Morning Glory

  He lay holding her while emotions came to cleanse him. He thought of thanking her, but considered himself inarticulate in a moment too precious to jade with words. So he enfolded her, rubbed her back, her spine, her hair, pressing her even closer at intervals when his sense of fulfillment cried for expression.

  Outside a solitary woodcock called, rising on whistling wings. The wind rested, stilling the tree tips. Off in the distance a barred owl called, like the bark of a dog at first, then, as if questioning, Who-looks-for-you? Who looks for you?

  Inside, entwined, Will and Elly drifted to sleep.

  And neither of them thought to turn the light back on.

  CHAPTER

  13

  Elly went into labor near noon of December fourth. She’d had a low backache all morning, then a bloody show, and by dinnertime her first two distinguishable contractions had come, fifteen minutes apart. The second hit hard enough to perch her on the edge of a chair, trying to catch her breath for the better part of a minute. When it ended she braced her back and rose awkwardly, then waddled into the front room.

  Will was working on the bathroom, sitting crosslegged on the floor, whistling. He had cut a doorway through the front-room wall and sectioned off an end of the porch, which already had a window installed and the pipes jutting up from the crawl space underneath. With his first check he had proudly purchased bathroom fixtures—used, though neither Will nor Elly cared in their excitement over the prospect of having such a room. The sink and stool were stored elsewhere, but the tub was in place, standing inside the skeletal walls which, too, awaited finishing after the pipework was done.

  Elly paused in the bathroom doorway, watching Will, listening to him whistle “In My Adobe Hacienda,” which they’d been hearing on the radio lately. Wielding a pipe wrench, he faced the far wall. His cowboy hat sat at a jaunty angle on the back of his head. Sawdust coated its brim, and the back of his blue shirt was smudged with dirt from lying on his back in the crawl space. She smiled as he hit several sour notes.

  He gave the wrench a last mighty tug that interrupted his song, then set it down with a clatter and tested the pipe junction with his fingers, picking up the tune again, softly, through his teeth. He got to one knee and picked up a copper elbow joint, bending forward while figuring the height at which it should adjoin the pipe connections on the tub.

  “Hey, you,” she greeted amiably, wearing an appreciative smile.

  He twisted at the waist and sent her an answering grin. “Hiya, doll.”

  She laughed and leaned against the doorframe. “Some doll, shaped like a bloated horse.”

  “C’m’ere.” He fell to his seat, legs outstretched, leaning against a wall stud and reaching out one dirty hand. They grinned at each other silently for a long moment. “Over here.” He patted his lap.

  She boosted off the doorframe and picked her way through tools and pipes scattered upon the floor to stand above him.

  “Right here.” He patted his lap again as she turned sideways.

  “No, not that way—this way.” He grabbed her ankle and planted it beyond his far hip, grinning suggestively. “Come on down here.”

  “Will... the boys,” she whispered, throwing a cautious glance over her shoulder at the doorway.

  “So what?” Gripping her hands he forced her to straddle him with her skirt bunched up to midthigh.

  “But they might come in.”

  “So they find me kissing their mother. Be good for ‘em.” He linked his wrists behind her waist and settled her paunch against his belly while she crossed her arms behind his neck.

  “Will Parker...” She smiled into his upraised face. “You’re the crazy one, not me.”

  “Damn right, woman. Crazy for you.” He lifted his mouth for a long, involved kiss—lips, tongues, and plenty of head motion. It was something new for Eleanor, necking in the middle of the day. With Glendon there had been restraint during daylight hours, perhaps even less than restraint, for the idea of an interlude like this never entered their heads. But with Will... oh, her Will. He was insatiable. She couldn’t carry a stack of clean laundry through his vicinity without being waylaid, and pleasantly so. He was a devilishly good kisser. She’d never before given much consideration to the quality of kisses. But straddling Will’s lap, with his mouth wide, sucking gently on hers, with his silky tongue stroking everything reachable within her mouth, she appreciated his skill. He didn’t simply kiss. He lavished, then lingered, then drew away by slow degrees, as if he would never tire of her. Sometimes he murmured wordlessly, often nuzzled, making parting as sweet as joining had been.

