Maude (2 page)

Even though I was usually fidgety when I had to
sit still, like in church, I loved needlework. There’s a
peacefulness that comes over you when you sew. I
guess that it’s because you don’t think about any of
your worries, you just let your mind work on the fabric
and the thread. When you concentrate on one small
section at a time, it’s almost a surprise when it’s
finished and you see it as completed work. When I
sewed other things, long after my mother was gone, I
could almost hear her voice at times, telling me to knot
the end tightly, or to twirl the needle just so to untangle
the thread. As long as I lived, I remembered everything
my mother taught me, and not just about sewing.

One Saturday night, not long after Helen left, my
mother curled my hair for the first time. She stood me
up on a chair and ran a wet comb through my hair,
rolling up the strands in white cotton strips she had
torn from a flour sack. It wasn’t easy to fall asleep that
night, with the knots pulling at my scalp, but when my
mother untied the strips the next morning and combed
it out, my stiff, straight hair lay in soft waves, just like
Helen’s.

It was something that no one had ever said to me
in my life. He held me close to his chest and swung me
back and forth before he set me down.

I expected that everyone in the church would oo-oh and a-a-ah over how I looked, but Helen was the
only one who noticed. She treated me nicer, now that
she was out of the house.

I asked Momma to roll up my hair again that
night, but she said it was too much trouble to do every
day. I tried to do it myself, but it came out all crooked,
wavy in parts but with the ends still straight. I decided
I would be satisfied with having it curled for Sunday
service. Being pretty, even just once a week, would
make me happy.

The first year of the new century ran right by me
without notice, but one day the next summer, when I
was eight years old, I was spending the afternoon at
Helen’s house. Helen was seven months into carrying
her first baby, and not having an easy time of it. She
still threw up about ten times a day, and lifting
anything made her feel lightheaded. For the last few
months, I’d been sent over on weekends to help with
the cleaning.

I loved doing it. While I did the chores I
pretended it was my own home and that my own
husband would come home from work and greet me
with a kiss just the way Helen’s husband did.

I was in the back yard hanging a load of clothes
on the line when I heard a short scream, like a hurt
animal, come from the house. I dropped the towel I
was holding back in the basket and ran to the house.
Helen’s husband Tommy and the town doctor, who had
delivered all three of us, were there and Tommy was
holding Helen in his arms. She leaned against him and
looked like she was about to fall. I grabbed Helen’s
skirt.

