Bound by Blood and Brimstone (40 page)

muffled. “I don’t want to keep him waiting.” A cold shock, like a dash of ice water in the face,

rooted me to the floor as she continued to grope. “I don’t see it under here,” she muttered,

flipping her hair out of her eyes and facing me.

I stared at her, the chill scuttling along my nerves, trying hard to gauge the sincerity of

her words. Is she serious? She can’t be. She was there when Reese told us. She knows Noah is

dead. Better for her to have a good cry or fly into a screaming fit. Better to rend her clothes and

wear sackcloth and ashes. Any sign of grief would be better than this.

Mutely, she waited for my response, her lips peeled back in that eerie grimace. From the

kitchen, rattling dishes could be heard as Momma set the table for supper.

“Uh, Lorrie Beth,” I began, my mouth gone bone dry. “Noah isn’t coming for you. He’s--

dead, remember? Caleb stabbed him.”

Outside, Checkers signaled Reese’s arrival with a volley of barks. Sam scampered

through the front room, yelling for hamburgers.

Lorrie Beth blinked. “Dead? But I saw the ring he was going to give me. He promised to

come back, and Noah wouldn’t lie to me.”

My heart flip-flopped. Even seeing Sue Lee’s lifeless body with its gaping head wound

hadn’t scared me as much as this. “He must’ve lost the ring, Sis. Sheriff Bates didn’t mention

anything about finding it on him. Caleb didn’t have it either.”

She blinked again and started, as though newly awakened. “He lost the ring?”

“Yeah.” Then, struck by inspiration, I offered her a lifeline. “Noah doesn’t have to be

gone for good, you know. In a way, he can live on, through the baby.”

Absently, she touched her flat abdomen and dropped her head, her face obscured by a

curtain of hair. When she looked back at me, her eyes were brimming. “If I hadn’t told

everybody about this baby, Noah would still be alive. We could’ve just run away together. This

baby killed Noah.”

Lorrie Beth’s pregnancy was an imprisonment in hell. Shamefully, I escaped at every

opportunity and by any means at my disposal. Between the minor distractions of school and

chores, I locked myself in my room with paper and pen, infusing my characters with my own

grief and guilt.

My all-consuming fear was for Lorrie Beth’s life, as it became obvious she cared nothing

for it. Wracked by nausea, deprived of sunlight, she withered beneath the bulk of her growing

belly, and her skin bleached as white as Momma’s sun-washed sheets.

Her captors cut her no slack on chores, ignored her when possible, and drove her to

hours of tedious Bible lessons. Prepared with great enthusiasm by Reese, they all centered on

fallen women, his favorites being Jezebel and Delilah.

Tempers flared. Steely-eyed, Momma spend a good deal of time chastising me for

unfinished tasks or yelling at Sam for the slightest infraction. With a drooping tail, even

Checkers steered clear of her.

One evening after supper, driven to near madness with worry over Lorrie Beth’s health, I

approached Momma to enlist her help. “She’s not eating enough to keep a kitten alive, Momma.

She looks like she hasn’t slept in weeks. She’s wasting away in front of us, starving the baby.

I’m afraid for her. Can’t you at least talk to her?”

She was sitting on her bed, sewing a button on one of Reese’s shirts, and for a minute,

she didn’t even acknowledge my presence. Viciously, she snapped her thread with a flick of her

wrist and glared at me. “What do you want me to do, Ember Mae, spoon feed her? She knows

where the food is if she gets hungry. If she’s big enough to go out and get herself in this mess,

she’d better be big enough to take care of that baby.”

Suddenly, I wondered if Momma would even care if something happened to the baby. It

would make things a lot tidier for you and Reese, wouldn’t it, Momma? Then you could just

pretend none of this had happened.

Reese seesawed between preacher mode and overseer, grumbling at the ineptness of

Momma’s housekeeping and biting our heads off over the television. Mostly, he annoyed me.

Once, however, he addled me with shock.

