The Secret Sense of Wildflower (24 page)

I am almost as ripe as one of Aunt Sadie’s strawberries when it comes time to pick them. The first harvest comes early this year because of an unusually hot spring. Jo is past due. We expect news any minute that the baby is coming. Despite Jo’s discomfort she remains patient. Meanwhile, I do enough moaning and complaining for both of us. The last month has gone on forever and the baby is kicking up a storm. Fears torture me in the middle of the night—especially that my daughter will be more like Johnny than me and will stand down on the road, spitting into peach cans.

Sadie isn’t young anymore but she can handle a whole farm on her own. She manages to get things done that would stretch two people to their limits. Selling her mountain remedies, her blackberry wine and her quilts brings money in. Her house and land she owns outright. My grandfather McAllister left Daddy and Aunt Sadie a little bit of money for land when he died. She has a hundred acres past the field and down the hillside, too steep to plow or put a house on, but it is her drug store, where she collects her ginseng root and herbs.

I crawl on my knees through the rows of strawberry plants; my belly hanging like an upside-down camel’s hump. The rich, sweet earth feels solid underneath me. It is good at growing things and, for now, it looks like I am, too. I pat what I imagine to be the baby’s head.

Sadie and I travel down row after row picking the fruit. I fill an old peach basket. Later we’ll empty them into the kitchen sink and wash the strawberries before dividing them up and giving them to family. I grow tired quickly these days and stop to rest.

“Strawberries like the heat,” Sadie says, as she wipes her face and neck with a red handkerchief. “It gets them excited about blooming.”

“Then they must be absolutely thrilled,” I say grumpily.

It is unbearably hot. Sweat cuts a pathway down my neck, between the cleavage I’ve suddenly begun to have, and over my skin stretched tight.

Sadie shoves the red handkerchief into her back pocket. As she makes her way down the rows it sways back and forth like a matador signaling a bull.

The sticky sweetness of the plants covers my hands. Every few feet Sadie scoots forward the empty flour sacks she’s sewn together to use as a cushion for her knees. I have a pair, too, that look like giant potholders. Without protection, picking strawberries tears up your knees quicker than anything. The hard clay presses into hairline cuts and scrapes that turns your knees reddish orange and won’t come out for days.

Sadie is in a talking mood today. From one row over, I hear about the art of canning okra and the subtle uses of ginger. She also talks about Eleanor Roosevelt, who she simply calls “Eleanor,” as if they are best friends. I tune Aunt Sadie in and out like a distant radio station because I have other things on my mind. Becoming a mother worries me day and night. What if I don’t know what to do?

The silence between Mama and me has become as thick as a strong strain of kudzu vine. Kudzu can take over an entire mountain in a summer. It can even swallow up an entire house if left alone. My thoughts eat away at that vine like a goat.

Sadie senses my uneasiness and sits on the ground between the rows. “I think we need a reward for all this hard work,” she says.

I sit, too, wondering how I’ll ever get up again.

“How about a swim?” she says.

“I’m a whale already,” I say. “I’ll scare the fish. Besides, I don’t have a swimsuit.”

“Who needs swimsuits?” she replies.

Sadie’s property has private access to the lake.

“Come on,” she says, offering me a hand up. My weight nearly pulls us both over and we laugh until we get upright again. Then we take our peach baskets full of strawberries and walk back to the house. On the porch we strip down to what Sadie calls
our birthday suits
. Sadie finds two towels and wraps them around us. My towel barely reaches across my belly, but nobody is around and Sadie could care less.

“Last one in is a big fat toad,” she yells. Her skin, as wrinkled as mine is stretched tight, jiggles as she runs down the road, her hand clutching her towel to her chest.

The sun is straight overhead, the temperature stifling hot. The breeze that blows feels more like a heater in my face. But the river waits about a hundred yards away. Sadie is already halfway there. Her bare, white bottom shines as she runs, as if tossing a greeting in my direction.

