Ten Thousand Charms (6 page)

The pains progressed with the darkness. First erratic and inconsequential, they grew in intensity and regularity. She'd almost laughed at the first ones. Ooh, that's a big one!” Or, “Yep, I think this is it!” Laughing, she thought, was better than screaming—not that they'd been strong enough to make her scream. Besides, laughter meant strength.

But as the shadows lengthened and the darkness crept in and around her home, the laughter died.

“1 should have told Sadie,” she said to the empty room. “She should be here. She said she'd be here.”

There was a little fire in the stove, not much more than embers right now, and still she felt hot. She'd taken off her clothes earlier, and now sat on her bed wearing one of Mae's nightgowns. The room was encased in darkness. Her only lamp sat on a little shelf that jutted out from the windowsill. She rarely lit it, preferring to lie in the darkness and concentrate on feeling the movement of the baby within her.

The life within her.

Left in the dark, she could imagine the trappings of a home surrounded her. She could conjure the breath of a sleeping mate. She could pretend that this child was coming into a world where it would be loved and cared for in a way she never was. She tried to imagine herself, an unborn mass in her mother's womb, tried to see her mother lying in darkness eagerly awaiting Gloria's arrival. A single flame in the lamp would make all of that disappear. A
solitary strike of a match would light the whole room and reveal its bed, its bureau, its chair, its stove. Worse, it would reveal the small green leather case, the legacy her mother left her. The rootless existence handed to her. The mere presence of light was not worth the dashing of a dream, not on any ordinary evening, anyway

But this was no ordinary night. With a shaking hand, she lit the lamp, turned the flame high, and waited for someone to notice.

Another pain seized her.

Why hadn't she told Sadie? Why didn't she call out to her now? Why not risk the few steps across the yard? The pain that gripped her made Gloria feel as though the muscles in her body were about to rise against her and squeeze out her own breath, her own life. Without Sadies help, she felt she might not live through this night at all.

Maybe that's why she'd kept silent.

Last week she lived through two days without feeling the baby move. Not at all. She'd stayed awake all night, not wanting to miss a single kick. But nothing. She knew it was dead, just knew it. She remembered the sadness in Sadie's face as she talked about her stillborn children, yet she felt a tiny sense of relief at the thought of escaping motherhood. She congratulated herself on the confirmation of her inadequacy.

But when she woke up that third morning to the insistent stretching of arms and legs within her, she experienced pure joy Silently alone in her bed, she had rejoiced at the child's determination and strength. The baby wanted her, and it wasn't until this night, this moment, this pain that she wanted it, too.

If the baby could decide to live, so could she. But not alone. She needed help; she needed Sadie. She needed—

To walk. Maybe she could make it to the door. A breath of fresh air. She was a little unsteady, stooped over. It only took about three steps to go from her bed to her door, and by the time she made it through the third step, she felt as though her body were
engulfed in shards of glass. She fell against the door latch and took a stumbling step outside. Sometime during the seconds that had passed since she left her bed, it had started to snow. Fat, soft, silent flakes. Gloria turned her face up toward the sky and opened her mouth. The snowfall was so new, so irregular, that it was some time before she felt a flake fall onto'her tongue. But she did, then another, and another as the snowfall increased in intensity.

Then pain.

She held onto the doorframe even as she fell to her knees. She knew she would never make it across the yard to Jewell's back door, so when the grip of this last contraction eased, she called to the open window.

“Sadieeeee!”

The wind wasn't howling or strong enough to whisk her voice away, but the thickness of falling snow seemed to absorb sound.

“Sadieeeee!” she called again.

Still no tall silhouette in Jewells doorway. No bustle of broad shoulders and ash-colored hair. No friendly voice, no ready joke. No capable hands to deliver one life and keep another.

She had to try one more time. Just one more. If Sadie didn't come, she would crawl to her bed and wait to die. She straightened her back as best she could, took a deep breath, and screamed into the growing sheet of snow

“Sadieeeee!”

Still nothing. Still on her knees, she allowed her weight to settle on her feet. She felt a chill begin to spread throughout her body Then she felt something else.

Warmth.