  The kiss ended with all due reluctance, and with Will’s nose buried in her collar, his hat fallen to the floor.

  “My hands are dirty or you know where they’d be, don’t you?”

  Eyes closed, face tilted up, she held his head and lightly raked his skull the way he loved. “Where?”

  He closed his teeth on her collarbone, chuckled and teased, “In the kitchen, building a sandwich. I’m starved.”

  She laughed and pushed away in mock rebuff. “You’re always starved. What do you think I came in here for?”

  “To call me for dinner?” He leaned back and grinned into her happy green eyes.

  “What else?”

  “And instead you pinned me to the floor and wasted all this time when I could’ve been eating?”

  “Who wants to eat when you can neck?”

  He feigned disgust and reached for his hat, plunking it on his head. “Here I am, minding my own business, puttin’ in a bathroom, when out of nowhere this woman jumps me. I mean, I got my wrench out and I’m connectin’ pipe and not botherin’ a livin’ soul when—”

  “Hey, Will?” she interrupted teasingly. “Guess what.”

  “What?”

  “Dinner’s ready.”

  “Well, it’s about time.” He tried to rise, but she remained on his lap.

  “Guess what else.”

  “I dunno.”

  “My labor’s started.”

  His face flattened as if she’d struck him across the Adam’s apple with the pipe wrench.

  “Elly. Oh, my God, you shouldn’t be sitting here. Lord, did I hurt you, pulling you down? Can you get up?”

  She chuckled at his overzealous reaction. “It’s all right. I’m between pains. And sitting here took my mind off ‘em.”

  “Elly, are you sure? I mean, is it really time?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “But how can it be? It’s only December fourth.”

  “I said December, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, but—well, December’s a long month!” His brow furrowed as he carefully boosted her up and followed. “I mean, I thought it’d be later. I thought I’d have time to finish the bathroom so it’d be ready when the baby came.”

  “It’s a funny thing about babies.” She held his dirty hands and lifted a reassuring smile. “They don’t wait for things to get done. They just come whenever they feel like it. Now listen, I got some things to get ready, so if you’d fix the boys’ plates and your own it’d sure be a help.”

  Will became a bundle of nerves. She shouldn’t have found it amusing, but couldn’t help smiling covertly. He balked at being out of her sight, even for the short time it took him to settle the kids at the table with their plates. Instead of filling a plate for himself he followed her to the bedroom, where he found her stripping the bed.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “Getting the bed ready.”

  “Well, I can do that!” he reprimanded sharply, clumping inside.

  “So can 1. Will, please... listen.” She dropped the corner of the quilt and clasped his wrist. “It’s best if I move around, all right? It could be hours yet.”

  He elbowed her aside and began jerking the soiled bedclothes off the mattress. “I don’t see how you could’ve just sat there on the bathroom floor letting me make jokes while it was already started.”

  “So what else should I d
o?”

  “Well, I don’t know, but Jesus, Elly, there I was, pulling at your ankles, making you sit on me.” She moved as if to resume her chore, and he erupted. “I said I’ll fix the bed! Just tell me what you want on it.”

  She told him: old newspapers against the mattress, covered by absorbent cotton flannel sheets folded into thick pads, and finally the muslin sheet. No blankets at all. It looked so stark and foreboding, the sight of it scared him worse than ever. But while he stood staring she had a new surprise in store for him.

  “I want you to go down to the barn and get a pair of tugs.”

  “Tugs?” His unblinking eyes grew round.

  “Tug straps. From Madam’s harness.”

  “What for?”

  “And you might as well start carrying water. Fill the boiler and the reservoir and the teakettle. We need to have both warm and cold on hand. Now go.”

  “What for? What d’you need those tug straps for?”

  “Will... please,” she said with forced patience.

