Chapter Forty-Eight
Forty-Eight
After supper, Rose retired early to her room. Jackson poured himself a cup of coffee and we sat at the kitchen table, where I pressed him for more news from home. Honey.
“Honey’s healthy and growing up fast,” he said. “Too fast, as a matter of fact. Going steady with a boy named Francis. Wears his ring, even. I had a mind to light your old courting candle when he came a’callin’ one night too many.”
I pictured Jackson adjusting the taper to burn for the shortest time to signal the beau’s early departure and raised a disapproving brow. “My dear daughter,” I whispered, relieved there was no mention of an engagement but alarmed at the thought of reviving Pa’s ol’ timekeeping ritual.
I’d suffered misery at the hands of Pa using it to screen his only daughter’s potential suitors.
Pa’d lit dozens of candles. A taper raised tall to burn meant a lengthy visit with a beau and the father’s approval, but if the candle was tamped down, it would signal a shorter one was in order.
Desperate to see me wed, growing sicker from the black lung, he’d eventually cranked up the ol’ courting candle to burn for alarming lengths of time to lure a marriage proposal.
Many times, I’d sneak and reset the taper for a quick burn, or toss the spiral wrought-iron courting candle out into the yard after Pa left for the mine.
I rebelled at the idea that a mere candle could hold so much power over me, determine one’s lifelong misery or joy.
But growing increasingly worried for my safety, Pa lit it for what he thought was one last time for ol’ squire Frazier, then immediately handed me over to the devil man, convinced he would protect me when Pa no longer could.
Jackson reached for my hand. “Junia was beside herself. The old apostle girl was fit to be tied when she saw me. Whimpering, hanging her head over my shoulder, carrying on something awful. Knocking that stubborn jaw against my back, sniffing my pockets like I was hiding something from her. Though I suspect the behavior was because I hadn’t brought you.
” His solemn face opened with a wistful grin.
“Does Honey have everything she needs? Is Junia well?”
“Honey and Junia are thriving in the old Carter homestead. You’d be proud. They’re taking care of each other just fine, so don’t you fret another minute. Junia protects her young book mistress just like she did you. Honey’s doing right nice by her new mule, Willa, as well.”
We walked to our room, and Jackson spoke softly. “Now, about that courting candle: I needn’t light it.” A mischievous grin twitched on his lips. “Old Junia ran the pestering boy off for me.”
I couldn’t help but smile, thinking about Honey’s letters of Junia’s obstinance toward Francis, the mule taking over the duty of timekeeper. Protector.
***
For days, Jackson busied himself, tending to Rose’s chores that had long been neglected.
He replaced several busted window sashes and repaired the broken lock on the basement door.
Making several trips, he limped out to the woodshed to fetch wood for the small fireplaces in the guest rooms. Then he went to town and purchased Miss Rose’s supplies, hauling in bags full of toiletries, cleaning disinfectants, and food.
She was grateful for the needed repairs and extra help in the icy throes of winter. When Miss Rose tried to pay him, he balked and said our lodging was payment enough.
In between the work, Jackson worried for news of any labor pains I might be having. And as the birth neared, my own worrisome thoughts plagued me during most of my waking hours and into the late nights. Would the child be healthy?
The fear had taken on a life of its own. Just yesterday, I stored the feather pillow inside Miss Rose’s closet that I’d been using. Instead, I set about taking clean rags to stuff a bed pillow for my own.
When Jackson looked at me puzzled, I didn’t tell him about the angel crown left on our porch in Thousandsticks, just busied myself righting the new pillow on my side of the bed.
I couldn’t take any chances.
On the eleventh of December, I felt the first spasms of labor strike at dusk.
At once, Rose called the doctor, but the wires were silent.
A raging snowstorm had gripped the town, knocking down telephone lines.
Still, she tried to get hold of the switchboard operator to help connect her to the town midwife, and then again to the doctor when my pains grew unbearable. But it was useless.
Several hours later, Rose slammed the bulky receiver down in the cradle, then picked it up again and listened once more for a ringtone. Growing more frustrated, she gave up.
In bed, I gripped the mattress and moaned into the cotton sheets as the pains roiled over me.
Jackson put his hand over mine.
Miss Rose rounded the bed to my other side.
“I’ve assisted our midwife here several times.
And Mama with my two brothers and a sister before that.
That’d be my sweet Effie.” Her wise ol’ eyes ballooned as she soothed me.
“Don’t you worry. Just four years ago, I delivered a healthy baby girl to a couple who took lodging for the night.
” She smacked her hands. “I’ll just have to do. ”
The woman fretted a moment, then moved about the room barking orders to Jackson. “Get water and towels. Fill that washstand over there. More bedding is down the hall. In the green closet.” She fluffed my homemade pillow. “And get her one of my nice feather pillows from a guest room.”