We were watching Kennedy’s inaugural speech, and I sat riveted with our new President

spouting those eternal words, “Ask not what your country can do for you.”

“Turn that channel,” Reese ordered. I’m not going to foul my ears listening to that God-

forsaken socialist!”

Stunned, I wheeled on him, ready to do battle for our country’s new prince. “God-

forsaken? Reese, he’s Catholic, not atheist. And he’s not socialist, either. He just wants the poor

to have a fair shake. Why do you think he came all the way to West Virginia last year to visit

those coal mines?”

“He
is
a socialist!” he bellowed, jumping from his chair to block our view of the

television. “He’s a liberal and a Hail Mary, Pope-kissing, pantywaist, and he’ll bring this country

to its knees! Now turn that garbage off before I put my foot through his face!”

On a torrid night in July, sometime after midnight, Lorrie Beth went into labor. I awoke

with a start to find her standing by my bed, moonlight streaming over her from my open window.

Her sunken face was twisted in a mask of agony as she held both hands over her monstrous

belly.

Leaping out of bed, I peered anxiously at the tears tracking her face, not wanting to

accept what was. “Is it the baby?” I whispered.

She nodded wordlessly, then gasped and staggered. I grabbed her shoulders to keep her

from toppling over. Her massive bulk heaved, and she cried out as gouts of blood splashed the

lower half of her nightgown. Paralyzed, I could do nothing but watch as it streamed down her

bare legs to puddle on the floor.

Dear God! It’s supposed to start with water, not blood! This is all wrong. I can’t deal with

losing her on top of everything else.

She
was crying openly, shuddering, pupils dilated with terror. “Help me, Em! Please help

me!”

Near collapsing, she sagged against me, so cloaked in sweat, she nearly slid out of my

grasp before I could get her into bed. I smoothed her tangled hair from her brow and had to count

to ten to keep from racing out the door and into the night.
Have to think! Got to stay calm; she

can’t know I’m
losing it. She trusts me. Oh, Lord, why me? Why is it always
me?

“I’m going to wake Momma and Reese,” I said, surprised at how calm I sounded. “I think

you’re going to have to have a doctor.”

“No!” she entreated, gripping my hand so hard I could hear the bones grind together.

“Reese said no doctor!” I was about to let her know how little I cared about what Reese wanted,

when she arched and pitched her head back into the pillow.

“Lorrie Beth.” She cut me off with such an ear-splitting scream, I thought for a minute

my bladder had let go. I stumbled, regained my footing, and tore through the hallway, yelling for

Momma. She was already out the door at a run, Reese behind her.

“Lorrie Beth’s in labor,” I babbled, helpless to still the jitters in my voice. “She needs a

doctor, Momma. There’s no other way. I can’t do this alone. Something’s wrong. There’s so

much blood.”

They barreled past me. “Stay back!” Momma ordered as Sam stuck his head through the

cracked door.

At my doorway, they gaped at the pitiful, sodden girl thrashing on my bed and the

spreading stain beneath her. A look was exchanged in silence. “You have to take her to a

hospital,” I insisted. “She needs a doctor.”

“No doctor,” Reese said grimly. “You’ll do it.”

“You can’t mean it!” I shot back. “I’ve only done this a couple of times, and always with

help. This isn’t a normal labor; can’t you see that?” My voice had grown shrill, bordering on

hysteria, and I could feel rivulets of sweat tickling my spine. One glance at his face, and I knew I

was butting a brick wall.

Whirling on Momma, I gripped her arm and prayed there was enough mother left in her

to hear me. “Momma, think! Don’t you remember what happened with Angel? All the blood?

You don’t want that to happen to Lorrie Beth, do you?” She stiffened, her face stony.

“You’ll have to do it, Ember Mae. After all, you’re supposed to be a midwife, right?”

Just then, another scream warbled out of Lorrie Beth’s throat, a raw, animal keening

sound that locked my blood in ice. Reese shoved me to the bed, his eyes panic stricken.

