Chapter 11 #3
My heart raced like a runaway stallion as I frantically forced myself in the direction the ferryman wildly motioned until the riverbank and my feet reconnected. In seconds he’d worked the pulley, bringing the ferry near enough to reach down and hoist me up. “Thank you.” I was breathless.
“Don’t thank me too soon. One of your shoes came loose.”
I followed where he pointed to see my brogan floating downriver, too far away to be reclaimed. “Lord, today…”
At least my medicine bundle’s safe.
Figuring out what to do with only one shoe would have to wait.
“Miss Peterson, I’m here.” My sodden skirt sagged heavily as I climbed onto the rear of the wagon where the patient lay on a pallet moaning in discomfort. Miss Carter sat on an overturned crate looking like she’d had lemons for breakfast. “Let me clean my hands, ma’am, so I can tend to you.”
Quickly, I scrubbed my hands with sage from my medicine bundle, then doused them with rainwater from a bucket near the wagon’s tail end. Within moments I was positioned, ready to examine the expectant woman. “I can check you now, ma’am.”
She was in too much pain to talk and nodded her consent.
I lifted her floor-length skirt and positioned it out of the way and saw her mucus button was absent. “Ma’am, when did your mucus pass?”
“I… don’t… know.” Her speech was labored, slow.
“Was it yesterday? The day before?”
“Oh, get on with yourself, Zinnie, and stop harassing the woman!” Miss Carter’s infernal annoyance wasn’t good for the atmosphere.
Mama Ruth taught me to have clean hands, heart, and spirit when bringing life into existence. I ignored the woman’s peevishness and glanced about the wagon floor for evidence.
It was there near the front of the wagon—a pair of wadded-up bloomers presumably darkened by fluid from the water sac. “When did her waters fall?”
“I wasn’t here for that, and it doesn’t matter. I had seven children without enduring such incessant questioning. Do you or don’t you know what you’re doing? Just give her laudanum or whiskey and be done with it.”
You ain’t birthed nothing since Washington was president. If you think you know better, come do this.
Spirits might dull or soothe the senses, but only this laboring woman could push this baby into existence. I ignored Miss Carter’s nonsense, took the tiny jar from my medicine bundle, removed its stopper, and applied oil to my fingers to check Miss Peterson’s progress.
A three-finger width.
The child was on its way whether its arrival was in hours or minutes.
I readied my instruments. Twine for tying off the water sac.
A blade for cutting it away and creating a belly button.
Powdered skullcap for pain relief. Shepherd’s purse to control bleeding.
All was in order when the ferry lurched violently, knocking me backwards and sending my goods flying.
Miss Carter screamed like the world was ending. “What in heaven’s happening?”
“No idea, ma’am. I’ll check.” I quickly regathered my fallen implements before scrambling off the wagon to find the ferryman heaving something from the river. “Everything alright?”
“Pulley cable broke.” Irritated, he barely glanced at me.
“Can’t count the times I told that,” he lowered his voice, “idiot bastard Mister Dillon this pulley was on its last leg. But he’s cheap, and I’m a Negro so I suppose that means I know nothing.
” He sucked his teeth and shook his head while dragging a pulley from the water that had, moments before, been fastened to a metal wheel affixed to the thick rope extending from bank to bank. Now, it lay limp in his grip.
“You have oars or something?”
He snorted. “Even if I did, takes two men to row this ferry in the right direction.”
I looked about and realized, save a few tethered goats and sheep, the ferry—despite being large enough for three or four wagons—was empty.
Miss Carter had likely objected to other passengers the moment Miss Peterson took to moaning.
Now, we were moored in the middle of the river with half our caravan already crossed over, and the other waiting to be transported.
“Step aside, ma’am. Gotta wrap this cable overhead, so we don’t float off.”
I watched as he repeatedly swung that cable, looping it about the overhead rope, before tying knots and pulling the end tautly.
“That’ll keep. I’ll signal Zion to come get us with the skiff once he unloads.
” Placing two fingers between his lips, he whistled and waved at his fellow ferryman, who was obviously Zion.
Manning a conveyance already docked at the bank that was our destination, Zion’s craft seemed to be working fine on a separate pulley system.
“Have him bring the skiff for you. Not for us. This woman is birthing!” Miss Peterson’s sudden scream punctuated my caution.
He nodded knowingly. Unless of the medical profession, a male presence was forbidden. And a Negro man—slave or free—could never be near the birthing business of a white woman.
“This raft’s gonna bob a bit, but the knots’ll hold. Soon as Zion gets here, I’ll be gone.”
“When the child arrives and everything’s proper, I’ll signal.” Hiking up my sodden skirt, I ran to the wagon, in time to find Miss Carter white-faced and about to faint.
“I detest the sight of blood! Hurry now, Zinnie! And make sure that nigra ferryman is nowhere near these proceedings.”
“No, ma’am. He isn’t.” At least he wouldn’t be. Momentarily. I returned to Miss Peterson readying for the miracle of new life that didn’t come until long after day was done.
True to what the ferryman said that watercraft bobbed and rocked on that river, but those knots held through a rough birth that pulled on the skills I possessed.
Especially calmness. There was no Lovie or Ella to assist. Miss Carter did little more than doze throughout the process.
Day had become deep night. Now, silver stars kissing the night sky, I prayed that the new bundle lying in its mother’s arms would be different: a white person who detested human bondage.
“Fetch that Alretha, Miss Peterson’s maid. She and this baby need attending.” Miss Carter was suddenly awake, issuing commands as always.
Miss Peterson quietly made her own request. “I prefer Camille.”
“Suit yourself. One nigra’s as good as the next. And have them find a nursing wench.”