Tommy looked panicked. He pulled my hands
away from her. “Go wait in the bedroom.”
I obeyed, just as I always did, going into the
bedroom and sitting on the bed. Someone closed the
door after me, and I strained to hear the voices from
the living room, but couldn’t make out any of what
they were saying. After what seemed to me to be
forever, the door opened and Tommy carried Helen in
the room. She was passed out. Doctor Wilson folded
down the covers and Tommy laid Helen on the bed and
pulled the blankets up over her. Then, the doctor
motioned to me and Tommy to go to the living room,
and we followed him out, closing the door after us.
I clutched Tommy’s hand. “Is she going to be all
right? What’s the matter with her?”
He looked at me with sad eyes, and then looked
over at the doctor. Tommy dropped his head and went
to the kitchen. Doctor Wilson sighed loudly, took my
hand in his and told me the most horrible thing I ever
heard. “There was an accident, Maude,” he stopped,
like he was searching for the right words.” Something
caught fire in the kitchen of your house. When your
dad heard the neighbors yelling, he ran in the house
looking for your mother.”
I felt the panic run through my entire body. It
shot from my head to my toes. All of a sudden, I was
freezing cold. My body shivered, and I clutched my
arms around myself. “Is my Daddy all right? Is he
burnt up?”
Doctor Wilson patted me on the shoulder, “I’m
sorry, Maude, it was an old house, all wood frame.
They didn’t make it out in time.”
For a split-second, I couldn’t understand what he
was saying. The sound of my heart pounding roared in
my ears and made me almost deaf. Then it dawned on
me that both my momma and daddy were gone.
I searched for words, but couldn’t find any. I
dropped both hands to my sides and just stood there,
staring at the floor and shaking. The doctor patted me
on the back again, turned, and went to the kitchen. He
and Tommy were talking quietly, I was still standing
where they left me when I heard a strange, weak cry
come from Helen in the bedroom.
I ran in the room. The smell of the blood and
something else I didn’t recognize filled the room. I let
out a screech, and Tommy came bursting through the
door with Dr. Wilson right behind him. They pushed
me out of their way and I pressed myself against the
wall. The doctor jerked the covers off Helen.
“Her water’s broke,” he said, “get my bag.”
Tommy went running to the living room, where
Dr. Wilson had left his bag on the floor next to the
chair, brought it, and put it in the doctor’s hands.
The doctor looked at me. “Get me all your towels
and some water.”
That made me come to myself, and both Tommy
and I ran for the kitchen. While Tommy pumped a big
bowl full of water from the kitchen pump, I grabbed a
stack of towels from the pantry and ran back in the
bedroom.
The doctor had pulled all the covers off Helen
and pushed her feet back toward her hips. Her skirt
was up around her waist, and she wasn’t wearing any
step-ins. I stopped dead in my tracks. I couldn’t move.
I had never even seen my sister naked and now this
was awful.
“Give me the towels,” the doctor said.
I dropped the pile onto the bed next to Helen.
Tommy, his face white as a ghost, brought the water.
He put it down on the floor and then dragged a small
table over so it was at the doctor’s hands.
“Get some more water and heat it up,” the doctor
said to Tommy, who looked relieved to have a task and
ran back out of the room. Helen moaned loudly, but
never opened her eyes. I couldn’t tell if she was even
conscious.
The blood flow seemed to have let up. Doctor
Wilson straightened out Helen’s legs and pulled the
covers over her. He pressed his hands against the sides
of her stomach and held them there for a long time.
“She’s not having pains yet. Maude, get me a
clock or a watch.”
I ran to the living room and found Tommy’s
watch from the little pedestal that it rested on. It was
the one that his father had given him that he carried
only on Sundays. The doctor stood and pulled the chair
up next to the bed. He motioned for me to sit. He took
my hand and pressed my palm against Helen’s side.
“First babies take a long time coming. I can’t
stay here all afternoon and night. I’ll be in my office
when you need me. It’s right down the street.” He
pushed my hand firmly against Helen’s side. “Feel her
stomach?”
I nodded.
“Watch her face, and you’ll be able to tell when
a pain is coming, even if she doesn’t wake up. When
the pain starts, her stomach will get real hard for a few
minutes and then it will let up for a while. At first it
will be a long time from one pain to the next, but
they’ll get closer together all the time. Do you
understand?”
I nodded again.
“Good, now, when those pains start coming
about five minutes apart you have Tommy come and
get me.”
Again, I just nodded that I understood. The
doctor stood left the room. I could hear him talking to
Tommy in the kitchen, then the slamming of the screen
door.
All afternoon and into the evening, I sat staring
at Helen’s face and watching for it to change. I kept
one hand or the other pressed against my sister’s side,
changing hands when one got tired, but her stomach
never changed. Tommy came in and out of the room
every half-hour with a puzzled expression on his face.
He would look at me and ask if anything was
happening, and I would shake my head in silence.
Finally he threw his hands up in the air in surrender. “I
have to get another woman to help us. It isn’t right for
only a little girl and a man to be in here with this going
on. I’m going to get my Aunt Deborah.”
Tommy’s mother had passed away the year
before, and Deborah was the only female relative he
had left. She lived on the other end of town.
I knew it would take more than a few minutes for
him to get back, and I was afraid to be left alone with
such a big responsibility, but the thought of having
someone else come to take over the job eased my
mind. My eyes locked onto Tommy’s. He seemed to
be asking for my approval. I forgot I was only seven
years old.
“That’ll be good,” I said. “Hurry up.”
He raced out of the house. He hadn’t been gone
two minutes before Helen let out a loud moan and
stiffened her body. Under my palm, I could feel
Helen’s stomach become as hard as rock. I looked at
the watch standing on the table. It was seven thirtyfive.
“Seven thirty-five.” I said it out loud so I would
remember the time. After a few minutes Helen relaxed
and her stomach softened. It was happening like the
doctor said it would, and it made me feel better. It was
going to be all right. Tommy would bring Aunt
Deborah, and when the pains got close enough, they
would have the doctor there.
Only, it wasn’t a half-hour before the next pain
came. I stared at the watch as Helen’s stomach
hardened under my hand. It was only five minutes. I
wanted to call out for help, but there wasn’t anyone
else within the reach of my voice. I was afraid to leave
Helen alone to go run for the doctor, and afraid not to
run for the doctor.
After a few minutes the pain let up. I bolted from
my chair and ran out to the front porch, down the steps
