Chapter Thirty-Four. Grace
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
GRACE
When I finally dash through the pelting rain back to the cottage, I expect a tongue-lashing for staying up at the hotel all afternoon jawing with Rose instead of helping to prepare for the storm.
(Really, Rose and I were tossing Dad’s office, looking for Magnolia’s spirit board.
We had Lou stationed on the front porch as a lookout.
Luckily, we didn’t need her, because she got distracted jumping in puddles in the driveway. We didn’t find it, anyhow.)
The cottage is dark and quiet. Where is everybody? I hear a groan and follow it to my (our) bedroom. Ma and Dad are standing over Magnolia’s bed. Magnolia is propped up against a mountain of pillows, sweat darkening the curls around her flushed face.
“The baby’s coming, Grace!” she says.
I look at Ma, alarmed. Magnolia isn’t due for weeks. I never really thought about where she’d give birth, but I certainly didn’t expect it would be my bedroom! I’ve seen the aftermath of deliveries at the Harrow Home. Lots of blood and other fluids.
“False labor pains,” Dad says dismissively. “Seen it a hundred times.”
Ma’s brow is furrowed. “I don’t know. She’s not very far along, but…”
The back door bangs. Cooper hurries in, soaked to the gills. He takes off his specs and rubs them on the hem of his T-shirt. “Got as far as Razor Creek. Water’s already up over the bridge.”
It figures that Magnolia would go into labor during the worst storm in years. It’s been raining cats and dogs the last couple hours, and the worst isn’t supposed to hit till tomorrow morning.
“Did you phone for Nurse Mackey?” I ask. She lives down in Kent Narrows.
“No answer,” Ma says. “They probably evacuated.”
“I told you, it’s false labor. First babies are always late,” Dad insists.
“If need be, I’ll call Birdie. She can walk me through it,” Ma says reassuringly.
She isn’t a midwife, hasn’t the education or formal training, but she’s helped Mrs. O’Neill and Mrs. Mackey deliver dozens of babies over the years.
“I’d like to give the baby a little more time, though.
He hasn’t dropped yet, and he’s breech.”
“What does that mean?” Magnolia bites her lip.
“It means he’s coming out feetfirst instead of headfirst. We can try to turn him, but you might feel some pressure … Joe, Cooper, give the girl some privacy, for heaven’s sake! She doesn’t want any men around!” Ma reproaches.
Cooper herds Dad out of the room.
“I’m going to get us some cold water.” Ma eyes me. “Stay with Maggie. And Grace—be nice.”
Magnolia’s face crumples the moment Ma leaves. “Am I gonna die?”
I plop down next to her. “Oh, hush. Nobody dies from having a baby anymore, silly.” But I can’t help thinking of Dessa Slaughter and her baby who came too early.
“He’s too little,” Magnolia frets. “Caleb’s supposed to bake another five weeks.”
“Caleb?” I raise my eyebrows. I didn’t figure her for the biblical type.
“That’s what I’ve been calling him.” Magnolia pats her belly, then moans as another contraction swamps her. She grabs my hand and squeezes, hard.
Ma and the midwives always shooed Cooper and me outside when the girls really started howling. Seeing the pain on Magnolia’s face, I resolve for the thousandth time that I am never having children.
Outside, the rain is drumming against the shutters. “Don’t leave me alone with him. Please,” she begs when the contraction’s over.
“The baby? Why? Afraid you’re gonna drop him on his head?”
“No, your dad. Please, Grace. I know you don’t like me much. I’m sorry for flirting with Stan, all right? I didn’t mean anything by it. But don’t leave me alone with your dad, please!”
Magnolia’s not being silly this time. She’s genuinely scared.
It’s catching. My heart starts to race.
“What did he do?” I whisper.
Her eyes are owlish. “He told Daddy he’d take care of me like I was his own daughter. But I’ve seen the way he treats you. And he said he’s never lost a girl in childbirth—but that’s a lie, too, isn’t it? What about the ghost?”
Rose was right. Maggie’s seen Daisy.
“Ella’s seen her, too. I’m not fibbing, I swear. I have the sight. I told you, my nana—”
“Was a spiritualist. I know.” But my voice doesn’t have as much bite as usual.
Maggie flips a sweaty curl off her forehead.
“People in Richmond came to her to contact their dearly departed. She held séances. It was all the rage with her society friends.” She lowers her voice.
“Ella swiped my spirit board back from your dad.” That’s where it is.
That little sneak! “We were going to contact the ghost, but Ella chickened out.” Maggie grabs my hand again.