“Go on,” he said through gritted teeth. If you let her die, I’ll never forgive you.”

It was like someone else took over. Another girl with steadier hands and a cool head

boiled water and gathered clean towels, twine, scissors, and my herb pouch. Somehow, I’d

managed to cordon off part of me, while the other part sponged off my convulsing sister,

propped her on fresh pillows, and piled clean linen under her thighs.

Burning with fever, delirious, she tossed and contorted, releasing a gush of blood with

every pain. In a convulsion of release, she sobbed and prayed, whipping her head, drenching

both the bed and me in scarlet rivers.

Clawing my arm with bloody fingers, she trained unseeing eyes on me and begged, “I

want Noah. Get Noah for me. I want to see him before I die.”

“You’re going to be all right,” I said soothingly, trying not to flinch when she dug her

nails in hard.

Deftly, I peeled back the soaked nightgown to examine her as Wonnie had taught me. My

discovery bludgeoned me, left me reeling. The baby was breeched.
She’s going to die without

help. She’s going to die, and
they’re going to stand by and let it happen.

A spasm of anger stabbed me. While Reese paced and prayed, and Momma wrung her

hands in the next room, I was left with this. Knowing there was no time to be wasted on self-pity,

I inhaled deeply and tried to focus my thoughts.

As if in a dream, the front door heaved inward and banged against the wall. I sensed

without seeing who stood on the outer threshold. Suddenly, Wonnie shadowed my room, her

medicine bag in one hand. Relief and gratitude flooded me, and I practically slammed her to the

floor in my rush to reach her. I squealed her name, flinging my arms around her small frame,

certain of salvation.

“How did you know?” I asked, adrenaline singing through my veins once again.

Ignoring my question, she stepped to the foot of the bed and found what I already knew.

Troubled eyes met mine, and she motioned me to her side.

“This is bad,” she whispered, digging in her bag. We must get to work.”

My world had become small, reduced to this wiry woman and the forlorn, weeping

creature on the bed. I’d nearly forgotten there were other people in the house, when Reese

suddenly lurched in the doorway, his features mottled with rage.

“Take your bag of tricks and get out of my house! Who do you think you are, running in

here, trampling over me and my wife like you own the place?” Apparently, none of his prayers

had anything to do with asking for self-control. He was huffing, eyes bulging, his hands fisted at

his sides.

“I am here to bring this baby,” Wonnie said calmly. “This girl needs my help, and I will

give it.”

He blew up completely then. “I won’t have it! I said to leave my house, woman of Satan!

Witch! Leave my house in the name of Jesus or so help me, I’ll...”

“You’ll what?” Wonnie pivoted, whipping out a pistol from the folds of her skirt. She

leveled it at his sweating face, her voice full of grit. “You worry about what people say, Preacher

Man. What will they say when you have two bodies to put in the ground?”

She got through. He recoiled, his face blanching. Stumbling back into the next room, he

broke down in loose, shuddery sobs.

Eons later, trembling with exhaustion, drowning in blood and slimed in sweat, we

brought Lorrie Beth’s son into the world. Several times during that eternal night, I was certain

Lorrie Beth had died. Many times, I felt sure I’d buckle under the weight of death’s gaze.

His face was bruised and his head misshapen from the birth canal. I sponged him in warm

water and wrapped him in a piece of thin flannel, not wanting to see. While Wonnie prodded and

clucked over him, I combed his full, black hair, a perfect replica of his mother’s. The

resemblance ended there. From forehead to chin, little Joshua Roberts was covered with a raised,

purple birthmark in the shape of a butterfly.

There was simply no explaining my sister’s survival of the bloody battle she’d endured to

bring Joshua into the world. For Lorrie Beth to live through a breeched birth in her weakened,

malnourished condition, aided only by a teenager and an ancient Indian, defied all logic. Even

with Wonnie’s experienced hands to assist me, I’d known I was out of my element but,

somehow, the suffocating terror had left me in the most crucial moments between life and death.