“No fair, you got a head start,” I yell. I follow her like a waddling duck, with the help of one hand braced underneath my stretched belly. When I reach the lake she is already swimming. I wade in slowly, a cautious convert.

I lower my shoulders into the river and then my head. The water baptizes me with coolness, dissolving away the sticky strawberry hotness. The bulge in my belly makes it easy for me to float. The water holds up the baby for a change instead of me. After a few minutes the tiredness leaves me and I feel light again. At this moment, I can almost remember what life was like before Johnny Monroe.

Sadie dives deep into the water, her gray braid plastered down her back. When she comes up to the surface, she is smiling.

“Your mama and I used to do this before you girls were born,” Sadie says to me.

“Mama?” I ask. “It’s hard to imagine her doing something so playful.”

“Your mama’s always been serious, even when she was young,” she says. “But your daddy had a way of bringing out her carefree side. I’ve been worried about her since Joseph died.”

“Me, too,” I say. “It’s like her sadness is locked deep inside and she covers it up with all the work she does to keep the family going.”

Sadie takes a sideways glance at me. “When did you get to be so wise?” she asks.

Her question makes me smile and gives me a hint of hope that the secret sense may return, since it is supposed to hold wisdom.

After a while, Sadie swims to the shore and gets out of the water. She dries herself off with the towel and I get a glimpse of what it will be like looking in the mirror when I get old.

When Sadie helps me out of the water, I nearly pull her in for her efforts. But as I’m drying off, Sadie says, “The human body is amazing, isn’t it? It can grow little people inside.” She pats my stomach, a wide smile on her face.

I try to catch her enthusiasm but it slips like a minnow through my fingers.

After I dry off we walk back to the house hand in hand and get dressed again. While Sadie washes the strawberries in the sink, I makes us both some sweet tea. The baby moves and I stop and caress my belly.

“Is she kicking?” she asks.

“Like she’s playing a drum,” I say.

We both call the baby “she” after I told her about June Sector’s prediction.

“It won’t be long now,” Sadie says. “Maybe another two or three weeks.”

“Jo’s due any minute,” I says. “Daniel’s so excited about it.”

“Bringing a child into this world is a very exciting thing,” she says.

“Not always,” I say. I remember all the judging looks I get from the people at church, which is almost as bad as the looks of pity.

“It’s a miracle no matter how she gets here,” Sadie says. “And don’t you for one second think otherwise.”

“That sounds like what June Sector said.”

“I’ve always liked June,” Sadie says.

We stand side by side washing strawberries at the sink. I love Sadie, but deep down there is a part of me that wishes it was Mama saying and doing these things with me.

“June said this baby will grow up to be a prophet just like me,” I say.

“Ooh, I like that,” Sadie says, pulling the green tops off the berries.

“What do you think she meant by being a prophet?” I ask.

“That’s just another name for the secret sense,” Sadie says. “Someone with the secret sense just knows things a little bit before everybody else.”

“You know, I haven’t felt it since that day,” I say.

“Just be patient, sweetheart. It will come back around, just like your mama will.”

“I hope you’re right,” I say. Then Sadie gives me a look that is full of knowing.

“When it’s time, you have someone come get me,” Sadie says. “I helped your mama with all you girls.”

“I’m counting on you being there,” I say.

“If I remember right, you came out squalling. You had the healthiest set of lungs I’ve ever heard.”

“Was Mama happy?” I ask.

Sadie pauses. “Yes, I’m certain she was. I seem to recall a smile on her face.”

I wonder if Aunt Sadie is making this up.

“Your baby will probably come out squalling, too,” she continues. “But I’ll do the same with her that I did with you. I’ll hold her in my arms and tell her that this world is a fine place to be and that it will hold many lessons, so she might as well quit her crying and enjoy the stay.”

We wipe our hands on the same towel. “No matter what happens, Aunt Sadie, don’t let Doc Lester get anywhere near me, okay?”

