted that her eyes were sunk into her head, and pulled at the skin on the back of her hand. The skin stayed pinched up in a fold for a few seconds before laying flat again. “Dehydration has set in,” Doctor Jameson informed Mrs. Ann and Mrs. Gray. “She must take in liquids or she shall not survive this fever. It is the only treatment.”

Pausing at the door, he emphasized the urgency of the situation. “This is extremely serious. You must do whatever you can to hydrate this child or she will die. I am sorry to be so blunt. But the situation is dire. I can show myself out.”

Stunned at this news, Mrs. Ann stared blankly where the doctor had been standing. Then she spoke, “Charlotte, as quickly as you can, get a concoction of salt, sugar, and water from Cook. Do not hesitate to explain the urgency of this situation. She must stop whatever she is doing to get you what I need.”

Mrs. Ann waited silently by the bed for Charlotte’s return. Mrs. Gray hovered behind. Charlotte delivered the liquid and retreated to a chair in the corner. With a shaking hand, Mrs. Ann brought the spoon to her daughter’s parched lips.

“Open her mouth,” Mrs. Ann commanded to Mrs. Gray.

“Perhaps sitting her up would be more effective?” suggested the housekeeper.

“Oh, yes, of course,” replied Mrs. Ann, confusion in her eyes. Riddled with childbirth hormones, tired from labor, and anxious about her daughter, it was hard for the young mother to think well. Her arm retreated back to the bowl, spilling liquid along the way.

Mrs. Gray grabbed the child under her armpits, pulled her into an upright position, and rested Miss Elizabeth against the bed pillows. She stepped back. The girl slowly slid sideways in an arc until her head met the bed. Mrs. Ann stared at the girl.

“Perhaps my lap,” she said. “Place her on my lap.”

Mrs. Gray hauled up the child and roughly set her on Mrs. Ann’s thin legs. Mrs. Ann struggled to balance Miss Elizabeth on her lap. She juggled the floppy body of the dozing child like a sack of potatoes. The young mother resumed her attempt to follow the doctor’s order. With one arm she cradled her daughter behind the neck while the other arm traveled back and forth to and from the vessel of liquid. Drops of fluid spilled off the shaking spoon onto the girl’s gown, neck, and chin. By the time it arrived at Miss Elizabeth’s lips, it was nearly empty. Mrs. Ann, determined to save her daughter, kept the spoon moving back and forth, stopping occasionally to wipe away the liquid dribbling down her child’s skin.

“Is she swallowing? I cannot tell!” inquired the mother.

“Hmmph,” Mrs. Wainwright broke in from the doorway where she watched Mrs. Ann’s feeble attempts to hydrate Elizabeth. “I cannot see what good you are possibly doing. Either the fever will break or it will not,” declared the elderly woman. “It is in God’s hands. You must pray for your daughter.”

Mrs. Ann’s hand froze at her mother-in-law’s words. Like a scared bird uncertain in which direction to fly, she clenched the spoon tightly. Closing her eyes and retreating into herself she took a deep breath before silently resuming her task. Grandmother Wainwright muttered about a “fool’s attempt” as she left the scene.

Though the cup was only half empty, Elizabeth started snoring and her mother could no longer pretend she was feeding her daughter. Mrs. Ann set aside the liquid concoction and returned Elizabeth to her bed. Little of the liquid had made it into Elizabeth’s body. This was not working. With nothing else to do, but grateful to have something to occupy her mind, Mrs. Ann silently recited the Lord’s Prayer over and over until she rested her head against the bed and joined her daughter in slumber.

Hours later, in the dark, Mrs. Ann awoke to the sounds of shallow, labored breathing. She uncovered the small, hot body, and then covered it again. Helpless and uncertain, Mrs. Ann stared at her daughter’s chest rising and falling in a jerky rhythm. Fingers tapping against her lips, standing, then sitting again, she considered sending for more sugar water, then rejected the idea. She thought of sending for cool rags to wipe her daughter down but rejected that idea also because she was struck by another possibility.

She stood up, looking thoroughly around the room to confirm she was alone. She crossed to the door and turned the key to the right until she felt a satisfying click as the lock engaged with the doorframe. Returning to her daughter, she lifted the child, limp as a rag doll, onto her lap. Heart pounding, she unbuttoned her bodice. Miss Elizabeth flopped off her mother’s lap and bumped her head on the seat of the chair. Mrs. Ann returned the small body to the bed, finished the task of unbuttoning her bodice, and peeled her chemise over her head like the skin off a grape.

Her breasts free to the air, she looked around again before pulling her daughter across her lap. She leaned over Elizabeth and brought her breast over the baby’s face. A droplet of white liquid seeped from the dangling nipple and hung from the tip until the force of gravity caused it to drop onto Elizabeth’s eyelid. Both lids slowly rose to reveal glassy blue eyes. Elizabeth gazed at the pink nipple suspended over her head, then at her mother’s hopeful face peering down at her. Mrs. Ann hoped her daughter knew what to do with the offered breast and held her breath in anticipation. Leaning down closer, another drop of milk landed on Elizabeth’s cheek and rolled to her lips. The girl’s tongue crept out and tasted the liquid. Hope rushed through Mrs. Ann’s body. She waited nervously. Elizabeth looked into her mother’s eyes again and then at the offered nipple. Then the baby closed her eyes and turned her head away.

Mrs. Ann sat back hard in the chair with a sigh. Shame and humiliation radiated through every pore. She felt foolish for even trying. She looked down at her fevered daughter and considered her options. She wiped away the sweat from Elizabeth’s damp forehead. With another sigh, Mrs. Ann returned her daughter to bed. Blinking away tears, utterly defeated, she slowly pulled her chemise over her body and buttoned up her gown. She was not going to let her daughter die. Ignoring Mrs. Gray and Charlotte, who had been hovering outside the locked door, she went in search of Mattie.

When she found her, Mrs. Ann spoke urgently. “Elizabeth has burned with a high fever for three days. She has not taken a drink since the fever came.” Desperation in her voice, she pleaded, “Come now. See if she will drink from you. She must drink something or…” She left the rest unspoken.

Mattie followed Mrs. Ann down the long hallway anxious about the situation she would find. Mrs. Gray stood in the doorway like a sentry.