“It’s true, though, isn’t it? She’s the ghost of a girl who died here.
And I bet she’s not the only one. Your dad doesn’t care if I die, he only cares about selling my baby! ”
“Ma won’t let anything happen to you, Maggie. She’ll be here the whole time.”
Ma comes back with a jug of water that she pours into the old-fashioned washbasin. She wipes Maggie’s brow with a wet cloth. The room is hot and stuffy with the hurricane shutters closed. Sweat drips down my back, puddling at the base of my spine.
Is Maggie’s life really in danger?
“Try to relax, honey,” Ma says. “The best thing we can do is give the baby a little more time. Maybe he’ll drop on his own.”
“It hurts,” Maggie says in a small voice.
“I know.” Ma puts liniment on her lower back and rubs it in comforting circles.
The rest of the evening passes in fits and starts.
Ma tends to Maggie and periodically checks under her skirt to see how things are progressing.
Slowly, seems to be the consensus. I wave Ma’s church fan in front of Maggie’s face and read aloud from her latest Seventeen magazine.
Eventually, Ma cracks the shutters to let in some air.
She brings the radio, so we can listen to a mix of big band music and hurricane updates.
Eventually, around ten o’clock, she sends me to Cooper’s room to try and get some sleep.
There’s a knocking, louder than the shutters bumping into the glass with every big gust of wind. I grumble and burrow into the blankets. The pounding rain helped drown out Maggie’s cries. I wonder if she and Ma got any sleep at all.
!
Cooper springs up and goes to the door. “How’s Maggie?”
I stumble over, bleary-eyed. Rain is driving against the roof. Thunder growls in the distance. Have we reached the eye of the storm?
“The baby is coming, and he’s still breech. There’s no way to get Maggie to the hospital. I tried to call Mrs. O’Neill, but the lines are down. I want you two to go up to the main house. Ask Joan to come down here.”
Dad comes up behind Ma. “I told you, I don’t want that woman in my house! Why can’t Grace help you?”
Ma lowers her voice. “If we can’t turn the baby, there’s a risk the cord will get caught around his neck and make it so he can’t breathe.
It could catch around one of his limbs. Do you want to lose this child?
Or one of his arms or legs? Or Maggie? The poor girl has already been in labor for fourteen hours.
She’s young and healthy, but … I’m worried, Joe. I need someone with some experience.”
What experience does Mrs. Langford have with babies?
“I don’t like it.” Dad sneers. “There are things you don’t know about that Thorpe girl. I don’t want the kids spending the whole day with her.”
“For God’s sake, Joe, can’t you put your ridiculous vendetta aside for one day?”
My eyes widen. Ma never blasphemes. And she never calls Dad ridiculous, even when he is.
“You are responsible for the well-being of this girl,” she continues. “In the event that difficult decisions have to be made about which life to save—”
“The baby,” Dad says.
“Maggie!” I shout.
She was right. Dad doesn’t care if she lives or dies. There will always be more girls in trouble.
“What would Maggie want, if it comes to that?” Of course Cooper would think of that.
“She’s a child, she doesn’t know what she wants.” Dad scoffs.
“Hopefully it won’t come to that. Hurry up and get dressed, you two. Be careful walking to the hotel. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of those old oaks come down in this wind. And if the tornado siren goes off, get yourselves down to the cellar, quick.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Cooper says. I nod, but my mind is spinning.
If Mrs. Langford comes down to the cottage, we’ll be at the hotel without any adults. And I know exactly how we can pass the time.
The wind has risen to a gale that twists the trees and snatches hair from my braid.
The stakes holding up Ma’s tomatoes and sunflowers have blown down; her berry bushes and cornstalks are a wild tangle, too.
Melons sit in mud puddles. Cooper and I run through the garden and arrive on the hotel’s doorstep drenched and disheveled.
!
Rose leads us to the library, where she and Ella and their aunt are playing gin rummy.
Dad would have a fit; he believes playing cards is sinful, akin to gambling, even if they aren’t playing for money.
They’ve built a fire in the fireplace, and the room smells of woodsmoke and toast and strawberries.
It’s all very cozy, in stark contrast to the dire atmosphere at the cottage.
Rose explains that (probably as a consequence of playing out in the rain yesterday) Lou is suffering from the sniffles, so she’s tucked up in bed.
I say I’m sorry to hear it, but that’s a lie; I’m glad to have the little one out of the way, considering what I’ve got planned.
We explain to Mrs. Langford that Ma needs her help. “Of course. I’ll do whatever I can.”
Ella laughs. “What do you know about having babies? You aren’t a nurse!”