and over to the Thompson’s house next door. I
pounded on the door with the side of my fist as hard as
I could. One of the older boys opened the door and
looked at me in surprise.
I shouted, “The baby’s coming! I need Doctor
Wilson at Tommy’s right now, please go get him.”
Then I turned on my heel and ran back to Helen’s
bedside. Helen was relaxed again and looked like she
was sleeping. I sat back down on the chair and pressed
my hand against Helen’s now-familiar stomach. In a
few minutes another pain came, only this time Helen’s
eyes popped open for the first time since that
afternoon, and she screamed loudly. She turned her
head and saw me. She gave me an accusing look, as if
I was what was hurting her. I caught Helen’s hand in
both of mine and squeezed it a little. “It’s going to be
all right, the baby’s coming. Tommy went to get his
Aunt Deborah and the doctor is on his way.”
Helen pinched her eyes shut, threw back her
head and screamed again. I was terrified. I didn’t know
what to do. Helen pulled her knees up, pressed her chin
down, and gasped for air.
“Oh, no, oh, no, here it comes now,” Helen
hissed from between her clenched teeth.
I pulled down the covers and looked. The baby’s
head was sticking out of her. It was covered in blood
and ooze. My stomach churned. I held onto Helen’s
hand. It was all I could think of, I didn’t have the
slightest idea what I should do. Then I heard the screen
door slam again and the doctor came in the room
carrying his bag.
I looked up at him, and I know I must have
looked scared to death. “It’s coming out already,” I
said.
Doctor Wilson pushed me aside. He laid his bag
on the bed next to Helen and flipped the top of it open.
He spread out one of the towels I’d brought in earlier
over the table next to the bed and began pulling strange
looking tools out of the bag, lining them up on the
towel.
“Get one of those other towels and hold it open,”
the doctor said to me. I shook out a towel and held it
out to the doctor with one hand.
“No, I’m going to put the baby into it, drape it
over your arms so you can take the baby and wrap it
up.”
I did what he said with the towel and stood there
holding out my hands. I watched, scared to death, as
the baby’s shoulders and arms came out. It was
horrible and terrifying and like I was in some sort of
spell. I couldn’t turn away. The doctor held onto the
baby’s sides and pulled gently until the rest of its body
came sliding out. It had a long, rope-like thing on its
stomach, with the other end still fastened inside Helen.
The baby looked very small to me, but I had no idea
what it was supposed to look like. I saw the private
parts and realized it was a boy. I had never seen a
human boy’s parts before. The only babies I’d ever
seen were already dressed, and much larger, but they
were at least a few weeks old and born after nine
months and not just seven.
I waited for a cry, but it didn’t come. The doctor
held the baby upside down and shook it a little. There
was still no cry. He slapped it smartly a few times on
the bottom, then patted it firmly on the back. Nothing.
He put it on the towel I was holding, wrapped it and
took it back from me. Cradling it in his arms, he blew
into its mouth several times. He held it up and pressed
his ear against its chest.
Then he sighed and laid it down on the bed. He
tied some string on the cord and then cut the baby
loose from Helen. He folded the towel up over the
baby’s body and then handed it to me. I reached out
and took it and cradled it in my arms the way I had
been doing with my dolls only a few days before. The
doctor had just turned his attention back to Helen when
Tommy and Aunt Deborah came into the room. She
saw the wrapped up bundle in my arms and must have
understood what had happened.
Aunt Deborah took my arm and pushed me
toward the door. She said, “Tommy, take this girl out
of here. The doctor and I will finish this up.”
Tommy obediently put his hand on my shoulder
and steered me out of the room. We walked into the
kitchen. I stood there with the tiny bundle in the crook
of my arm.
Tommy looked at me. “Did it cry a lot?”
“He didn’t cry at all,” I said.
Then what I was saying struck him. He sat on a
chair and reached out his hands. I handed the baby to
him and he laid it on the table. He pulled back the
towel and stared at it.
He reached out and touched his fingertip to the
little face. Tears ran down Tommy’s cheek. “Look
what we had, Maude. We had a little boy. Helen said if
it was a boy, she would let me call him Henry Mathias,
after my granddad.”
Then he stood, handed the baby back to me, and
went out the kitchen door to the back yard. I could hear
him crying something awful. After a moment I
wrapped the baby back up and held him to my chest. I
took him to the rocker in the corner of the kitchen and
sat and rocked slowly. I pulled back the towel and
looked into his perfect little face from time to time,
expecting to see him move, expecting him to make a
lie out of what I knew was true.
I don’t know how long it was before the doctor
came to the kitchen.
“Where’s Tommy?” he asked.
I kept on rocking and nodded my head toward
the back door. The doctor understood. He went out to
the yard and, through the open door, I could hear him
talking to Tommy.
“Helen’s going to be all right. She can have as
many children as she wants, but she lost a lot of blood
and she’s going to have to rest for a long time. I don’t
want her out of the bed for at least two weeks and even
then, she’ll be weak for a while. She’ll need someone
to stay with her and take care of her while you’re at
work.”
Tommy’s voice sounded shrill and scared as he
answered the doctor. “My Aunt Deborah has kids still
at home. She can’t stay here all day.”
“Maude can do it. She’ll be here anyway, and
she’s very grown-up for her age.”
“Maude? Here?”
“Of course, Helen’s the only family she has left.
Where else would she go?”
“I don’t know. I never thought of that.”
“I know. It’s been a horrible day. I’ll talk to the
undertaker and the preacher about the funerals. You try
to get some rest now. Tomorrow won’t be much better
than today.”
I got up from the rocker and took my little bundle
to the room that had been all made up for the baby.
Tommy had painted it a soft yellow, with white
woodwork, and there was a chest of drawers and a
cradle. I put the baby in the cradle and put a blanket up
to his little chin. I stroked his head, still matted with
the stuff of birthing.
The extra blankets off the bureau made a pallet
on the floor for me. I took off my shoes and socks, lay
down, and pulled a blanket up over me, and then cried
for the first time, but it wasn’t a sorrowful crying. I
was so awful angry that the Lord had let this happen,
angry right down to the marrow of my bones. It made
me even more afraid to feel that way. I had been taught,
and I believed, that it was a sin to be angry with God.
I was afraid that God would punish me for the way I
felt. The baby Helen had been so excited about was
dead, my mother was dead, and my daddy was dead.
How could God love us and do this to us?