It was coming from within her. Slowly her feet and ankles were drenched in liquid warmth.

“Oh, dear God,” she said. “I've killed it. I'm sorry,” she called in the general direction of Jewell's house. “I'm so sorry”

Gloria let loose of her grip on the threshold, felt her face hit the mud, and sank into blackness.

Somebody was telling her to wake up. Insisting, really

“Come now, Gloria,” said the voice at the edge of the fog. “Wake up now We got some work to do.”

“Mama?”

“Sure, if that's what it takes. You ready to have this baby?”

“Mama…mama, I'm sorry”

“Not as sorry as you're going to be if…”

The rest of the sentence dissolved in a grunt. Two strong hands grasped her under her arms and suddenly she was being lifted to her feet.

“Let's get you to the bed.”

“I killed it,” Gloria said, sobbing. She did her best to shuffle her weight in the direction that the hands were dragging her. “I felt it, just pouring out—”

“That was just your water breaking.”

“What water?”

“Your water. It happens. It is natural and right.”

Gloria felt the edge of her bed behind her knees and began to sink down upon it.

“Not just yet. Your gown is soaked and we need to get it off.”

The fabric was tugged off her shoulders and she felt it fall at her feet. She convulsed a bit at the sudden chill, but the warm, strong hands guided her to lie down. Soon she was engulfed in the warmth of her quilt pile.

“You warm yourself up, Liebling.” The hair was brushed off Gloria's face with the softest caress she could remember. “I need to get some help.”

Gloria reached up and gripped the hand that stroked her cheek.

“Don't leave me, please. Not again.”

“It's all right, Gloria. I'll be back. Right back. I won't leave you.”

The haze dissipated, and Gloria felt the clear, strong presence of love. This wasn't her mother. This was her friend.

“Sadie. You're here.”

“Yes.” Her voice was deep and warm and full of promise.

“Sadie, 1 killed the baby”

“Darling, relax. You are fine. The baby's fine.”

“I don't want it to die. I don't want to die.”

“Nobody is going to die tonight,” Sadie said, her voice strong and authoritative. “But 1 need another set of hands in here.”

“You'll be back?”

“Of course.”

“Sadie?”

“Yes, honey.”

“How did you know to come here?”

Sadie laughed. “Biddy made a spice cake, and you didn't show up. We knew something had to be wrong.”

Gloria's body embraced her laughter.

“Now stay put,” Sadie said. “I'll go get one of the girls.”

Sadie stood up and crossed the room.

“Sadie?”

A sigh. “Yes, Gloria.” She kept a hand on the door's latch while turning to face her friend.

“I never laughed until I met you.”

“Of course you did.”

“No, 1 didn't. I really don't think 1 did.”

“You just don't remember. Now, I've got to go get some help.”

“All right. Sadie?”

Another sigh. This time she let go of the latch, walked back to the bed, and knelt beside Gloria.

“What?”

“Could you bring me a piece of that spice cake?”

“Not until you're through,” Sadie said.

Gloria started to voice her disappointment, but it turned into a moan. Right away, Sadie was at the foot of the bed, lifting the quilt from Gloria's legs and repositioning her body

“On second thought,” Sadie said, “the girls will figure it out. I am staying right here.”

Gloria wanted to say “thank you,” but the haze was back. She felt Sadie's hand between her thighs.

“1 can feel the head. It won't be long now.”

“It has a head?”

“Of course it has a head. No creature runs around on this earth without a head. Except maybe you sometimes.” More laughter…

“Sadie?”

“Yes, Gloria.”

“It doesn't hurt anymore. Why doesn't it hurt?”

“Because I am here. I'm helping you.”

“I don't feel anything.”

“You will. It is almost time to push.”

“Push?”

“You'll know. Your body will tell you when to push the baby out.”

“I don't want to push it out. It's safe with me.”

“It will still be with you. It will always be safe.”

“But I don't know…”

Faces appeared in the doorway. Voices popped into the room. Mae brought fresh water for Gloria to sip and coffee for Sadie. Biddy brought fresh linens and firewood. Jewell wondered when it would all be over. So did Gloria. Sadie knew…

“Deserted by the waning moon,
When skies proclaimed night's cheerless noon,
On Tower Fon or tended ground,
The Sentry walks his lowly round
The Sentry walks his lowly round…”

“Sadie?"