No love is lost between Sadie and Doc Lester. He will tell anyone who will listen that she’s a “quack,” because her mountain remedies eat into his profits.

“I promise,” she says. “Just remember giving birth is one of the most natural things in the world. Think of those kittens being born under your porch all the time. Sometimes the mothers are no more than kittens themselves. But they know what to do when the time comes. Instinct takes over. And Louisa May
Wildflower
McAllister, you have plenty of instinct.”

I lean my head into her shoulder. “Thanks, Aunt Sadie.”

“You’re welcome, honey.”

“I guess I’d better get home,” I say. “Mama’s making fried chicken tonight.”

“That would be enough to get me home,” Aunt Sadie says. “And remember, don’t let Nell get to you. She’ll come around.”

Before I leave Sadie picks out the best strawberries to send to Mama. It is still daylight as I walk toward home. When I pass the corner where Johnny always stood, it seems like everything that has happened in the last year has been a dream. I’ve moved past being so angry I could have killed Johnny myself. But I haven’t stopped being angry with God, yet. Preacher is fond of saying that the road to hell is paved with regrets. I refuse to regret having this baby and I will raise her with Mama’s help or without it.

CHAPTER TWENTY

A frantic knocking wakes us in the middle of the night. My breathing goes shallow. I bolt upright in bed and wait like a deer getting wind of a hunter. Unexpected noises always make me think of Johnny. Meg stashes the book under the bed she’s fallen asleep with. Mama goes to the door and I hear Daniel’s voice.

“It’s time!” Daniel pants, as if he ran all the way up the hill.

Meg jumps up and I waddle after her.

“Has somebody gone for Sadie?” I ask.

“Nathan’s on his way,” Daniel says, “and Amy’s meeting us at the house.”

Meg and I go back to our room and dress as fast as we can. When we return to the porch, Mama has the lantern going and we follow her down the hill and across the road to Jo and Daniel’s house. Every light is on inside and the whole house looks wide awake for the event. We go in the kitchen door and Mama gets busy. She gathers towels and puts water on the stove to boil while Meg and I go to the bedroom to check on Jo. Amy is already there.

Jo’s face is flushed and she is sweating like it is a hundred degrees, which it might very well be. Every window is up and the curtains are open wide so more air can come in. Jo grimaces and moans with the latest labor pain, and I reach over and hold her hand. She squeezes it so hard I almost scream myself. I never realized she was so strong. Fear takes hold of me when I realize I’ll be doing this same thing soon. I hold on till her pain passes then put Jo’s hand in Meg’s. Dizzy, I run outside, taking in big gulps of fresh air to keep from passing out.

Jo wails from inside the house as if her insides are being ripped apart. With each wail, my panic rises. I want to run and hide where nobody can find me, not even my baby that seems intent on being born, just like Jo’s. I grab a lantern from the kitchen and make my way to Daniel and Jo’s barn.

When I open the door, the smell of mellowed wood, dirt, and warm straw comes at me from all directions. In an odd way it reminds me of Daddy’s pipe tobacco. The lantern beams out a halo of light. No animals stay in the barn anymore. Yet leather harnesses hang on rusty nails above empty feeding troths like old ghosts. Stalls empty of hay are in one corner. Daniel bought these things from the Tanners, who owned the property before them. Daniel has been saving to get a cow and maybe a goat or two, but having a baby has put that off for the time being.

It is quiet in the old barn and a little cooler. I sink to my knees near the empty horse troth in the center. If I still believed in prayer I would ask God to help me, but since he didn’t help me with Johnny, I doubt he would show up for this.

Thoughts rush at me like rain pebbles blowing sideways
. I am too young to have a baby. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t even know how to be an aunt, much less a mother to some little squalling baby that shouldn’t be here in the first place.

Guilt and shame crash over me in a wave of fresh tears.