“No,” I said sharply, stopping her in her tracks. “No pillow, Miss Rose.”
She frowned. “Put on the kettle, Jackson. Then bring in a stack of wood and get a fire going in here,” Rose said.
Jackson flushed, his apprehension growing. “Should I go fetch the doctor?” He kissed my forehead.
“No. Stay with me.”
“Just like a man getting foolish notions that’ll get him killed. Sir, you won’t get a block in this bitter weather. This child will need a father. Get the water on and bring me towels. Now!” Rose ordered.
Jackson looked torn and glanced over at Miss Rose, concerned if she was up to delivering a child.
“Don’t go out there,” I pleaded.
“You better get those towels right now ’fore I strip off your clothing and use them instead. Go on now, scat. Your woman’s gonna be just fine,” Rose ordered, wiping her tired eyes.
When morning broke on the twelfth of December, the babe still had not come, and Miss Rose’s face took on a bigger worry as she sat in the chair in the corner of my room watching over me.
The labor pains intensified, stealing my breaths. Rose would rise and examine me several times, then slowly shake her head.
Close to noon, she peeked under the covers one last time and then checked the clock and smiled. “The babe is finally coming. Gonna be here in just a bit, Angeline.”
My chin quivered as the memories of Susan’s haunting words tumbled around my mind: We won’t truly know if the drug harmed the infant until the birth.
***
Rose cut the umbilical cord, then placed the quiet infant on a towel atop the dresser instead of handing the babe to me. She rubbed a hand over the tiny back, patted and lifted the babe to her ear. Again, she repeated the steps.
But the child remained silent.
“What is it, Miss Rose?” I squinted, struggled to rise, straining my neck to get a better glimpse.
She clenched her jaw and rubbed the baby’s back a little bit firmer.
Jackson dropped my hand and crossed over to her.
“Give me the baby. Jackson, Miss Rose?” I shrilled.
Jackson glanced at me, then turned back to the baby, but not before I saw the terror building in his eyes.
I pulled myself up on my elbows. Again, Rose rubbed the tiny bluish-gray back. Then she lifted the baby by the feet and smacked the child’s bottom.
Panic grabbed hold and I couldn’t stop shivering. “Rose. No, Ro—” My words knotted.
Jackson looked over his shoulder once more, something unfettered and desperate spreading across his face.
I swallowed hard, the words squeaking out, “My babe, my babe. Tell me my child is okay. Tell me!”
Then Rose did something I’d never seen before. She put her lips over the baby’s mouth and nose and blew once and then again.
I pressed my hands over my ears. For a moment the silence was suffocating.
“No—” I screamed, just as the babe’s lusty wail filled the room.
Then the baby sputtered out soft sneezes and squalled again.
Weeping, I collapsed onto the pillow, a fist pressed to my riotous heart.
“Okay, okay, you’re safe.” Rose sighed loudly and bobbed her head, rocking the infant in her arms, rubbing the back.
“There you go, little one. There you go. Another breath. There you go. You just needed some assistance, didn’t you, sweetheart?
” She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer of gratitude.
“You saved our baby’s life, Miss Rose. We can never thank you enough,” I sobbed.
“Rebecca, our granny woman back home in Fishtrap, did the exact same for a difficult delivery,” Rose said, beaming.
Jackson’s eyes filled and he placed a tender hand on Rose’s small shoulder and murmured his gratitude.
“Such a tiresome journey, sweetheart,” she cooed and carried the babe over to the bed. “Not to worry. The color’s back now. And he’s bald and blessed.”
“A healthy boy,” Jackson barely breathed.
He’d fought so hard to come into the world, to live, my greedy hands ached to hold him.
Rose passed the newborn to Jackson while she tended to the afterbirth. He tilted the baby down so I could see, then placed him into my arms.
I peered down at Elijah Jack Lovett, the names of both our fathers. Lifted his tiny fingers and toes, inspecting every inch of him. He had Pa’s eyes. I was sure of it.
I wiped my own and examined him again. Our son had been spared the punishing side effects of the blue drug—and was safe from the blue-skinned misery that would have forever marked him as a target for hostile folks’ mocking, cruel laughter, and taunts.
I pressed my lips onto the babe’s cheeks and tip of his head, then drew my gaze to Jackson. “He’s a handsome one,” he said, dropping breezes of kisses to both our faces.
After a few minutes, Miss Rose washed the babe in the wooden stand’s porcelain basin. When she had wrapped him in a towel, she handed the wide-eyed infant back.
Satisfied, Miss Rose pulled a celebratory cigar from her apron pocket and gave it to Jackson.
“Been waiting a while to give this to you, Papa. It’s one of the finest from Defiance Drugs Jackson’s unsettling spirit would not stay quiet.