“Yes, honey”

“You're singing?”

“Yes.”

“I've never heard you sing before.”

“1 don't do it very often.”

“You should. It's beautiful. What is it?”

“Just a song I remember growing up. Sailors sang it.”

“Where did you grow up?”

“New York.”

“How did you get here?”

“Long story.”

“Will you sing some more?”

“And should a footstep haply stray
Where caution marks the guarded way
Stranger quickly tell, a Friend
The Word good night all's well
All's well, all's well…”

“It's time, Gloria. Now. It's time to push.”

“I don't know what—”

“Your body knows. Now push.”

Gloria brought herself up on her elbows and bore down. Hard. She gritted her teeth and felt her head grow tight with pressure. Her eyes closed tight, and the image of her single burning flame lingered, now blue and dancing.

“Good girl. Good girl.” Sadie's voice faded in and out of Gloria's ears. “I can see the head now. Rest a minute, then we'll push again.”

Clouds cushioned Sadie's words, so Gloria had to ask, “Now? Push?” when Sadie said, “Push! Now!”

“Are we almost done?” Gloria cried.

Bits of conversation were abandoned, at least Gloria thought they were. She spoke without hearing, heard without knowing— just a constant wash of sound as if she'd been plunged into a river that lapped and rolled inside her head.

So Gloria pushed. Again. Again. And again. Each one a little easier than the one before it until—

'"S here!” Sadie's voice sounded triumphant.

Gloria was vaguely aware of precise, deft movements before Sadie spoke again.

“He's here.” Sadie abandoned her post at Gloria's feet and now sat at Gloria's side. She laid a warm, wet, squirming thing on Gloria's breast.

“Er ist perjekt Er ist schon.”

“What?”

“It's a boy, Gloria. A beautiful, healthy boy.”

“A boy?"Gloria brought her arms up to trap the baby next to her skin.

“Yes, and he's just perfect. Just needs a little cleaning up.”

Sadie took the baby from Gloria, who was surprised to find her arms reaching for him. Mae had been instructed to set some water on the stove, and now Sadie dipped a hand in it to test its warmth. Satisfied, she soaked a rag in the warm water and began to wash the baby's skin. The newborn let out a wail of protest.

“He's a real boy all right,” Sadie said. “Already he doesn't like to take baths.”

Gloria watched the bathing of her son. It seemed an impossibly long process—each little arm, each little leg, the protruding little lump on his belly.

“Can I see him again?” she asked.

“Of course you can, silly. He's your son. He is yours. Just let me get him presentable.”

Sadie wrapped a tiny scrap of cloth around the boy's bottom and then swaddled him in a little blanket she and the women had pieced together during the darkest days of winter. The warmth of the blanket stilled his cries, and when Sadie brought him back to Gloria, he was pink and wide-eyed.

Somehow, Gloria knew just how to crook her arm to cradle her son. Somehow he knew to wriggle a tiny hand free to reach for his mother's finger. His eyes were deep and brown; his head covered with long silky blond strands. The day was just dawning, his first day on earth, and already it was impossible to imagine a
world without him in it.

Sadie continued to bustle around the room, tidying this and straightening that. She held out a robe that Mae brought during the night.

“Let me take him a minute so you can put this on.”

Reluctantly, Gloria handed her son over to her friend. She managed to turn, let her legs fall over the side of the bed, and shrugged into the warm wrap. She was about to ask Sadie to help with the belted tie when she looked up. Sadie was holding the boy close, closer than Gloria had. Her face was twisted in pain, and tears—the first Gloria had ever seen her shed—fell onto the baby's head.

“Oh, Sadie," Gloria said.

“Mine were beautiful, too. Just so still, so quiet.”

“I'm so sorry Sadie. I wish I could—”

“Well, you can't.” Sadie squared her broad shoulders. “What you need to do now is get yourself cleaned up. The girls will want to come over here and meet the young prince. Let's see if 1 can get a comb through that hair of yours.”