  He raced down to the barn, cursing himself for not getting the running water in before this, for not hooking the water heater up to the wind generator, for not realizing babies sometimes come early. He tore the spare harness from the wall and fumbled with the leather, removing the tugs. Less than three minutes later he panted to a halt at the bedroom door to find her poised on the edge of a hard wooden chair, back arched, eyes closed, her hands gripping the edge of the seat.

  “Elly!” He dropped the tugs and fell to one knee before her.

  “It’s all right,” she managed, breathless, her eyelids still closed. “It’s going away now.”

  He touched her kneecaps, quaking with fear. “Elly, I’m sorry I shouted before. I didn’t mean to. I was just scared.”

  “It’s all right, Will.” The pain eased as she opened her eyes and slowly sank back in the chair. “Now listen to me. I want you to take that harness and lay it out flat on the porch floor and scrub it hard with a brush and that yellow soap. On both sides. Scrub good around the buckles and even in the buckle holes. And scrub your hands and fingernails at the same time. Then bring the tugs inside and boil them in the dishpan. While they’re boiling in one pan, I want you to boil the scissors and two lengths of hard string in a separate one. You’ll find them in the kitchen in a cup next to the sugar bowl. Then as soon as the water is hot, bring some in here, and the yellow soap so I can take a bath.”

  “All right, Elly,” he answered meekly, rising, backing away doubtfully.

  “And put the boys down for a nap as soon as they’re finished eating.”

  He followed her instructions minutely, rushing from task to task, afraid something would happen while he wasn’t at her side. When he brought the empty washtub into the bedroom he found her drawing fresh white baby clothing from the bureau drawer—a tiny flannel kimono, a receiving blanket, an undershirt, a diaper. He stood and watched as she lovingly catalogued each item and placed it on a stack. Next came the pink shawl she’d crocheted herself, and a pair of incredibly small booties to match. She turned and found him watching.

  Her smile was so peaceful, so unafraid, it brought a measure of ease to him. “I just know it’s going to be a girl,” she said.

  “I’d like that, too.”

  He watched as Elly got the laundry basket from behind the bedroom door, emptied it of dirty clothes and prepared it with a white pad, followed by rubber and cotton sheets. Then came the pink shell-designed shawl and lastly a white flannel receiving blanket. “There.” She smiled down at the basket with the same pride a queen might have exhibited over a golden cradle lined with swansdown.

  He set the washtub down without dropping his eyes from her, stepped around it and touched her tenderly, below the jaw. “Rest now while I bring the water.”

  She looked into his eyes and told him, “I’m awful glad you’re here, Will.”

  “So am I.”

  It wasn’t strictly true. He’d rather be in the car on his way to fetch the doctor, but it was too late for discussing that. He filled her washtub and went to the kitchen to clean up the lunch dishes. Returning to the bedroom minutes later, he found Elly standing in the washtub, covered with soap. She stood at half-profile to him, presenting a view of her back and the side of one breast. He’d never seen her naked before. Not out of bed. The sight stirred him deeply. She was misproportioned, bulky, but the reason for it lent her a different feminine beauty from any he’d ever witnessed. She passed the cloth down her stomach, between her thighs, cleansing the route for the awaited one, and he stood watch, unabashed, without a thought of turning away. Suddenly she was seized by a new pain and dropped into a half-crouch. Her fist closed around the washcloth, sending lather plopping into the water. Will moved as if propelled by black powder, across the room to slide an arm around her slick body, supporting her through the brunt of it. When it began ebbing, he eased her lower until she rested on the edge of the tub, panting.

  He felt helpless and distraught, wanting to do more, needing to do more than simply comfort. He wished he could bear the next pain himself.

  When it was over, she wilted. “That was a strong one. They’re comin’ faster this time than when Thomas was born.”

  “Here. Kneel down.”

  She knelt and he rinsed her back, arms, breasts, relieved to be doing something concrete. He held her hand as she stepped over the rim of the tub, then dried her back.

  “Thank you, Will. I can finish.” While he carried the tub away she dressed in a clean white nightgown and beneath the bed found a white cloth sack from which she drew several large folded dried leaves. Taking them, she followed Will to the kitchen. She stood a moment, watching him spill her bathwater at the sink. With the dipper he rinsed the tub, then mopped it with a rag. Only then did he turn and find her standing behind him, watching.

  “Should you be out here?”

  “You mustn’t worry so, Will. Please. For me?”

  “That’s not an easy order.”

  “I know.” She could see on his face how difficult it was for him to remain stalwart, and loved him for his valiant effort. “But now I need to talk to you about what to expect, what to do.”

  “I know it all.” He set the tub down. “I read it in the book so many times that it might as well be branded on my arm. But reading it and doing it are two different things.”

  She moved close to him and touched his hand. “You’ll do fine, Will.” Calmly she found a kettle into which she put the leaves, covering them with water from the teakettle. She set them to simmer on the rear of the range.

  Will watched, feeling his stomach tensing more each minute. “What’s that?”

  “Comfrey.”

  He was almost afraid to ask. It took two tries before his throat released the sound. “What for?”

  “Afterwards, if I tear, you got to make a poultice of it and put it on me. It’ll draw the skin back together and help it heal. But you got to remember—don’t waste no time on me till you seen to the baby, understand?”

  If she tears. The words shook him afresh. It took an effort for Will to concentrate on the remainder of her instructions.

  “Only use the sterilized rags I laid on the dresser. Everything else you need is there too. Scissors, strings, pledgets, alcohol and gauze for the baby’s cord, and Vaseline for under the cotton when you bandage her. You’ll do that after you give her a bath. Make sure you keep enough warm water for that, and a tubful of cold for the sheets, ‘cause you’ll have to change them when it’s over. When you give her a bath don’t use the yellow soap, but the glycerine. Make sure you hold her head all the time—soon as it comes out of me, and while you’re waiting for the rest of her body to be born, and when you give her a bath, too. But, Will, you got to remember, through it all, the baby comes first. The most important thing is to get her breathing, then bathed and dressed and warm so she doesn’t get chilled.”

  “I know, I know!” he replied impatiently, wishing she wouldn’t talk about it. He’
d read the birth attendant’s instructions until he could recite them verbatim. It was the very images they conjured that rattled him.

  Quietly she said, “Now walk with me.”

  “Walk?”

  “It’ll bring it on faster.”

  If he could choose, he’d postpone it indefinitely. The thought brought a spear of guilt for her plight, and he did as bid. He had never felt as protective as during the following two hours while they strolled the length of the small rooms, back and forth, stopping only for each new contraction. She was intrepid; to be less himself would have made him a burden rather than a support. So he held her hand in the crook of his arm and accompanied her as if they were out for a sojourn on the town green at the height of the season. He teased when she needed brightening. And soothed when she needed support. And talked when she needed talking. And learned what a pledget was when he saw a stack of carefully formed rectangular cotton pads bound in gauze.

  At half past two the boys woke up and he dressed them in their warm jackets and sent them out to play, hoping fervently they’d stay out till sunset.

  Shortly past three Elly announced quietly, “I think I’d like to lay down now. Bring the tug straps, dear.” In the bedroom, with a sigh she rolled onto the clean white sheet and ordered, “Tie them to the footrail as far apart as my knees.”

  His stomach lurched, his salivary glands seemed to kick into overtime and his hands felt clumsy. When the leather straps were knotted, leaving ample leads and loops for her legs, they appeared like trappings in a medieval torture chamber. He found them hideous as he waited for her next contraction. When it hit, it seemed to hit them both. With acute shock, Will felt the sympathetic pain rip through his groin and down his thighs just as it did down Elly’s. It was a hard one, and long, lasting nearly a minute, markedly advanced from those before.

  When it ended, she rested, panting, then whispered, “Wash your hands again, Will, and trim your nails. It won’t be long now.”

  Trim his nails? This time he didn’t ask why. He feared he knew. In case trouble developed and he had to help from the inside.